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Chapter Text

Draco spent most of his summer holidays camped in the Manor’s library. He’d always liked the place; he could remember being five and sneaking out of his room at night time, equipped with his blanket and his stuffed dragon toy, skimming through books he didn’t understand until either his mother caught him and sent him back off to bed or he fell asleep on the floor.

Nowadays, Draco did understand said books, and he made good use of it by going through them in record speed.

“Are you trying to get through every book in here by September 1st?” his mother asked conversationally when she joined him one afternoon, setting a cup of tea down in front of him.

“No,” Draco rolled his eyes, but gratefully picked up the cup to take a sip. “I’m just bothering with those that are useful to me, obviously.”

“Useful for what, exactly?” she asked, glancing at the book in front of him.

Draco bit his lip, resisting the urge to slam the tome shut and hide it from her. He hadn’t shared what he was doing with anyone yet, not even Harry, and he felt self-conscious about voicing it out loud, even in front of his mother. But Narcissa Malfoy had never been a person to keep secrets from, and when Draco met her expectant gaze, he felt himself caving.

“I’m trying to teach myself Legilimency,” he admitted, under his breath.

His mother raised both eyebrows at that, her face showing true surprise for one rare incident.

“That’s quite a task you gave yourself,” she noted. “May I ask why?”

“Because it’s the best way to teach Harry Occlumency,” Draco explained. “Harry’s mind is too vulnerable for other people’s advances. And now that the danger is so immediate, something needs to be done about it.”

“I see,” his mother nodded, looking thoughtful. “No one ever taught him?”

“Between his Muggle relatives and his runaway godfather, you mean?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Point taken,” she conceded. “I know you’re a skilled Occlumens, darling, but Legilimency is something else entirely. I can’t do it, and neither can your father. I’ve met a few people who can, obviously, but they were all either born with it or very powerful in general.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. “And it’s hard teaching myself when I can’t actually practice . I can do all these dry exercises by myself - and believe me, I do, constantly - but how do I know if they help when I don’t have a mind to actually penetrate?”

“Well,” his mother said slowly. “You could try it on me, if you wanted to.”

“Really?” Draco asked, his heartbeat picking up at the prospect. “You’d let me?”

“Well, admittedly, I’m not thrilled at the idea,” his mother told him with a wry smile. “One’s mind is the most private place imaginable, and I’ve been taught from a very young age to protect it at all costs, the same way I taught you. But you are my son. If I’d allow anyone inside my head, it’s you.”

Draco smiled, and reached out to touch her wrist.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said. “That means a lot to me.”

“Can you do it without your wand, though?” she asked, frowning. “I know there are different techniques - the ones using a spell as the most effective for those not born with the ability, and the more subtle ones using your inherent magic without focusing it through a wand. But those are much harder to do and require immense focus.”

“Well, seeing that I still have the trace on me for another two years, I could hardly learn the first one over the summer holidays,” Draco reminded her.

“Really?” she muttered, a slow smile spreading over her face, both intrigued and impressed. “My my, don’t I have a talented son.”

“Save the praise until we know if I can actually do it or not,” Draco chuckled. “Just because I know the theory doesn’t mean I can perform it.”

“Well, only one way to find out,” his mother said, delicately setting her cup down on the table and looking at him. “Give it your best shot.”

“Now?” Draco checked.

“Do you need mental preparation?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Now’s perfect.”

“Alright,” she smiled. “Whenever you are ready.”

Draco nodded, closing his eyes. He took one deep breath and tried to feel the magic currents under his skin, tried to get a grasp of his own power. When he opened his eyes again, he met his mother’s blue ones, locking onto them. Pushing his magic forwards, he tried to make a connection, searching until he found the weight of another mind in the space outside his own.

And for the first time since he’d started practising, there actually was something to find.

His mother’s mind felt like a brick wall he ran into head-first - unforgiving and unyielding. He bit his lip, trying to push harder, but still, her walls didn’t give away. It hurt his head to try, and automatically, he let his eyes fall closed against the pain stabbing his temples.

And just like that, the connection was broken. Draco let out a shaky breath.

“I can’t do it,” he muttered, frustrated.

“Actually, you can,” his mother contradicted, and the sheepish tone of her voice made him open his eyes to look at her. “My mind just instinctively threw up its defences. So it’s my fault, really. I tried to keep it open, but… the force of habit.”

“Oh,” Draco said. “So you actually felt my advances?”

“I did,” she agreed. “And I’m sure you would have done it had I not used Occlumency. Let’s try again.”

“You sure?” Draco asked skeptically.

“Yes,” she nodded, determination plain on her face. “Just… give me a moment.”

Like Draco had earlier, his mother closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. Draco knew she was trying to calm herself, to find the relaxation that was hard to come by with the awareness that someone was trying to penetrate your mind. Draco realised how instinctive an act the protection of your deepest thoughts and memories was. The conscious act of lowering your defenses was harder than one would imagine.

“Alright,” she said, opening her eyes once more and meeting her son’s. “Do it.”

Draco did not close his eyes this time. He latched onto the magic lingering just below the surface and pushed.

When he first hit his mother’s mind, he bounced off again, defenses still hard and strong. But then, they melted away, and with some force, Draco was able to break through them. He saw his mother flinch just a moment before strange memories filled his mind.

His mother, younger than she was now, standing in what Draco realised was his own room in the Manor, only back then, it was still a nursery. She was leaning over an intricately carved cradle, a soft smile on her face as she reached out her hand to tickle his baby-self’s belly. He could hear his own infant giggles before the scenery changed. He was now a few years older, maybe three or four, and he was sitting on his mother’s lap, positively wailing into her shoulder. His mother held him protectively, but her eyes were on his father, who was sitting across from her in an armchair, sipping his tea.

“Was that really necessary, Lucius?” she asked, her voice disapproving.

“He’s a Malfoy,” his father shrugged, unconcerned. “He needs to learn how to behave like one.”

Again, the scenery changed, and this time, he recognised both the surroundings and the scene immediately. It was Dumbledore’s office in his second year, after Harry had saved him from the Chamber of Secrets. He looked positively dreadful - ghostly pale and fear-struck, trembling under the arm his mother had thrown over his shoulder. They both were staring at his father, as was about everyone else in the room: Harry, Weasley and McGonagall. The only exception was Dumbledore, who was picking up the Dark Lord’s stepped diary from where Harry had earlier dropped it on his desk, saying: “So, would you like to explain to me what exactly this diary is, Lucius?”

“I have no idea,” Draco’s father responded politely. “for I have never seen it before.”

Again, the room dissolved, and Draco found himself in the Manor gardens, looking at his parents in front of him. They were very young, and his mother was smiling up at his father in a way Draco had never seen before.

“I have to say,” she noted, amusement apparent in her voice. “this is quite a place to live, Lucius.”

“Thank you, Narcissa,” he smirked, and like this, Draco could almost see his own facial features in those of his father. “Can I gather from this statement that you wouldn’t be opposed to becoming its Mistress?”

“Why, Lucius,” she chuckled. “is that your way of announcing a courtship?”

Instead of answering, Draco’s father picked up his mother’s hand to press a soft kiss to the back of it.

“I think that is enough,” his mother said suddenly - his real, present mother - and Draco found himself flung out of his mother’s mind.

He gasped as he came back to reality, his heart racing as he tried to find words.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologise,” his mother shook her head, though her expression was tight. “I gave you permission to, after all.”

Still, Draco felt like he intruded where he shouldn’t have. He had no time to ponder what he’d seen further, though, because his mother’s face quickly relaxed into a smile as she said: “You did it, Draco. That was quite something.”

“I really did, didn’t I,” Draco muttered, stunned. “Wow. I didn’t expect I could, just like that.”

“It’s remarkable,” his mother noted, taking in his face. “At fifteen nonetheless. Your father can say what he wants about your friendship to Harry Potter, but he gives you the motivation to develop your potential in ways I never imagined.”

“Yeah, about that,” Draco bit his lip. “Don’t tell Father about this, okay?”

“Of course I won’t,” she promised. “He’s never home these days as it is.”

That was true. Draco had feared coming back to the Manor after the Dark Lord’s return, afraid of facing his father, but as it turned out, his father was barely in the house anymore. He hadn’t seen him more than a couple of times, and when he had, they hadn’t spoken. Draco couldn’t decide if this was a good thing or a bad thing. As much as he wanted to avoid his father, he knew that every time he was out, he was probably in the service of the Dark Lord.

“I just don’t want him to have any vital information he can forward,” Draco said darkly. “We are on different sides of a war, after all.”

His mother didn’t say anything, but she looked deeply troubled. Draco knew that, deep down, she still hoped his father would come around, though he thought that it was a futile pipe dream.

“Anyway,” Draco said. “Thanks for your help. Really.”

“Of course, darling,” she smiled, getting to her feet. “If there is anything else I can do, don’t hesitate to ask. It’s what a mother is there for, after all.” With a wave of her wand, she enchanted both their empty cups to follow her out of the room. “Don’t spend all of your free time pouring over books,” she advised before she closed the door. “You will burn yourself out for the school year.”

Draco laughed at that. As if. Still, he closed the book he had been reading and stood to store it away in its rightful place. Now that he had proof that he actually had the hang of Legilimency, he could stop reading about it obsessively.

He left the library in a fairly optimistic mood. He was pondering the best ways to approach helping Harry seal his mind from unfriendly attacks - he had told him through letters that his scar was now hurting regularly, if not near-constantly, which meant they had no time to lose once the new school year started - when he reached his room and found that he had a couple of visitors.

“What is this? Draco’s Post Office?” he asked out loud, snorting when Aquila gave an indignant screech in response. There were no less than four owls currently perched all over the place. Hedwig was sharing Aquila’s pole, her feathers puffed up sleepily. A little Tawny Owl he was not familiar with was sitting on the windowsill, letter still attached to its foot, impatiently waiting for Draco to receive it. Another owl, an Eurasian Pigmy Owl named Vukan who he had housed once before was resting on the frame of Draco’s four-poster bed.

Draco first crossed the room to free the Tawny Owl of its letter. He snatched an owl treat from the bowl on his table to give it to her as a reward. She accepted it thankfully before taking off through the open window. Draco reached into the bowl again and gave another one each to Aquila, Hedwig and Vukan. He then looked at the letter in his hand. He recognised the neutral seal and the handwriting immediately, and eagerly broke it open. He settled on the bed to read.

Dear Draco,

I’m relieved to hear that your father has been making himself scarce at home. We feared that he would be forcing you to change sides, in which case we would have had to intervene, for your own safety. But it looks like your mother has everything under control.

Unfortunately, I cannot tell you much about what has been happening on my side. Especially in your situation, every information I burden you with would put you in grave danger and make you a valuable pawn in You-Know-Who’s strategy. It‘s best if we keep you out of this for as long as we can. Please rest assured knowing that everyone is safe and sound, though.

Professor Dumbledore sends his regards. He asks you to stay out of trouble with your father and keep your head low, and I agree with him. Your friendship with Harry will put you in enough trouble as it is - it would be wise to not cause any more for yourself.

I’m sorry I can’t be of more help. I realise you probably hoped for a more enlightening answer when you wrote to me. Please be patient. I am sure you will hear everything you need to know in time.

Sincerely,

Remus Lupin

Draco huffed in frustration, folding the letter up once more. This had indeed been less than helpful. He got to his feet to pick up the other three letters that had been dropped onto his desk. There was one from Hermione, Harry and Viktor each.

He settled back onto the bed and opened Hermione's first, hoping against hope that hers would be more satisfying than Lupin’s.

Dear Draco,

I don’t blame you for being harsh in your last letter. I know you’re frustrated with me, just as Harry is, and you have every right to be. I wished I could tell you anything useful, I really do, but I’m under firm instructions to keep my letters as vague as possible. If our owls are intercepted and any information falls into the wrong hands it could have consequences that are too gruesome to imagine. Not to mention that we are afraid of what your father might do if he knew you had any such information. I’m really sorry, Draco.

If it helps, we are currently working on getting Harry out of Privet Drive. It shouldn’t be too long until he joins us here.

I know it’s hard now, but I promise we’ll tell you everything we can once we are back at Hogwarts.

Love,

Hermione

PS: Ginny says hi.

Draco scowled at his friend’s letter, not surprised but definitely not pleased. He understood, in a way, why they had to keep information from him, but his last letter had not been about that - it had been how dangerous it was to keep Harry out of the loop. He’d exchanged enough letters with the other boy to know that Harry was slowly but surely losing his mind, and that he was getting more furious with everyone withholding things from him day by day. If this continued, he would end up doing something stupid, so he had begged Hermione to find a way to give him some answers before they’d all regret it.

Apparently, his efforts had been futile.

He dropped her letter on the bed next to him and opened Harry’s instead.

Draco,

thanks for sending me that article. Even though I get the Prophet every day, I keep missing all these little digs against me and Dumbledore. I can’t believe that the Prophet really continues to exploit Rita Skeeter’s crackpot story like this. People have to realise it’s nonsense, right?!

Anyway, you’re the only one I can count on to really tell me what is happening these days, and I really appreciate that, more than you know. I would have already lost it completely if not for you. Hermione and Ron have been no help at all, and even Sirius won’t tell me anything. You’d think the simple fact that the Prophet is trying to make liars out of me and Dumbledore would be worth mentioning, but apparently, they’re all determined to treat me like a child.

How are things at your side, though? Is your father still mysteriously absent? I hope he is. If he gives you any trouble, just say the word. I am so ready to pack my stuff and storm the Burrow with you if necessary.

I miss you. Can’t wait till the summer holidays are over.

- Harry

Draco pursed his lips. This was exactly what he’d been talking about, but of course, Hermione wouldn’t listen. There was only so much he could do to talk a raging Harry down, especially if they gave him nothing to work with.

He discarded Harry’s letter on Hermione’s before finally opening Viktor’s.

Dear Draco,

I’m sorry things have not been going well with you. If there is anything I can do to help, please tell me. I know you said you don’t want to put me in danger, but my offer still stands. You can come here anytime you want.

I have spent most of my summer traveling. There have been matches with the national team, of course, and then I have negotiations with clubs all over Europe. Cacatúas de Cádiz have offered me a lot of money, but I think the south of Spain is too hot. Yehnohti Yakutsk is more my climate, but I don’t like the coach. At the moment I quite like the Gießener Geier , but I still have talks with a club in Bulgaria next week, and one in Belgium the week after. For now, I am back home and spending time with my friends and family. I met Stoyan yesterday, and I told him a lot about you. He told me to say hello, and keep your head up, Draco. I am sending a picture we took.

I’m sorry I cannot write more this time. I promise my next letter will be longer. My grandmother comes into the room every time I sit down to write to you, and you don’t ignore my grandmother. Maybe I should send her to fight your dark wizard. If she does not scare him, nothing will.

Be safe, and I hope to hear from you soon!

-Viktor

There was indeed a picture attached to the letter, and Draco smiled as he saw Viktor waving into the camera, his arm slung around the shoulders of a boy much slighter than him. He had clear blue eyes and cute brown curls, and when he smiled, his cheeks dimpled ever so slightly.

“He’s fit,” Draco said, out loud. “Maybe I should have gone to Durmstrang.” An unhappy hooting sound came from Hedwig in response, making Draco laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he promised.

He dropped Viktor’s letter on the rest of them and fell back onto the mattress, staring up at the canopy of his bed. Part of him wished he could just take off and have a nice holiday in Bulgaria, but Draco knew that he wouldn’t be able to relax even if he went. It was hard to ignore that his world was about one minute from imploding, even if he went halfway across the continent.

Plus, he couldn’t leave Harry. Even if he wasn’t physically with him, he was the only one who actually communicated with him in a constructive way. If he went abroad, causing their owls to take more than a couple of hours, it might be the last straw for his friend.

With a sigh, he sat up again, gathering his letters and moving to sit at his desk.

Time to answer Harry, and rant at Hermione some more.

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.

Chapter Text

They spent the rest of the train ride in stilted conversation with each other, Longbottom and radish-earring-girl, whose name turned out to be Luna Lovegood. Draco was unsure what to make of her. Despite her obvious insanity and complete lack of manners (though, somehow, she seemed to still be much more tactful than Weasley on his best days, and didn’t that tell you everything you need to know about that boy), she seemed harmless enough and every word out of her mouth was both baffling and amusing, which made him reserve judgement for now.

When they arrived at Hogsmeade Station, Hermione jumped up excitedly, announcing: “We have to go and supervise the proceedings! Sorry, Harry, can you take care of our things?”

Draco glanced at Harry sideways, immediately picking up on the way his face fell at being excluded like this, so Draco blurted out: “He can come with us, can’t he?”

“He’s not a Prefect,” Hermione pointed out, taken aback.

“So what?” Draco shrugged, getting up. “I heard nothing in the school rules about other students not being allowed to accompany Prefects on their duties.”

“But our stuff…” Hermione said, biting her lip.

“Really, Hermione,” Draco snorted. “I know you’re Muggleborn, but sometimes, it’s ridiculous how you forget that magic can actually simplify your life if you use it right.” And with that, Draco cast a spell on his trunk and Aquila’s cage, making them lift into the air and float after him. “Now, you were saying?” he asked, placating her.

Hermione had flushed, muttering to herself as she copied Draco’s spell and made her way out of the carriage, a petulant look on her face. Harry’s expression, though, was grateful, and he followed Draco outside without another word.

“Have I told you yet that I missed you?” he asked finally, when they were both outside, Draco wordlessly directing a couple of third-years towards the carriages. “No one quite talks back to Hermione like you.”

Draco laughed at that. “I’m glad to be of service - Hey, you! Blond hair, Hufflepuff robes! I’d put that away before Filch sees it! - Anyway,” he threw a look towards where Hermione was disciplining a couple of rowdy Gryffindors, Weasley useless at her heels, before continuing, under his breath: “How the heck did Weasley get that badge instead of you?!”

Harry pursed his lips, his cheeks slightly rosy as he muttered: “Oh, come off it, Ron is-”

“Completely unqualified, and don’t pretend otherwise,” Draco interrupted him. “You can’t tell me you don’t think it should have been you, too. I know you’re noble and selfless, Harry, but there is a limit.”

“Fine, yeah,” Harry breathed, his green eyes meeting Draco’s. “I might be a little bitter about the whole thing.”

“And you have every right to be,” Draco noted, jaw set. “You’ve done so much for this school, and now you get jilted like this? Not fair. Not fair at all.”

“I really missed you,” Harry chuckled, cracking a smile. “You’re the only person I can talk to without lying or getting frustrated these days. Hermione and Ron are so…” he didn’t finish the sentence, but Draco got the message, even without him putting it into words.

“I figure it wasn’t easy for them, keeping all these secrets from us,” Draco said heavily. “And I get why they had to, but I don’t think they quite understand what it’s been like. Especially for you.”

“But you do,” Harry smiled. “And tomorrow, instead of having breakfast at the Great Hall, we’ll have a good long talk about everything that’s going on.”

“We’ll have to show our faces at breakfast because of the timetables,” Draco said regretfully. “But maybe during lunch?”

“Lunch it is, then,” Harry agreed.

“And I think we can make our way to the castle now,” Draco pointed out, scanning the thinning crowd and catching Macmillan and Abbott moving with them towards the carriages. “Let’s get going.”

On their way, they passed Professor Grubbly-Plank, who had taken it upon herself to direct the First Years towards the boats, and Draco frowned, only now taking note of Hagrid’s absence.

“Where do you think he is?” Harry asked anxiously as if reading Draco’s mind. “He can’t have left, right?”

“Nah, he wouldn’t,” Draco shook his head. “Remember, after the third task, when Dumbledore said he wanted to speak to him and Madame Maxime in his office? I suspected then that he gave them some kind of task to do with making alliances with giants. He suggested that to Fudge, after all. So maybe that’s where he is?”

Harry nodded slowly, biting his lip. “Well, no one said anything about it,” he told Draco under his breath. “But that means nothing. They don’t really tell us things, to begin with.”

Then, the carriages came into view, and Harry suddenly halted, looking flabbergasted. Draco turned to him, confused.

“Harry, what are you-”

“What are those ?!” Harry demanded, pointing towards the carriages. Draco’s gaze followed his indication immediately, trying to find anything out of place, but everything looked the same: The same horseless carriages that had always brought them up to the castle, the same students filing into them, and the same pathway leading away from Hogsmeade Station.

“I’m not sure I get your meaning,” Draco said finally. “What is what?”

“Those things pulling the carriages,” Harry told him, as if that should have been obvious. “What are they?”

“I-” Draco blinked, looking back at the carriages and then at Harry. “There’s nothing there, Harry.”

“What?” Harry called, his face incredulous. “But they’re right there! Look!” When Draco looked again, honestly trying to find a clue as to what Harry was talking about, the other boy added, suddenly self-conscious: “You… you can’t see them?”

“I can’t see what , Harry?” Draco asked, an edge to his voice. “What exactly is it that you’re seeing?”

“Some kind of creatures,” Harry muttered, growing more quiet with each word. “They’re like horses, only they don’t look like horses. More like black reptiles? And they have wings.”

Something stirred in Draco’s memory, and he fell silent as he tried to put his finger on what it was.

“It’s alright,” a dreamy voice said suddenly, and they both whirled around to stare at Luna Lovegood. “You’re not going mad or anything. I can see them, too.”

“Can you?” Harry asked, a little desperately.

“Oh, yes,” Luna said easily. “I’ve been able to see them ever since my first day here. They’ve always pulled the carriages. Don’t worry. You’re just as sane as I am.”

Harry smiled faintly, though he seemed even more discomfited by that statement.

It was then, that something in Draco’s brain clicked into place, and he gasped.

“Thestrals!” he called, looking up at Luna for confirmation. “It’s Thestrals, isn’t it?!”

“You are smart, Draco Malfoy,” she smiled, looking pleased. “I often thought you’d have done well in Ravenclaw.”

“Probably better than in Slytherin,” he agreed, cracking a smile. “But, Merlin, I never knew Thestrals were pulling the carriages. That’s - interesting and slightly creepy.”

“They’re not scary at all,” Luna disagreed. “They’re actually really gentle. People just fear them because…”

“Yeah,” Draco nodded, willing himself not to shudder. “Exactly.”

“What are Thestrals?” Harry asked, impatient at being left out of the loop.

“They’re magical creatures that can only be seen when you’ve seen death,” Draco explained, watching Harry’s face as the realisation settled in. “That’s why you can only see them now.”

“Cedric,” Harry nodded, gulping.

The moment was broken when Hermione and Weasley caught up with them, prattling on about one thing or another, completely unaware of the tension in the air. They were forced to let the subject drop, but Draco was still watching Harry. His friend was very quiet on their ride up to the castle, staring out over the rainy landscape, and Draco wished he’d have kept his mouth shut.

Out of all things, he should have known better than to mention Cedric Diggory.

The welcoming feast was interesting, to say it mildly. The Sorting Hat’s song had a very clear tone of warning in it: Unite and stand together against all evil from outside. It was a nice enough thought, but, he thought with a pointed look over to where Nott was snickering at Crabbe and Goyle, it didn’t do much good if evil was already inside the castle walls. Then, during Dumbledore’s speech, Professor Umbridge, their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and Fudge’s pawn within Hogwarts, interrupted the Headmaster - something unpreceded in Draco’s time at the school - to hold her own, rather meaningful speech: Traditions - aka the Ministry’s values - should be upheld, and innovations - aka Dumbledore’s values - should be dampened. Draco exchanged a meaningful glance with Hermione after she had finished talking, and he knew that his friend had understood the implications just as he had.

Returning to his dormitory after the feast had ended, though, was even less pleasant.

“Look at that,” Nott called the moment Draco entered the room. “Our new Prefect . If this doesn’t prove that the school is doomed, I don’t know what does. It’s a good thing the Ministry is taking things over bit by bit.”

“Be that as it may,” Draco drawled, making his way over to his bed without giving Nott the satisfaction of even glancing at him. “For now, I’m still in the position of power, and between us, I’d shut my mouth before I give you detention on your first night back. It would be such a waste of your time and energy.”

“Yes, yes, flex your muscles all you want, as long as you still can,” Nott snorted. “Things are going to change around here, Malfoy. And if you were as smart as you pretended to be, you’d crawl back into your father’s lap and be a good boy, because he’ll surely be better suited to protect you than your insane boyfriend Potter and your Mudblood and Blood Traitor friends.”

Draco took a deep breath, willing the words to blow off at him. He knew Nott was trying to provoke him. He was not going to play into his hands.

“Though I guess your father wouldn’t protect you now even if you asked,” Nott continued. “I surely wouldn’t, if my son was such a disappointment.”

“Funny,” Draco returned, not looking up from where he was rummaging through his trunk and retrieving his pyjamas. “In my eyes, he’s the one who’s a disappointment. But maybe you want to be adopted by him instead? You surely seem obsessed with my family. Are you that jealous of me?”

“You wish, Malfoy,” Nott snorted. “Why would I be jealous of someone who used to have everything and threw it away for The Boy Who Lost His Marbles?”

“Are you quite sure? Because you seem terribly eager to pick up my disregarded stuff,” Draco said easily, waiting for the words to register - not with Crabbe and Goyle, who didn’t have the brains for slight insults, but with Nott, who, sure enough, was sneering as Draco turned around, ready to make his way to the bathroom.

“Your arrogance is stunning, Malfoy,” he spat. “You just wait. One day, you’ll realise that you chose the wrong path, and then, you’ll beg me for help.”

“I really doubt that,” Draco rolled his eyes. “But thanks for the warning.”

And with that, he went for the door. On his way out, he caught eyes with Zabini for a split second, but the other boy looked away immediately, making him unsure that it had really happened.

Unfortunately, the next day didn’t start off any better. Draco first got to speak to his friends in the hallway before Potions, when they joined him in front of the classroom, Hermione and Weasley bickering on top of their lungs, while Harry looked tired and weary.

“There was absolutely no reason to attack her like that, Ron!” Hermione thundered. “God, I swear-”

“You wouldn’t understand!” Weasley growled. “Malfoy, help me out here! Most Tornados fans aren’t real fans, are they?”

“I’m not sure what kind of conversation this is,” Draco said, raising his eyebrows. “But my answer will be that someone who supports the Cannons is not qualified to judge anyone for their taste in Quidditch teams.”

Weasley spluttered at that, flushing an angry red, and Hermione called: “Draco, imagine this! Cho Chang was just trying to talk to Harry when Ron suddenly attacked her about the Tornados badge she was wearing! He completely got in the way when all she wanted was to talk to Harry! ” she hissed that last one to Weasley, who was already opening his mouth to reciprocate, only Draco did not hear his answer. His stomach had dropped at the mention of Cho Chang, and he stole a quick glance at Harry, who was staring into space, jaw set, looking decidedly unhappy.

Draco had known, of course, that Harry fancied the Ravenclaw Seeker. That much had been clear ever since Yule Ball last year. It was just that Draco had hoped that his feelings might have been of a fleeting nature and that they had died down in the face of everything that had happened lately. Not to mention that, until the end of the last school year, Chang’s romantic affections had been completely focused on Cedric Diggory, so she hadn’t really been available.

Draco couldn’t help but feel a bit of resentment towards her for approaching Harry at all. She must be aware that Harry was interested in her. Harry was less than subtle in anything he did, and he had asked her to the Yule Ball last year. And still, she reached out like that, only months after her boyfriend’s death? What kind of person did that make her?

He was saved from saying anything by the classroom door opening and Snape letting them inside. If he had hoped for a wholesome distraction, though, he had entered the wrong class. Sure, the brewing of the Draught of Peace was challenging in its own way, but Snape’s vicious and completely unfair treatment of Harry towards the end of the lesson, where Snape vanished the contents of Harry’s potion as “useless”, did nothing to brighten anyone’s mood. On the contrary; it made Harry storm out of the dungeons without waiting for any of them, and when they found him a couple of minutes later in the Great Hall, he was sitting at the Gryffindor table, sulking.

“That was really unfair,” Hermione tried to console him as she sat next to him. “Your potion wasn’t nearly as bad as Goyle’s; when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire.”

“Yeah, well,” Harry returned stiffly, glaring at his plate, “since when has Snape ever been fair to me?”

Draco sighed and sat down at the Gryffindor table with them. He knew that Harry had promised to give him an introduction to this summer’s events during lunchtime, but in his current mood, he knew better than to ask.

“I did think he might be a bit better this year,” Hermione frowned disapprovingly. “I mean… you know…” she looked at Draco, and immediately fell silent, biting her lip. Draco gulped, the obvious exclusion stinging. Harry had directed his glare at Hermione now, looking ready to rip her a new one, but Weasley was already speaking, apparently unaware of the tension.

“Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots. Anyway, I’ve always thought Dumbledore was cracked to trust Snape. Where’s the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?”

“Ron, first, shut up! ” Hermione hissed. “And second, just because Dumbledore doesn’t share his evidence with you -”

“Okay, stop it!” Harry barked, making the other two fall silent. “It’s bad enough that I have to listen to you two always having a go at each other - it’s driving me mad - but now you also try to exclude Draco when he’s sitting right here?!” He dropped his cutlery and grabbed a couple of sandwiches instead, catching Draco’s eyes. “Come on, let’s go,” he huffed, getting to his feet.

Draco glanced at Hermione for a moment, who looked both abashed and affronted, and stood to follow Harry outside.

It was a rainy, uncomfortable day out, so Draco performed an umbrella charm for them. Harry handed him one of the sandwiches, which Draco accepted gratefully.

“Sorry about that,” Harry muttered. “I hate how Hermione’s acting like you’re the enemy. I told her a million times that I was not going to keep any secrets from you once we’re here, but still…”

“I understand why she’s doing it,” Draco said heavily. “I am a security risk, in a way. Still, I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt.”

“Of course it does,” Harry grumbled. “Being left out sucks, and you’ve proven your worth more than just once or twice over the last couple of years. You’re one of us, and I’m damn well going to treat you as one.”

Draco smiled at that and bumped his shoulder against Harry’s.

“Thank you,” he said.

“So,” Harry sighed. “Information. You’re ready for your briefing?”

“More than ready,” Draco ensured him, biting into his sandwich.

They spent the whole lunch break walking the grounds while Harry filled him in on everything that had been happening this summer. How Dumbledore had reunited a secret society he had led during the first war for underground resistance, called the Order of Phoenix. The Weasleys were members and had spent the summer in the headquarters of the Order, which Harry could not reveal to him due to a Fidelius charm. Hermione and Harry had joined them there, and Sirius had made sure that Harry had been forwarded some information the night they had arrived. That information consisted mostly of the fact that the Dark Lord, like Dumbledore, was currently attempting to gain followers underground, and that the Order was trying to stop that without drawing any attention from the Ministry. Sirius, apparently, had also let it slip that the Dark Lord was looking for some kind of weapon that would give him an advantage over Dumbledore, which he hadn’t had the last time.

“A weapon?” Draco frowned. “What would a powerful Dark Wizard like him need a weapon for? He can wreak all the destruction he wants with his magic.”

“I’m not sure,” Harry admitted. “Sirius wouldn’t say.”

“Maybe it’s not as much an actual weapon,” Draco mused, “as a symbolic one. Like a trump card that would destroy the Order from within. An important figure or something.”

“You mean like a spy?” Harry frowned.

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted, biting his lip. “He worked with spies last time, didn’t he?”

“Well, he still does,” Harry shrugged. “Snape is playing both sides, after all.”

“Ahh,” Draco nodded. “So that’s what this was about earlier? Hermione didn’t want me to know which side Snape is on?”

“To be fair, no one can be really sure which side he’s on,” Harry grumbled. “Dumbledore thinks it’s ours, Voldemort thinks it’s his. Only he knows, really.”

“I guess,” Draco frowned. “Though Hermione’s probably right that Dumbledore has to have a reason for trusting Snape to that extent. Some kind of information we don’t have.” Harry nodded, biting his lip in thought, but something else had occurred to Draco, and he continued: “Harry, do you remember our talk before the third task when I told you about Occlumency?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, looking up at him.

“I think we should try to practice it together,” Draco told him. “We have no idea what it is that the Dark Lord is planning exactly, but it’s better to not give him any access to your mind.”

“You don’t think…” Harry murmured, staring at him incredulously. “You don’t think I’m the weapon, do you?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Draco sighed. “I just know it’s dangerous if anything comes through that connection you have with him. Can you imagine all the information he could get from you?”

“You’re right,” Harry gulped. “So, what do I do?”

“I practised Legilimency over the summer,” Draco explained.

“And can you do it?” Harry asked, eyes wide.

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “So I can give you the basics on Occlumency and then you can exercise it by trying to keep me out. I’m not as strong as the Dark Lord, naturally, but-”

“I’m sure it will do,” Harry shook his head. “Sorry, I’m still amazed that you learned to read minds throughout the summer holidays. What the hell, Draco?”

“Well,” Draco snorted. “I had good motivation, after all.”

“But didn’t you say it was this super difficult kind of magic?” Harry prodded.

“Well, it’s not easy,” Draco conceded. “But if you know how to occlude, it’s not that hard to learn, really.”

“For you, I’m sure,” Harry chuckled, grinning. “There’s nothing you can’t do if you set your mind to it.”

“Well, stubbornness can be a very valuable feature if you use it right,” Draco smirked. “You of all people should know that.”

Harry laughed, and it’s the first time Draco had seen a truly happy expression on his face since their return. He felt quite content knowing he had managed to put it there.

Chapter Text

“So,” Hermione said as Draco sat down next to her for Ancient Runes after lunch. “Harry told you everything?”

“He did,” Draco replied, trying to keep his voice free from judgement, or any emotion at all.

“I’m sorry, Draco,” Hermione whispered, catching his eyes. “I didn’t intend to leave you out of the loop. We just had a long talk with Professor Lupin throughout the summer, who made it very clear that all the information we gave you could be used as an excuse to hurt you.” She gulped, and her eyes were shiny as she concluded: “I thought if you didn’t know anything, you would be safe.”

“Hermione,” Draco sighed. “I really appreciate your concern, but there are risks worth taking, you know? I consented to all of this when I chose Harry’s side, and hence placed myself in an opposing position towards my father. I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“Harry told me you’d say that,” she noted, a tone of regret in her voice.

“Yeah, well,” Draco shrugged. “Harry knows from experience that not knowing can be much, much worse than anything that might happen to you because of knowing.”

“It’s been kind of hard lately, though, listening to Harry and taking him seriously,” she said, an edge to her voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco demanded, a frown on his face.

“You saw how he went off on me earlier,” Hermione pointed out. “And he’s like that constantly these days. I get that he’s frustrated, I really do, but I’m sick of being treated like that.”

“Hermione,” Draco said, a tick impatient. “Harry’s been through so much, only to have you keep secrets from him all summer. Then, to top it all off, he gets attacked by Dementors and almost thrown out of school. The Minister of Magic is after him, and half of Wizarding Britain thinks he’s insane, including a lot of people in this very school. Cut him some slack, will you?”

“I’m doing nothing but,” Hermione insisted. “You wouldn’t understand. He’s different with you. He’s always been different with you.”

“Well, maybe he’s different with me because I’m the only one not patronising him,” Draco pointed out. “So you might try that for a change.”

“I’m not-” she started, but cut herself off with a huff. “Oh, forget it.”

“You were the one to bring it up!” Draco reminded her. “Listen, if you have a problem with Harry’s behaviour, either gulp it down or tell him. But don’t pin it on me and expect me to work it out.”

“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?” Hermione hissed. “I tell him something, he snaps at me. You tell him the same thing, and he listens. Can you really blame me for coming to you with my grievances?!”

“It doesn’t make a difference who of us is the one saying something, Hermione,” Draco argued. “It’s what we say and the way we say it.”

“That’s really not the case here, Draco,” Hermione shook her head. “Maybe it’s still the after-effects of your fight earlier this year, though I rather think it’s always been like that, but he takes things differently if they come from you. I know it, Ron knows it, even Ginny knows. And the sooner you accept that, the easier it will be for all of us to get through this horrific time. Because we could really use someone to reason with Harry without him blowing up all the time.”

Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

“Fine,” he said. “Let’s say, for the sake of it, you are right, and I do have some special standing with Harry. Do you really want me to ruin that by telling him to be nicer to you?” When Hermione just glared at him, he continued: “Talk to him. Tell him what’s on your mind, and sort your differences out like the adult you want to be. Then, if everything else fails, I can try to reason with him. Deal?”

“Deal,” she sighed before directing her attention to Professor Babbling, who was clearing her throat to get their attention.

After Ancient Runes, Draco left for Transfigurations, and Hermione took off to rejoin Harry and Weasley for their first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Umbridge. They promised to meet at the library after dinner, as Draco was dying to hear about Umbridge’s class, but as it turned out, the news about how it went reached Draco already long before. It was when he was walking back up to the castle that he caught sentence fragments from other students’ conversation, something about Harry fighting with Umbridge and him talking about the Dark Lord murdering Diggory in her class. Draco was ready to knock his head against the castle’s stone wall in frustration by the time he reached the front door.

So much to keeping their heads down.

Hermione was waiting for him in the Entrance Hall, Weasley lingering awkwardly behind her.

“Talk to him,” she implored Draco, her brown eyes widening in plead. “He listens to you.”

“You really overestimate me, you know,” Draco murmured. “But fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Hermione sighed in relief, touching his arm for a moment. Draco just nodded, grimacing as he pushed his way past her into the Great Hall.

Harry was sitting by himself at the Gryffindor table, brooding, and Draco took a deep breath, ignoring all the whispers and curious glances towards Harry, and approached him. Harry looked up as Draco took the seat across from him.

“Let me guess,” Harry hissed, tension in every fibre of his body. “You’re here to lecture me.”

“As much as that’s my apparent mission,” Draco rolled his eyes. “For now, I just want to know what happened.”

“The woman is impossible, Draco!” Harry groaned out. “You know she intends to not let us use any magic in class? How are we supposed to learn to defend ourselves like that? And when I called her out on it, she told me we wouldn’t need to use defensive magic because-”

“Because the Dark Lord is not back and there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Draco finished his sentence with a sigh. “Well, that’s certainly in line with the Ministry’s stance on things.”

“She called me a liar!” Harry raged. “Both me and Dumbledore, for saying that Cedric’s death was something other than a - a tragic accident, or whatever her words were!”

“And you don’t know how angry it makes me that they treat you this way,” Draco ensured him. “But Harry, you need to be careful.”

“Careful?!” Harry repeated, incredulous. “You mean I should have just kept quiet and let her-”

“All I’m saying is that the more obnoxious you are, the more vicious they will be in trying to silence you,” Draco interrupted him. He held in for a moment, reaching his hand out across the table until it was covering Harry’s balled fist. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I know you don’t,” Harry muttered. “But I can’t just stand by and let her spread these lies, Draco.”

“I know you can’t,” Draco agreed. “And you shouldn’t, either. You see how many people believe the Prophet ’s version of the story, or are at least unsure of who to believe. And you and Dumbledore need to stick to your story and try to convince people. I agree with that. But you getting into trouble with Umbridge is not the right way to do that.”

“Then what is?” Harry demanded.

“You need to appear like a trustworthy source of information,” Draco explained. “But you're playing into the Ministry’s cards if you shout like a madman and wreak havoc in class. You need to be more subtle. Firm in your position, but less… Gryffindor .”

“So I’m supposed to be a Slytherin instead?” Harry snapped. “Let me just grab my things and join Voldemort, then.” When Draco just looked at him with raised eyebrows, Harry winced and whispered: “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t,” Draco sighed. “But this is the perfect example of why we need you calm and level-headed. Which I know isn’t your strength, but please, try . I don’t care if you bite Hermione’s head off for being insufferably controlling, but don’t get yourself into unnecessary trouble. You will give me an ulcer.” The corners of Harry’s mouth twitched at that, as if he was tempted to smile. It gave Draco courage to press on. “I’m worried about you,” Draco said, squeezing his hand. “I know exactly how difficult things have been for you. Don’t make them even harder on yourself.”

“Alright,” Harry sighed. “I’ll try. I can’t make any promises, though.”

“I’ll take goodwill,” Draco snorted, withdrawing his hand with one last squeeze. “It’s better than nothing. So,” he reached for the chicken. “what is the verdict? How long are you on detention for?”

“Every evening this week,” Harry grumbled, turning back to his own plate. “Starting tomorrow.”

“She doesn’t play, does she,” Draco sighed. “Just do whatever she asks from you and get it over with as quietly as possible, I’d say.”

“Are you talking about the detentions or the school year?” Harry asked, making Draco smile.

“Both,” he enunciated the moment that Hermione and Weasley finally joined them. Draco guessed they must have been watching their conversation from afar.

“So,” Hermione asked tentatively. “What did Professor McGonagall say?”

“Same as everyone,” Harry shrugged. “Rule in your temper, Potter. Keep your head down. And before you say she has a point,” he continued, cutting her off, as she had already opened her mouth. “Draco already lectured me, which I am sure you ordered him to do, so I’d thank you to just drop it for the night.”

“Fine,” she replied, her lips tight in an attempt to reign herself in.

Things didn’t calm down the following day, either. Draco had Defence Against The Dark Arts with Umbridge first thing in the morning, and while, unlike Harry, he managed to stay out of detention, the new teacher did call him to her after class ended for a tiny, well-phrased warning.

“If I were you, Mr Malfoy, I’d be careful about my associations here at Hogwarts,” she said in a sweet voice that was so fake that Draco was surprised honey wasn’t dripping out of her nose. “Your father is a fine, respectable man, and from what I hear, you are top of your year and on the short-track for Head Boy. You have a promising future ahead of you. You wouldn’t want to ruin it with unsavoury friendships, would you?”

Draco raised his eyebrows at her and answered, as politely as he was able to: “With all due respect, Professor, I don’t aspire to follow my father’s footsteps. That being said, I choose my own friends, and neither my father nor you have any say in who I associate with.”

“Is that so?” Professor Umbridge replied, her eyes narrowing as she let her eyes wander over him in obvious disappointment. “Pity. Well, off you go, Mr Malfoy. You don’t want to be late for your next class.”

Umbridge’s attempt at removing him from Harry’s side wasn’t the only unpleasantness he had to live through on his second day back to Hogwarts, though. Apparently, Hermione had gotten into an argument with Weasley and the twins up at the Gryffindor tower the previous night, and there was a tense silence between the two Gryffindors all throughout the day. As much as Draco agreed that they should just dispose of Weasley and be done with it, Draco was also exasperated with Hermione for her inability to keep from arguing with the ginger nuisance. Draco didn’t like him, either, but that did not keep him from polite ignorance throughout the majority of their time together. He couldn’t fathom why Hermione had so little self-control around him.

Harry’s mood was still horrific, and he remained taciturn and irritable all day. The only times he spoke was when he pestered Professor Grubbly-Plank regarding Hagrid’s whereabouts throughout Care of Magical Creatures and when Hermione, quite uncalled for, in Draco’s opinion, attacked Luna Lovegood for her admittedly make-belief ramblings about non-existent creatures following her declaration of faith and loyalty towards Harry and Dumbledore.

The next day wasn’t much better. Draco did not see Harry neither at breakfast, as he was up at the Gryffindor tower doing the Divination homework he had been unable to finish the night before because of his detention with Umbridge, nor at lunch, as he spent that finishing his Care of Magical Creatures homework before the actual class. When Draco finally did meet him out on the grounds, he looked tired and hassled, but he gifted Draco with a thankful smile as the Slytherin pushed a package of sandwiches into his hands.

“How was your detention with the nightmare in pink?” Draco asked under his breath as Grubbly-Plank started talking.

“It was alright,” Harry shrugged, not looking at him. “I just got lines.”

Draco frowned, sensing that something was off, but not daring to push the matter in the middle of class.

The next day was no better, as was the one after that. Or the one after that. Harry looked progressively more tired and off, and he was terribly behind with his school work, as Hermione never failed to remind them.

“Really,” she huffed at Draco under her breath, having to keep her voice down in the library. “I would have thought that, with everything that’s going on, he’d spend at least today catching up on school work, but no , of course, he and Ron have to-”

“Hermione,” Draco said tiredly. “Can you please step down from your throne for a moment and cut him some slack?” When Hermione just spluttered, looking indignant, Draco continued: “Have you looked at the boy lately? I mean, really looked at him? He is exhausted and unhappy and frustrated and Quidditch is probably exactly what he needs right now to let off some steam. Let him. I’ll help him with his homework as soon as he gets back.”

“You’re not his tutor, Draco,” Hermione grumbled. “He has to manage on his own.”

“You’re saying that like they haven’t been copying your homework for the past four years,” Draco rolled his eyes. “We’re friends, Hermione, and this is what friends do.”

“You always take his side, you know,” Hermione noted petulantly.

“I so don’t,” Draco groaned. “Remember third year, my insufferable friend? I’m merely saying that Harry is going through a rough time right now, and your nagging and bickering with Weasley and keeping secrets and whatever else is on that list is not exactly making things easier.”

Hermione was quiet at that, and when Draco looked up, her brown curls were falling into her face and she looked upset.

“Hey,” Draco muttered, frowning. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right,” she sighed. “I guess I haven’t been much of a help. I just don’t know how you do it. You always seem to know exactly what to do or say around Harry, and with me, it’s the complete opposite.”

“Just ease up a little,” Draco sighed. “I know you’re used to pushing him, but right now, it’s better if you don’t. If in doubt, give him space and let him come to you.”

“Alright,” she sighed. “I might do that. Step back and let you handle Harry for a while, I mean. You seem to have a much better grasp on him than anyone else, anyway.”

“I don’t know about that,” Draco shrugged. “But I’m trying my best.”

Sunday was spent in its entirety with Harry and Weasley in the library, catching up on homework. Hermione, true to her word, stayed clear of them, and though Weasley’s presence was annoying, Harry was mostly calm despite the frenzied study session.

It was sometime after lunch, when they had picked up their work for a second time, that Draco’s eyes fell onto the back of Harry’s right hand, where the skin was marred with angry red scratches.

“What did you do to your hand?” Draco asked with a frown, his gaze lifting from where he had frozen in the process of writing to find Harry's green eyes shifting and decidedly not meet his.

“Um, I bumped it,” Harry said quickly, and even without Legilimency, Draco could sense the lie immediately.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco scoffed, reaching out to snatch Harry’s hand before he could withdraw it completely. He raised it to his face in order to take a closer look, carefully tracing the lines, stopping when Harry hissed at the contact. “This looks like someone tried to cut your skin open,” Draco noted, an edge to his voice. “Wait, there is-” He noted that the scratches had patterns to it, and if he dared to pull the skin taut, he would probably be able to decipher something. He didn’t want to hurt Harry, though. “This is writing, isn’t it?” When Harry stayed silent, Draco looked up to meet his eyes again. “ Lines ,” he repeated, his voice trembling with a mixture of emotions: incredulity, disgust, white, hot anger… “You failed to mention that you had to carve those lines onto your own hand.”

“What?!” Weasley hissed, finally joining the conversation. “Is that true, Harry?!”

“She has some kind of quill,” Harry muttered, still shifty. “It cuts the words into the back of my hand and writes them onto the parchment in my blood.”

Weasley cursed under his breath, but the sound of it got lost under the screeching of Draco’s chair when he pulled it back, abruptly getting to his feet. He still held Harry’s hand in his, quite unconsciously, and suddenly, it twisted around his wrist like a vice.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry muttered.

“Dumbledore,” Draco told him, his voice tight in fury. “I’m going to report this.”

“Dumbledore has other things on his mind, Draco!” Harry shook his head. “Please-”

“Are you kidding me?!” Draco snapped. “Other things than one of his students being tortured by his staff?! If that’s the case, Harry, he needs to be relieved from his position.”

“He’s right, you know,” Weasley said. “Dumbledore needs to know about this, Harry.”

“The detention is over, anyway,” Harry pleaded, still not letting go of Draco. “Just drop it, okay?”

“No!” Draco argued. “Would you just drop it if it was me? If someone was cutting my hand open? You would knock down their door yourself, I know you would! So don’t you dare and try to stop me!”

“You keep telling me to rule in my temper,” Harry reminded him. “So please, take your own advice for once and just gulp it down!”

“This is not the same!” Draco protested. “I asked you to not get into trouble with Umbridge! I want to go get help from Dumbledore! It’s two completely different matters!”

“I’m asking you to keep quiet, Draco,” Harry insisted, his voice firm, his jaw set. “Will you do it or not?”

Draco glared at him, and after a moment, he defiantly dropped back into his chair.

“Fine,” he spat. “But you’ll regret asking me this, I can promise you that.”

Draco usually prided himself at being more level-headed than his Gryffindor friends. And he was, there was no doubt about that - his temper did not completely eclipse his brain, the way Harry’s often did, and the way Weasley’s definitely did more often than not.

No, Draco directed his fury more productively. He schemed and plotted to punish the people making him angry, and then he was ready to move Heaven and Hell himself to see it done.

If he was angry enough, though, he might, occasionally, ignore the fine print and forget to consider the consequences said actions could have for himself.

And this - him standing in front of Dolores Umbridge’s office, knocking on her door at half past eight on a Sunday night - this was definitely one of these occasions.

When the door swung open by magical means, Draco's senses were momentarily overwhelmed by an assault of pink - the colour was everywhere, making him feel nauseous, and all these cats - but his eyes quickly zoomed in on his prey.

Their Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher was sitting behind her desk, a wide smile on her face and a glass of some amber liquid in hand. Whiskey? She seemed in a suspiciously good mood. That alone should have been warning enough for Draco. But the knowledge of what she had done to Harry burned in Draco’s mind like fire, and he was too far gone to be stopped.

“Mr Malfoy,” she greeted him pleasantly. “Please do come in. Have you thought about my advice some more?”

“No,” Draco said bluntly, entering the office and closing the door behind himself. “Actually, I’m here to give you some well-meant advice.”

Umbridge’s thin eyebrows raised ever so slightly at that. For a moment, there was silence between them.

“Oh?” she asked. “And may I ask what that is?”

Draco crossed the room and took the seat across from her, not waiting for an invitation. He conducted himself in every way his father had taught him growing up - superiority, arrogance, pureblood poise. He knew it was a gamble, but if he wanted to have any chance at leaving an impression, this was the strategy to take.

“I know what you’re doing, Professor,” Draco drawled, leaning back in the hideously upholstered chair and mustering the toad-like woman from below his eyelids. “I saw Harry’s hand. Imagine what the other students’ parents’ would say if they knew you were physically torturing a student, even one as universally frowned upon as Harry Potter.”

Umbridge was staring at him. Then, her smile widened.

“You’re threatening me,” she deadpanned. “My, my, Draco Malfoy. I did not think you had it in you.”

“‘ Threatening’ is such a strong, nasty word,” Draco said softly. “I’m just wondering. Remember, my father used to be chairman at the board of governors at Hogwarts. I’m a Prefect, too. I’m quite familiar with all things concerning school regulations, as you can imagine. And I know that your chosen way of punishment is - let’s say, equally frowned upon at Hogwarts. It would be a shame if word of your practices made it out, wouldn’t it?”

“I have to admit,” Umbridge muttered, her smile tightening slightly in obvious displeasure. “when Cornelius warned me about you, I did not take him quite seriously. I know your father, you see. I thought, if I made some effort to remind you of the consequences your association with Harry Potter will have for you, you’d choose the correct path yourself. I see now that I couldn’t have been more mistaken.”

“Many people make the error of likening me to my father,” Draco nodded graciously. “It happens. As long as we have come to an understanding.”

“We did indeed,” she agreed. “What do you say, Mr Malfoy? Will a week of detention suffice?”

Draco’s jaw clenched.

“I take it you reject my advice,” he muttered.

“Well noted,” Umbridge smiled. “Maybe you can still be taught, after all.”

“You realise that you give me no choice but to inform the responsible authorities of your methods, then,” Draco countered.

“I will take my chances,” she chuckled. “Tomorrow evening, 7 P.M., my office, Mr Malfoy. Have a good night.”

Draco clenched his fists but forced himself to simply nod and raise from his chair, leaving the office in quick steps.

Well. So much for lying low this year.

It was the next morning that Draco realised exactly how much more than he could chew he had bitten off this time. The Gryffindors were waiting for him at breakfast with a couple of very discomfiting news.

“Snuffles firecalled last night,” Harry told him under his breath at the Gryffindor table. “The Ministry is apparently under the impression that Dumbledore is building some kind of army to use against Fudge, and that’s why Umbridge refuses to teach us any real magic.”

“What?!” Draco hissed. “What complete nonsense - how did a man like this make it Minister?! Of all ridiculous, convoluted ideas-”

“Harry,” Hermione interrupted them in a meaningful tone, and then, the front page of the Daily Prophet was shoved under their noses. Draco, who had previously ignored the copy Aquila had brought him minutes ago in favour of his conversation with Harry, frowned at the headline.

MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM

DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST EVER HIGH INQUISITOR

“Bloody hell,” Draco whispered. Fuck everything, to be honest.

“Umbridge - ‘High Inquisitor’?” Harry repeated darkly. “What does that mean?”

Hermione then began to read them the article, which detailed Umbridge’s new privileges as what was basically the Queen of Hogwarts, with authorities like inspections of her fellow teachers that even overpowered the Headmasters. The highlight, though, was when the article quoted Draco’s father as a worried parent, who claimed to feel much easier now that Dumbledore was subject to ‘fair and objective evaluation’. At that point, Draco groaned loudly and crumbled onto the surface of the table, head buried in his arms.

The one time he decided to play the son-of-Lucius-Malfoy-card to his advantage, his father had already solidified his complete defeat from behind enemy lines. Typical.

“Draco?” Harry asked finally, shaking his shoulder. “Is everything alright? I know this sucks, but your reaction is kind of-”

“I did something stupid last night,” he confessed without surfacing from the fortress of his arms. Then, after a moment, he added: “This is all your fault, by the way. I blame you, and you only.”

“What did you do?” Harry asked wearily.

Draco sighed and sat up, running a hand over his face, not looking at anyone.

“I was angry after what you told us yesterday,” he said haltingly. “About what she did to you in detentions.”

“What did she do to you in detentions?” Hermione interrupted, her voice indignant. “I thought she was just giving you lines, Harry?”

“Not quite,” Draco ground out. “He forgot to mention the fact that he had to cut the lines into the skin of his hand.”

“What?!” Hermione squeaked, her voice high.

“Nevermind,” Harry muttered uncomfortably. “Don’t change the subject. What did you do?”

“I was angry,” Draco repeated. “And you wouldn’t let me go to Dumbledore or anyone who would alert Dumbledore.”

“So you went to Umbridge?!” Harry demanded, green eyes ablaze with something dangerous, something Draco did not see directed at himself very often. “After all the lectures you’ve been giving me about keeping my temper-”

“I kept my temper!” Draco snapped. “That’s not what this is about! I just thought, if I threatened to expose her illegal methods to the public-”

“You threatened Umbridge?” Hermione cut in, sounding despaired. “Oh, Draco!”

“I thought I could scare her away from hurting Harry with the threat of public disgrace!” Draco called defensively. “I know how high-ranking circles like these operate! I thought I had a fair chance! How could I have known that something like this was brewing up in the background!”

“I asked you to stay out of this,” Harry hissed. “Why didn’t you listen?!”

“Because I care about you!” Draco called angrily, getting to his feet. “You might be fine with getting your hand cut open every evening, but I’m not okay with it happening to you! And maybe now that our situations are reversed, you'll understand that!”

And with that, Draco took off, out of the Great Hall and towards Charm class, without his Gryffindor friends.

When he met up with them again in Potions, Harry had calmed down considerably, which was a miracle in itself seeing how Harry went off like an Erumpent at anyone and everyone these days.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered as Draco took his seat next to him. “You are right. I didn’t realise what I was asking of you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Draco grumbled.

“I just wished you hadn’t gotten involved,” Harry sighed. “I really, really don’t want her to hurt you.”

“Too late to do anything about it now,” Draco shrugged. “She’s Queen of Hogwarts, she can cut open whoever she bloody wants.” When Harry didn’t answer, Draco added: “But if this whole mess is good for one thing then maybe, it will help you hold your tongue in the future.”

“I can’t make promises,” Harry made a face. “But right now I feel rather sick at the thought of getting into trouble with her, so you did a pretty good job of messing with my mind.”

“Good,” Draco nodded grimly. “Then it’s worth it.”

Harry looked like he wanted to disagree, but he had no opportunity to do so because Snape picked up class then.

Miraculously, Harry kept his word. Despite having had a lousy day, with Snape grading him unfairly in Potions and Umbridge turning up in Divination and apparently sprouting quite some nonsense in her DADA class with the Gryffindors, Draco found himself alone in his detention with Umbridge the same night. A part of him was fiercely proud of his friend.

Umbridge was still in an abnormally good mood as she directed Draco about her office.

“Have you spoken to your father lately?” she asked him conversationally as Draco took his seat opposite of her, letting his bag drop to the floor beside him.

His jaw clenched.

“No,” he said simply.

“Pity,” she sighed. “He is worried about you, dear. And I cannot say that I blame him. The company you keep. Threatening high-ranking Ministry officials and educators. You are throwing away a promising future, Mr Malfoy.”

“Funny,” Draco said. “He worries about the company I keep, but he supports the educator who intends to use physical torture as a punishment against me. And you wonder why I haven’t spoken to him lately.”

“Well,” Umbridge sighed, shaking her head. “Let’s see if we can’t straighten you out, after all.”

“So, what do you want me to write?” Draco asked. “Another variable of ‘ I must not tell lies’, or something more fitting, like ‘I must not threaten my teacher’ ? Or did you get really creative and formulate something along the lines of ‘ I must listen to my Daddy and become a good little Death Eater’ ? That might be hard to fit on my hand, though.”

Draco knew he was pushing his luck by mouthing off like this, especially now that Umbridge was in a position of such immense power. He really needed to calm down. He had made enough of a point to Harry. There was no need to push this any further. But it felt like he had opened a can of Flobberworms, and now it was hard to put the slippery lid back where it belonged.

“I see Mr Potter really has rubbed off on you quite a bit,” Umbridge commented. “But to answer your question, no. We will go with something more simple. I want you to write ‘ I must choose my friends wisely.’ ”

Draco almost snorted out loud, but he reigned himself in. Instead, he took the strange, sharp quill the teacher handed him and set it to the parchment in front of him. The pain was sharp and brought tears to Draco’s eyes, but he never faltered, instead smoothly writing the words in his neat, perfect script, determined to show no signs of weakness to the woman watching him with eagle’s eyes.

When he was released hours later, he was caught in an invisible embrace on the way to the Slytherin quarters. Despite the initial shock, he knew it was Harry immediately, and let the other boy lead him into an empty Potions classroom where he took off his invisibility cloak.

“Hey,” he said softly. “How was it?”

“Miraculous,” Draco deadpanned, and Harry grimaced.

“I brought you Murtlap essence,” the Gryffindor said, pulling a little bottle from his robes and handing them to Draco. “Hermione told me that should numb the pain in your hand. Soak your hand in it for a while when you’re back in your dormitory.”

“Thank you,” Draco smiled.

Harry reached for Draco’s hand, running a gentle finger over the scratched, reddened skin. Draco flinched at the contact.

“What is she making you write?” Harry asked, not lifting his eyes from the wound.

“‘ I must choose my friends wisely’ ,” Draco snorted. “Old Hag.”

“This is my fault,” Harry whispered. “She’s hurting you because of me.”

Draco sighed.

“I know I said that earlier, but I was angry. She’s an evil cow, Harry, and I can be as pig-headed as you. It’s not your fault.”

Harry did not answer. It was clear that he didn’t believe a word Draco said.

“Hey,” Draco said gently, making Harry meet his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I’m not a sugar-mouse. I won’t die from these cuts. And from now on, we’ll both try to stay out of her radar. Deal?”

“Deal,” Harry nodded. “Though I have a feeling it’s already too late. We’re both in too deep already.”

“You might be right,” Draco shrugged. “But good intentions are better than nothing.”

Harry sighed, and in an unusual display of vulnerability, he stepped closer to Draco and leaned his head against his shoulder. Draco, quite stunned, wrapped his free arm around him, holding him close.

“I’ve never felt as out of place at Hogwarts,” Harry admitted in a quiet voice. “Did you know Seamus isn’t talking to me?”

“Finnigan?” Draco frowned. “No, that went past me.”

“His mother believes the Prophet , and apparently, so does he.”

“Damn.”

“And then the whole thing with Percy. He even wrote Ron a letter to tell him to stay away from me. Of course, Ron was furious with him, but I’m just…”

“It feels like the whole world is against you,” Draco nodded, touching their heads together. “I get it.”

They were silent for a long time, and when Harry finally stepped out of their embrace, he looked a little steadier.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t apologise,” he frowned. “You’ll always have me to lean on. You know that, right?”

Harry smiled, entwining their fingers and squeezing.

Chapter Text

For the next couple of days, as if to taunt Draco, Umbridge seemed to be everywhere - inspecting Snape’s class in their presence, as well Charms and Arithmancy - as if his detentions every night weren’t enough exposure to the old hag already, Draco had to suffer through her company at least once a day in a class not taught by her throughout the following week. The teachers, quite understandably, were in a mood on a scale from irate to outright aggressive, varying their behaviour towards the new High Inquisitor between frozen politeness and utter snapping. Draco was quite impressed, actually, that she made it out of Snape’s class alive, as his Head of House seemed to have been running particularly low on patience throughout her little visit.

More miraculous, even, was that Harry actually kept his temper with Umbridge in her own lessons. Draco was unsure of how he did it, since he was not present in Defence classes with the Gryffindors, but from what he was hearing from Hermione, he must be stubbornly keeping his mouth shut and his eyes on his book.

“You really did a number on him,” Hermione told him as they took their places in the Ancient Runes classroom on Friday. “He’s extremely careful to stay out of trouble. The influence you have on him is quite something.”

“Good to know someone will learn a lesson from my scars,” Draco said grimly, making a fist. The words on the back of his hand were not quite legible yet. Umbridge would be disappointed.

“Well,” Hermione said tentatively. “There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about. Or better, something I want you to convince Harry of.”

“Oh?” Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. “This better be good, Hermione, or I won’t even bother.”

Hermione threw a furtive look around, making sure that no one was paying any attention to them and that class wasn’t about to start anytime soon and that , more than anything else, intrigued Draco. When she turned back to him, his bushy-haired friend was whispering: “It’s about Umbridge, and her not teaching us any defensive magic.”

“Which is obviously a problem,” Draco agreed. “But what do you want Harry to do about it?”

“Well,” Hermione said slowly. “Harry knows a lot more defensive magic than most of us. And he has a lot more hands-on experience than anyone else our age.”

Draco stared at her, his mind slowly catching on to what she was trying to say.

“You want Harry to teach us Defence against the Dark Arts behind Umbridge’s back,” Draco muttered.

“Well, yes,” Hermione shrugged. “I think he’d be good at it. But Harry isn’t too thrilled with the idea.”

“Colour me surprised,” Draco deadpanned.

“He rejects the idea that he’s special in any way,” she sighed. “He said he got out of all these dangerous situations of the last couple of years through luck, not skill, and that he’s got nothing to teach anyone. But you and I both know that’s not true.”

“We do,” Draco agreed. “He’s a powerful wizard, even if he doesn’t see it.”

“Exactly. And a lot of people would profit from his expertise. Just think of all the spells he learned for the third task of the Triwizard Tournament alone!”

“Hold on for a minute, though,” Draco frowned. “Who are we talking about here? Are we talking you, me, Harry, Weasley, or anyone else?”

“Well,” Hermione said, looking squeamish. “I really think we should give everyone who wants to learn an opportunity.”

“Hermione, you can’t trust people. What if anyone rats us out?”

“There are precautions.”

“So you want to help people, but you also want to threaten them in case they talk?”

“Do you have to be so horrible?”

“I’m a Slytherin. We’re not known for our kindness.” Hermione glared at him. Draco glared back. “I’m serious, Hermione.” Draco continued. “If you want me to convince Harry, you have to convince me first that this is a good idea. The boy is loath to get into trouble at the moment, and I quite like that. I’m not sure I’m motivated to change that for a couple of people who might give us away.”

“We won’t ask people who we can’t trust,” Hermione promised. “People like Ginny. Fred, George, Lee. Neville. People like them.”

“Alright,” Draco frowned. “Okay. People like them, I can see. Everyone else, I don’t trust farther than a hex can throw them. I’m serious, Hermione. Be careful who you involve in this. If you want to form a secret study group of sorts, limited numbers are of crucial importance.”

“Understood,” Hermione nodded. “I’ll make sure to keep the numbers small, should you get Harry to agree. Does that mean you’ll try, then?”

Draco sighed, looking towards the front of the class, where Professor Babbling had just entered through her office and dropped her papers onto the desk.

He thought of the alliance his father had with the Dark Lord, and the direct danger his family was in. He thought of the looming war ahead, and of all the students at Hogwarts unable to defend themselves if pressed. He thought of Harry, his forehead pressed against Draco’s shoulder, telling him how he felt out of place ever since he’d returned to school.

“Alright,” he whispered to Hermione just as Professor Babbling was opening the class. “I’ll do it.”

Hermione was beaming at him.

“Hermione put you up to this!” Harry groaned, a day later, glowering at him halfheartedly.

They were sitting outside, enjoying what might very well be the last feelers of summer, their books spread between them. Hermione had swept Weasley off to the Gryffindor common room a couple of minutes ago, giving Draco the opportunity to speak to Harry privately, and naturally, she couldn’t have been more obvious in her set-up. Sometimes she seriously underestimated their friends’ deductive abilities. “I told her I’d think about it!”

“And I told her I’d talk to you about it,” Draco chuckled. “So maybe that will help you think. Or don’t you want my opinion?”

“Don’t do this,” Harry moaned. “Prat. That’s not what I meant.”

“Good to hear,” Draco smiled. “Now that you’re listening, let me tell you why I think it’s a good idea.” Harry just looked at him, eyes wary, but protests non-forthcoming, which meant he was allowed to continue. “Reason one - and while not the most important, I still think this is a good one - imagine the face of the old hag if we all pass our practical OWL portions with flying colours without her having ever seen us lift a wand. In your toad-like face, bitch.” Harry snorted but did not comment. Draco continued. “Reason two,” he said, his tone turning more serious,” as much as I’d like to go with the whole ‘fun underground rebellion group ’ idea, the situation is actually dire. You know it, and I know it. War is around the corner, and my father will ask me to choose a side. I will need to be able to defend myself. And I won’t be the only one, Harry. I know Hermione and Weasley feel the same way. We need to learn how to defend ourselves. And if the appointed teachers aren’t doing it…” he let the sentence hang in the air. Harry was staring at him, green eyes burning with emotion, and his fingers reached out to find Draco’s.

“But I’m not a teacher , Draco,” Harry whispered. “I’m just me .”

“That’s enough, Harry,” Draco stressed. “All the knowledge you - we , in some cases - have gathered until now is more than enough. And in any case, this is a study group. We can work together on new knowledge. You don’t need to be perfect. No one expects you to be. But for our purposes, you’re exactly what we need. Believe me.”

Harry sighed, closing his eyes. Then, he shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, opening them again and locking gazes with Draco. “If you say so. I’ll do it. Just the three of you, then?”

“Well,” Draco chuckled darkly. “Here’s the thing. Hermione’s got other plans.”

“Does she,” Harry said flatly.

“She says everyone who wants to learn should be given the opportunity,” Draco rolled his eyes. “She promised me that she’ll only ask people we could trust, or I wouldn’t have agreed.”

“Half the school thinks I’m a lunatic,” Harry pointed out. “Who would want to take lessons from me?”

“The other half?” Draco joked. “I’d guess?”

“Very funny.”

“Relax, Harry. I don’t like the idea of a bigger group, either. But we have to trust Hermione to choose the right people and then properly threaten them into not telling anyone about what we are doing.”

“That sounds twisted,” Harry frowned.

“Well,” Draco shrugged. “Welcome to the world of war, Harry. You’d better get used to ‘twisted’ real fast.”

They left it to Hermione to organise a meeting with a couple of interested people for their first Hogsmeade weekend. As tempted as Draco was to prod, he kept his nose out of it, knowing that his enquiries would most likely end in a vehement confrontation that Draco was loath to undertake. He felt more than a little squirmish at the idea of involving people, but then again, he had never exactly been the social type. His list of friends included Hermione, Harry, Viktor and a couple of chosen Weasleys, maybe. There were plenty of people he was friendly with, like Longbottom or Lovegood, but it would be a stretch to call them his friends, and Draco drew a clear line where it was due. So maybe it was natural that he was less inclined to trust others.

Or maybe it was just that Gryffindors were horrible do-gooders who didn’t stop to think for a moment when they wanted to make an idea happen. One of the two.

Nevertheless, they made their way out to the village in their usual constellation on Saturday morning after some strange run-in with Filch, who seemed to have been checking Harry for dungbombs, which prompted Harry to tell them about an incident that had apparently occurred recently in the owlery, where Filch had demanded to see Harry’s letter because he suspected it to be an order for said banned objects.

“He said he was tipped off you were ordering dungbombs? But who tipped him off?” Hermione asked, looking as intrigued as Draco felt.

“I dunno,” Harry shrugged. “Maybe Nott, he’d think it was a laugh.”

“You’re naive, Harry,” Draco frowned.” This wasn’t Nott. Someone was trying to have a look at your correspondence, and I can only think of one person with the motive.”

Harry turned to look at Draco so fast that it was a miracle he didn’t twist his neck.

“You think Filch was trying to spy on me?!”

“Not Filch,” Draco shook his head. “Filch was only the messenger. He was coerced. No, I think it was Umbridge.”

Harry stared at him, mouth open.

“Bloody hell,” whispered Weasley. “Please tell me he’s overreacting, ‘Mione?”

“I don’t think he is,” Hermione said grimly. “I think this is exactly what happened. You have to be careful, Harry. The letter that you sent that day, was it for Sirius?”

“Yes,” Harry nodded, gulping.

“Then that was a really close call,” Draco sighed. “Even if you properly coded your letter… Having it intercepted by Umbridge would have led to uncomfortable questions.”

“Indeed,” Hermione agreed. “But now that we know what she is trying to do, we just have to take extra precautions to make sure she finds absolutely nothing.”

Draco threw a sideways glance at Harry. As much as Harry had tried to stay out of trouble lately, and had managed admirably so, he had never been one for extra precautions and extreme care . This year proved to be more of an adventure each day.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Harry asked, effectively changing the subject. “The Three Broomsticks?”

“Oh - no,” Hermione shook her head. “no, it’s always packed and really noisy. I’ve told the others to meet us in the Hog’s Head, that other -”

“Wait,” Draco interrupted her, coming to a sudden halt and staring at her incredulously. “You scheduled our secret meeting in a dodgy old pub where no one ever goes and anyone could listen in on us?!”

“No one that matters will be there, Draco,” Hermione argued impatiently.

“How do you know that?!” Draco demanded. “We just established Umbridge is after Harry! How do we know she didn’t hire anyone to follow after him? This pub is a terrible idea, Hermione!”

“Well, we already asked everyone to go there!” Hermione pointed out. “It’s too late to change plans now! Next time, instead of complaining all the time, why don’t you just get more involved from the start?!”

“You know what?” Draco rolled his eyes and started walking again. “That’s exactly what I’ll do. The Hog’s Head. Honestly.”

The Hog’s Head was a shabby little pub at the other end of Hogsmeade, one where no one sane ever went because it was dirty and unhygienic and Draco refused to drink anything from the glass that was offered to them. Instead, he drank his butterbeer directly from the bottle, looking around suspiciously at all the cloaked people sitting at the tables across the pub. The bartender was taking them in just as suspiciously as if he knew that Hogwarts students coming up here would be up to no good. Well. He wasn’t wrong.

“This is a spectacularly horrible idea,” Draco repeated under his breath. “I’m telling you, we’ll get busted.”

“So what?!” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Draco, I double- and triple-checked the school rules. We’re not out of bounds. Study groups and homework groups are definitely allowed. I just don’t think it’s a good idea if we parade what we’re doing.”

“Hermione, this is not a homework group,” Draco rolled his eyes. “This is the Ministry’s worst nightmare coming true. We are learning to defend ourselves, and in Umbridge’s eyes, we’ll build our little student army against Fudge. Right under her nose. So if she finds out, there will be hell to pay.”

She didn’t answer, and they sipped their butterbeers in silence. Draco saw Harry and Weasley exchange uncertain looks. He imagined they weren’t used to Draco and Hermione bickering like that in front of them.

“So,” Harry asked, “who did you say is supposed to be meeting us?”

“Just a couple of people,” Hermione shrugged, far too blasé for Draco’s liking. He really regretted not getting more involved now. “I told them to be here about now,” she added, checking her watch. “and I’m sure they all know where it is - oh, look, this might be them now.”

The door opened, and in came a string of people so large that Draco felt the very real urge to hit Hermione with a hex. It started out simply enough with Longbottom, Thomas, Brown and the Patils, but then continued on to Cho Chang, which unsettled Draco for more than one reason, and then moved on to other Gryffindors who were decidedly not from their year, and Hufflepuffs who weren’t, and Ravenclaws who he hadn’t even met , and at some point, Draco turned to Hermione, livid.

“ Limited numbers , we said,” he hissed, under his breath. “ A couple of people. Are you insane , Granger?!”

Harry, on Hermione’s other side, looked just as distressed as Draco and nodded vehemently in support of his accusations. Hermione, though, seemed pleased by the turnout, and quite unconcerned.

“Yes, well, the idea seemed quite popular,” she half-nodded, half-shrugged. “Ron, do you want to pull up some more chairs?”

Draco and Harry locked eyes, communicating their unhappiness without words. Draco then took a look around, seeing that they were drawing more than a few looks to themselves, both by the bartender and the other customers. Draco cursed under his breath. He was going to murder Hermione.

Fred Weasley ordered a round of butterbeers for everyone, and they all got settled. Harry, quite unnecessarily, moved places to sit next to Draco.

“Is it too late to run?” he asked under his breath, making Draco smile.

“I’m afraid so,” he sighed. “We can just hope to Merlin this will have no consequences and never let Hermione plan anything on her own again.”

“You know this is a resolution we will never put into action, right?” Harry pointed out with a snort.

“Right now, I’m angry enough to believe it,” Draco ensured him.

“Fair enough,” Harry muttered darkly when people were sitting down to face him, as if expecting him to jump into a speech at any moment. He leaned over to speak to Hermione. “What have you been telling people?” he hissed. “What are they expecting?”

“I’ve told you, they just want to hear what you’ve got to say,” Hermione said soothingly, but at seeing Harry’s face, she added hastily: “you don’t have to say anything yet, I’ll speak to them first.”

Longbottom took the seat across from them then, greeting them cheerfully, and then, Chang and her friend sat down as well. She smiled at Harry as she did, and Draco couldn’t help but take note of the way Harry froze and flushed at the simple contact. It felt like a pinnacle of ice piercing Draco’s heart, and suddenly, he was furious with Chang. Diggory hadn’t even been dead for four months and here she was, already messing around with Harry’s head again.

What kind of person did this make her?

When everyone had a drink and a chair, Hermione finally got to her feet to open the meeting. At first, she was hardly comprehensible from nerves, and Draco took a grim satisfaction from that. He loved her, but it served her right for inviting so many people when he’s specifically told her not to.

“Well - erm - well, you know why you’re here. Erm… well, Harry here had the idea - I mean,” she had to amend when Harry threw her a nasty look. “I had the idea - that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defence Against the Dark Arts - and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us - because nobody could call that Defence Against the Dark Arts -”

“Hear, hear,” called Goldstein, a Ravenclaw from their year, and that seemed to encourage Hermione.

“Well,” she continued. “I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.” She looked sideways at Harry for a moment, and resumed: “And by that, I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just in theory but doing the real spells -”

“You want to pass your Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL too, though, I bet?,” said Corner, another Ravenclaw from their year. Draco rolled his eyes at the house cliché being fulfilled.

“Of course I do,” Hermione answered at once. “But more than that, I want to be properly trained in defence because… because…” she took a deep breath, and Draco was conflicted. He knew what was coming now, and he was not sure this was smart. Not in front of this many people, and not this publicly. But it was too late now. “because Lord Voldemort is back,” Hermione finished.

Draco, used to the name being said out loud by now, didn’t flinch, but several others did. Chang’s friend shrieked out loud and poured butterbeer over herself like a toddler.

“Well… that’s the plan, anyway,” Hermione said. “If you want to join us, we need to decide how we’re going to -”

“Where’s the proof You-Know-Who’s back?” a Hufflepuff Draco recognized from the Quidditch pitch demanded rather rudely.

“Well, Dumbledore believes it-” Hermione began.

“You mean, Dumbledore believes him, ” the boy said, pointing at Harry. Draco’s finger twitched to reach for his wand, anger pouring through him.

Definitely too many people on the invitation list.

“Who are you ?” Weasley demanded, matching the Hufflepuff’s tone one-to-one.

“Zacharias Smith. And I think we’ve got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who’s back.”

“I’ll tell you what you have a right to, Smith,” Draco said smoothly, “and that is a nice and painless Obliviate if you don’t shut your mouth right now. Then we can send you your merry way and you can pretend none of this ever happened. Deal?”

“Draco,” Hermione sighed.

“Are you threatening me, Malfoy?” Smith ground out, flushing an angry, ugly purple.

“Yes,” Draco said simply. “What we are offering here is, quite frankly, a privilege. None of us have  to do this. Harry doesn’t have to do any of this. Harry doesn’t have to answer any of your stupid questions. We could just study for ourselves and leave you all to die, what is it to us, really? So if you want to learn, you better mind your manners, or you’re going home without any memories of this meeting. Good luck filling Umbridge in on something you don’t remember happening.”

Draco was bluffing, of course. He knew the theory of memory charms, but he never in a million years could pull them off without a trace. But Smith didn’t know that, and from the look on the Hufflepuff’s face, the idea was intimidating enough to make him pause.

There was a tense silence among the group and then, Harry’s hand was on Draco’s arm.

“It’s okay,” he said quietly. Then, he turned to the group with sharp eyes. “What makes me say You-Know-Who is back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn’t believe him, you won’t believe me, and I’m not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.”

It looked like Smith was about to say something else, but when Draco casually removed his wand from his pocket, eyeing him closely, he kept silent.

“So,” Hermione said. Her voice was high and nervous again, the way it had been when she had started speaking at the beginning of the meeting. “So… like I was saying… if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we’re going to do it, how often we’re going to meet and where we’re going to -”

“Is it true,” Bones, a Hufflepuff girl from their year, interrupted, eyes focused on Harry, “that you can produce a Patronus?” Murmurs followed her question, and everyone was looking at Harry again, clearly intrigued.

“Yeah,” Harry said, slightly defensive.

“A corporeal Patronus?” the girl asked eagerly, making Harry pause.

“Er- you don’t know Madam Bones, do you?”

“She’s my auntie,” Bones smiled brightly. “She told me about your hearing. So - is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?”

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Blimey, Harry,” Lee Jordan, the Weasley twins’ best friend, muttered, clearly impressed. “I never knew that.”

“Mum told Ron not to spread it around,” said Fred, grinning at Harry. “She said you got enough attention as it was.”

“She’s not wrong,” Harry murmured. Several people laughed, and even Draco cracked a smile. He could tell that the mood was slowly shifting, and he couldn’t help but feel slightly thankful towards Bones. He reckoned Hufflepuffs were good for some things, after all.

People kept throwing questions at Harry then. Did he really kill that Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets with that sword in Dumbledore’s office in his second year? Did he really save the Philosopher’s Stone from You-Know-Who in his first year? And then Chang, of all people, pointed out what Harry had to face throughout the Triwizard Tournament, and Draco wanted to strangle her because she didn’t get to say these things. Where had she been when Harry had had to face all of it?! She’d been with Diggory, thank you very much.

“Look,” Harry spoke up, at last, and the crowd around them fell silent. “I… I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to be modest or anything, but… I had a lot of help with all that stuff…”

“Not with the dragon, you didn’t,” Corner injected. “That was a seriously cool bit of flying…”

“Yeah, well-”

“And nobody helped you get rid of the Dementors this summer,” said Bones.

“No,” Harry amended. “No, ok. I know, I did bits of it without help, but the point I’m trying to make is-”

“Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” Smith demanded, and the moment he’d spoken, his eyes widened, and he nervously glanced at Draco.

“Here’s an idea,” Weasley groaned. “Why don’t you shut your mouth?”

“Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him,” Smith called hotly, looking as if he was pressing on despite his better judgement, “and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it!”

“That’s not what he said,” snarled Fred.

“Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” George joined in, pulling some monstrosity from his back that had Smith flinch away from them instinctively.

“Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,” said Fred.

“Yes, well,” Hermione said hastily, bringing the attention back to herself before the situation escalated further. Pity. Draco had been rather enjoying Smith’s squirming. “moving on… the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?”

It seemed like, miraculously, they were. What they were not agreed on, though, was basically anything else: time, place, or even basic rules. After a long and at times borderline ridiculous discussion that caused Draco to almost hex Smith two more times, everybody had signed down their name on what served as a makeshift member list (which Draco assumed Hermione had somehow charmed to provide a magically binding contract, though she had not clearly stated that fact in front of everyone - he was going to have to check up with her later) and the group was on their merry way again, leaving it to the three of them to find them a time and place for their first meeting and to spread the word.

“Well, I think that went quite well,” Hermione said happily as they left the pub, but when Draco looked at her pointedly, she let out a deep sigh. “Oh, come on, Draco!”

“What exactly were you on when you invited this Zacharias Smith persona?” he enquired. “Do I have to educate you about potion consumption, Hermione?”

“He overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested,” Hermione said defensively. “What was I to do? But the more people the better, really -”

“No,” Draco contradicted, rather sharply. “More people make it dangerous, Hermione. Why do you insist on ignoring my warnings?!”

“What’s done is done, Draco,” she shrugged. “Just calm down and roll with it.”

“Just stay silent and save your reckless Gryffindor arses, as always, you mean,” Draco grumbled. “One of these days, I’ll refuse to do exactly that, you know, and then good luck to you. You wouldn’t survive a day.”

“Well, I don’t think we need to worry about Smith,” Harry shrugged, sending Draco a smile. “He might be a pain in the arse, but he’s more than just a little afraid of you, if I may say so.”

Draco snorted.

“Someone had to play the bad Slytherin,” he shrugged. “I’m the only one who fits the role.” He was quiet for a moment, then he added: “He wasn’t the only one I didn’t like the look of, though. That girl Chang brought, for example. She clearly didn’t want to be there. People like that are a risk. It can’t hurt to threaten them a little. I don’t care whether or not they like me as long as they don’t blab.”

“Speaking about Cho,” Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. “There’s one good thing that came out of today, Harry.”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked, a little too quickly. Draco’s heart fell.

“Well,” Hermione replied, rather smugly, “she just couldn’t keep her eyes off you, could she?”

Harry didn’t answer, but he grinned at her, and Draco felt like he was going to throw up.

This wasn’t news, he reminded himself. He knew that Harry fancied Cho Chang. And he’d known as well that Harry’s feelings for him were merely platonic. He should be happy for Harry, really, should his feelings finally be returned. He didn’t want his friend to pine forever, the way Draco was bound to do, right? One of them should be allowed to have a happy relationship, and it might as well be Harry, who had so much else denied in his life. Maybe, one day, Draco would be able to move on as well, seeing Harry settled down with someone else.

Draco knew that, in his head. But his jealousy was singing a different kind of symphony, one of hate and fury against Cho Chang, who was vain and feeble and selfish and who was taking Harry away from Draco when she didn’t deserve him.

Draco didn’t talk much on the journey back to the castle, but none of the others seemed to notice.

Chapter Text

Harry was in a much better mood for the rest of the weekend, and while Draco liked to think that it was because of a sense of purpose being returned to him, he couldn't help but feel that a large part of it was down to Chang’s attention, and Hermione’s comment about it. It left him rather raw quite raw himself, even though he tried his best not to show it.

On Monday, though, all the rebellion- and romance-induced euphoria came to a sudden halt. A sign had been added to the notice boards of each common room overnight, stating that “by order of the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts, all student organisations, societies, teams, groups and clubs are henceforth disbanded”, and that the permission to reform the aforementioned could only be granted by Umbridge herself. Draco cursed under his breath as he read the notice over and over.

“I told you the Hog’s Head was a terrible idea, Hermione!” Draco hissed at her hours later, in the corridor in front of the Potions classroom. “But no , no one ever listens to Draco because what does a Slytherin know, right?!”

“Now you're being unfair,” Hermione protested, looking wounded. “I always respect your opinions.”

“But you always think you know better, anyway,” Draco deadpanned.

“We wanted it to be a secret before this, as well,” Hermione reminded him, her voice trembling slightly. “So technically, it doesn't make any difference whether-”

“Doesn't make any difference?!” Draco repeated incredulously. “Hermione, until now, if one of these many people we don't know very well decided to talk, we would get in trouble, but we still had the school rules on our sides. Now we have nothing. ”

“So you're bailing on us?!” Weasley demanded, a tone of anger in his voice.

“Oh, do shut up!” Draco snapped. “As if. I just want to make my displeasure with the way this has been handled known. There are too many people in on this, and we've not been careful enough.”

“Well, we heard you, loud and clear,” Harry sighed, obviously trying to put an end to their quarrel. “It's too late to change course now, though, so we will have to find a way to deal with the circumstances.”

Draco gave him a sour look, but kept further comments to himself.

Umbridge’s announcement wasn't the only excitement of the day, though. Hedwig returned from a journey from Sirius with clear signs of having been attacked. Harry had brought her to Professor Grubbly-Plank for the teacher to take care of her, but it was obvious that the attacker - most probably  Umbridge - had been after the letter Hedwig had been carrying and had possibly read it. In which case the contents - that Sirius would be firecalling the Gryffindor common room that very night - may have leaked. Of course, there was no way of letting Sirius know and aborting their plans. Even if, say Aquila, could reach Sirius in time, there was no telling whether he would be intercepted, too. So there was nothing to do but wait for the night to come and hope for the best.

And indeed, after an almost sleepless night on Draco’s side, he was filled in on just how close of a call it was.

“She knew he was there,” Harry told him grimly over a walk on the grounds. “She kinda - grabbed for him in the fire, but Sirius was quicker.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco breathed. “He shouldn't try calling again. I know it must be hard, being cooped up wherever he is, but he mustn't put himself at risk like that.”

“I get the feeling he's not very good at keeping safe,” Harry muttered.

“Well, I know someone with the same condition,” Draco snorted. “I call it ‘Gryffindorism’.”

“Haha,” Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m serious, though. He’s unhappy because he doesn't feel useful, and that makes him reckless. I'm worried.”

Draco sighed, and lightly bumped his shoulder against Harry’s.

“You’ve got so much to worry about already,” Draco pointed out. “I bet Sirius would hate knowing he's another point on your list.”

“I can't help it,” Harry shrugged. “He's all the family I have left. Well, the only one who likes me, anyway.”

“If I've learned one thing in the last couple of years, Harry,” Draco frowned, “it's that family, like everything else in life,  is a matter of perception. I used to think it's all about blood and marriage bonds, but it's really not. Look at my father and me. Look at Sirius and my mother, or her sister Andromeda. That's blood, and still, so much went wrong for the wrong reasons. And then, look at you and the Weasleys. A family is what feels like home, Harry. And that's not just Sirius to you.”

Harry smiled at that, a warm, soft smile that made his green eyes smolder, and he reached out to entwine their fingers. Draco tried very hard not to melt.

It was already the very next day that Harry suddenly came up with an idea for the perfect location for their secret study sessions. Apparently, Dobby had tipped him off to the existence of a room at Hogwarts that would change its appearance at will, and conceal itself from intruders if the user so wished.

“The Room of Requirement?” Draco repeated, eyebrows furrowed. “I never heard of it. Why isn't such a room better known?”

“How many people know all of the castle’s secrets, really?” Harry shrugged, enthused. “But it's perfect for our purposes. Umbridge won't be able to get in unless she knows exactly what we use the room for…”

“... Which I still have my own thoughts about, but alright, let's just go on assuming everyone is perfectly trustworthy and keeps their silence,” Draco mutters.

“It will be fine,” Harry told him, clearly unconcerned. “Tonight at seven will be the first meeting. Make sure to be there early, I'll need you for the setup and stuff.”

And so Draco met the three Gryffindors about fifteen minutes to seven in front of the tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy’s foolish attempt at training trolls for the ballet. Harry told them to walk past that tapestry three times, all the while focusing on the thing they wished for, aka what the room was supposed to look like when it appeared. Draco hadn't really put a lot of thought into what they would need, but he pictured a wide space with helpful devices and good security.

Then, after various paces back and forth, Hermione called out in surprise, and when Draco opened his eyes, a door had appeared. Harry was the one to step up and pull it open, revealing everything Draco had imagined, and so much more. The room was spacious, held enough cushions in its centre for everyone to take a comfortable seat (or fall, should they attempt stunning spells), shelves full of instruments such as secrecy detectors and books on defensive spells, the latter which pleased especially Hermione.

It didn't take long for the other members to slowly start filing into the room, everyone awed by its existence the moment they entered. When they'd all gathered, Hermione suggested that there should be an official election of leadership, to which Chang, the little suck-up, immediately pointed out that of course, Harry was the leader. As if no one knew that. And they said Ravenclaws were the smart ones. Hermione, though, insisted on a proper vote to give Harry the formal authority and Draco agreed just to spite Chang. Of course, no one dared voting against Harry, not even that scumbag Smith.

Next, Hermione suggested they'd come up with a name for their little group, which sprouted quite some more serious discussion. Though Draco’s personal favourite was Fred’s ‘The Ministry of Magic are Morons Group’ - it had such a nice ring to it - they ended up settling on Ginny’s suggestion, ‘Dumbledore’s Army’, DA for short, which Draco had to admit was quite badass and in-Fudge’s-face.

Harry then started them up with Expelliarmus, dividing them into pairs to practice the spell. Draco was partnered with Longbottom, tutoring him to the best of his patience but getting thoroughly distracted once Harry moved over towards Chang and her friend. He couldn't hear what they were saying, being too far away, but he could see from afar how embarrassed and red-faced they both looked, and it made his stomach drop. He only directed his eyes back to Longbottom when his wand soared out of his hand and the Gryffindor boy cheered.

Harry called them all back to attention a little past nine, settling their next meeting for the following Wednesday and closing the session. He sent all the members off in little groups, checking that they had free passage via the map, until it was only him, Hermione, Weasley and Draco left in the room.

“That was really, really good, Harry!” Hermione raved, and the answering smile on Harry’s face was brighter than anything he had shown them this year.

It made Draco feel terribly guilty for feeling so subdued himself.

“Yeah, it was!” Weasley called, none of them noticing Draco’s lack of enthusiasm, and Draco was thankful for it. “Did you see me disarm Hermione, Harry?”

“Only once!” countered Hermione, and as they bickered, Draco told Harry, under his breath: “I’ll take off, too. Great lesson, Harry.”

“Thanks!” Harry beamed. “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“See you,” Draco nodded, forcing himself to smile before heading for the door, leaving the Gryffindors behind. The smile fell from his face as soon as the door fell closed behind him.

He hadn’t really been head over heels with the idea of this secret club from the beginning. He’d let Hermione talk him into it, more than anything, and now, if he was honest, he kind of regretted convincing Harry of it, which he knew was selfish of him. Harry seemed happy with how things had turned out - he had a purpose, and a chance to spend time with the girl he fancied. And he wanted Harry to be happy, didn’t he?

Except he didn’t want him around Chang. Maybe Draco was being nasty and bitter, but she didn’t deserve Harry. She wasn’t good enough for him.

Only that wasn’t up to Draco to decide, was it?

And then there was the fact that he still didn’t trust half of the people in Dumbledore’s Army. He wasn’t a philanthropist like the Gryffindors. He didn’t believe in the good of people. His instincts told him that the odds that one of these people would talk, especially when put under pressure, were extremely high. They had no strong loyalties towards Harry or towards any of them, really, and not everyone’s intentions were noble like Harry’s or Hermione’s. Hell, Draco was the best example. He would throw each of them over if it would save his friends, and he knew that without a shadow of a doubt. Why would the others be any different?

So, yes. The Gryffindors might be busy celebrating their little underground society, but Draco was just waiting for it to all blow up in their faces.

The DA kept an erratic schedule over the next couple of weeks between Quidditch practices of each house team, but they made it work. Hermione, ever the inventive one when she set her mind to something, had charmed the serial numbers on fake Galleons with the Protean Charm to show the time and date of the next meeting, making it easier to communicate amongst the members.

“You know,” Draco frowned, studying the coin moodily as the last of the members slipped out of the room after the meeting. “It’s funny. All these years, we could have used an easier way of communicating with each other, what with me being across the castle from you every night. But I guess the DA’s needs served as more of a motivation, didn’t they?”

Hermione looked up at him, abashed and clearly hurt. Harry was frowning at him. It was Weasley who answered, though.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Malfoy?” he snapped. “If you have something to say, out with it, but don’t play that passive-aggressive game with us.”

Draco bristled, but thought better than to answer. He didn’t want to fight. With a sigh, he got to his feet.

“I’m calling it a night,” he announced. “See you, tomorrow.”

“Draco, wait,” Harry muttered, but when Draco didn’t turn around, he found the other boy accompanying him out into the corridor. “Okay, what’s wrong?” Harry asked, lowering his voice to make sure they weren’t overheard. “You’ve been off for a while and I don’t like it. Talk to me.”

“What? So you’ll ignore my suggestions again, as you usually do?” Draco countered.

“That’s not fair,” Harry frowned. “I always listen to you. You know that.”

Draco sighed, deflating.

“Okay, fine,” Draco admitted. “You do. Mostly. When you’re not being a stubborn Gryffindor.”

“What is it really that’s got your wand in a twist?” Harry demanded.

“This whole group,” Draco shrugged. “Hermione first used me to talk you into it, and then she ignored all my advice about being careful who to ask. And I don’t trust these people. I don’t trust Smith and Edgecombe -” and Chang “ and the whole lot of them. And if only one of them gives us away, there’s going to be hell to pay, and I just hate the fact that none of you seems to care about that. You’re all turning a blind eye, and most importantly, you’re ignoring my input, and that, quite frankly, sucks big time. I’m used to being overruled by Gryffindors, but Hermione and I had a deal when we first started this.”

Harry was silent for a moment, just chewing on his bottom lip and considering him. Then, he nodded once, sharply.

“I understand,” he said. “I would be pissed, too, if I were you. I had no idea you set some kind of ground rules in the beginning. You need to talk to her about this.”

“You know Hermione,” Draco scoffed. “She always thinks she’s right, especially because she’s acting for the higher good. What am I, the selfish Slytherin, even supposed to say to that? I can just suck it up and sulk in my corner. Isn’t that what everyone expects of me, anyway?”

“Oh, come off it,” Harry sighed, bumping his shoulder. “That’s not how we see you and you know that.”

“Weasley does,” Draco argued, and before Harry could open his mouth to protest, he continued: “And anyway, I have a bone to pick with you, too. I know the whole Umbridge and DA circus completely ate all our time and attention, but I was under the impression we were going to work on teaching you Occlumency this year.”

“Shit,” Harry cursed, guilt flooding his face. “I completely forgot.”

“Of course you did,” Draco rolled his eyes. “I only spent all summer teaching myself Legilimency so you would learn to protect your mind Harry, but sure.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry sighed. “I really am! So much has been happening, and… You know what? Tomorrow, after dinner -”

“I have Quidditch practice after dinner,” Draco rolled his eyes. “We happen to play each other this weekend, remember?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but suggested instead: “How about Thursday evening then? Neither of us has Quidditch practice, and there’s no DA scheduled. We should be able to meet up.”

“Alright then,” Draco nodded, a little reluctantly. “If you can pull yourself away from your many appointments.”

“Prat,” Harry smiled fondly. “You know you need just say the word and I’ll drop whatever I’m doing. But no, you have to go all melodramatic on me first.”

“Says who,” Draco countered, though he felt his cheeks heating up at the accusation. “We’ve been walking on eggshells around you all year, Mister, so you best hold your tongue because. Pot. Kettle. Both are very black, my dear friend.”

Harry laughed at that, but they both fell silent when they heard a pawing sound from down the corridor.

“Shit,” Harry whispered. “I think that’s Mrs Norris. We’d better hurry to our common rooms. See you tomorrow at breakfast?”

“See you,” Draco smiled in parting, relieved to find that the sentiment behind the smile was real.

When Hermione sat down next to Draco for Arithmancy the next morning, she tenderly placed two rolls of parchments down in front of him. Draco recognised them as part of a set he had once given Hermione as a birthday present - the top of the parchments had delicate, silver holders attached to it, adorned with stones the colour of each of the Hogwarts houses. The ones lying on their shared desk now were sparkling with emeralds and sapphires.

Draco frowned, looking up at Hermione, but his friend’s face was hidden behind her bushy mane, though he could tell that she looked flushed and miserable.

“I charmed them,” she muttered, her voice very quiet. “I gave Harry the twin to the green one, and I have the twin to the blue one. When we write on them, the other should receive the message. The handle will turn gold as notification. It worked flawlessly when I tested them last night, but it might need some tweaking. I needed to adjust the spell quite a bit.”

“Oh,” Draco said, his throat going dry. “Thank you.”

“It’s an apology,” Hermione whispered. “Harry told me what you said last night. About me ignoring all your input about the DA. I’m really sorry. I hadn’t realised you felt that way.”

Draco took a deep breath, his fingers idly stroking over one of the smooth emeralds on the parchment’s handle.

“You tend to get quite caught up in your enthusiasm for a cause,” Draco shrugged. “It’s a strength, but it also makes things difficult, sometimes. It’s hard to argue with you when one has legitimate concerns. Which I still think mine are.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione repeated. “The last thing I wanted is for you to feel like you’re not being taken seriously. I take you very seriously, Draco. I hope you know that.”

Draco smiled, though he suspected it did look a little tired. But he was rewarded when Hermione hesitantly returned the gesture.

The parchments were broken in the very same night. Draco almost missed Harry’s message, but when he returned from the bathroom in the evening, ready to tug himself in for the night, he found the emerald-adorned handle of the parchment on his nightstand turned golden. He picked it up curiously, unrolling it, only to find Harry’s messy scrawl waiting for him.

So, you and Hermione talked then?

Draco snorted under his breath, careful not to draw any attention to himself, but the only one still awake seemed to be Zabini, and he only looked up once from his book, raised an eyebrow and continued to ignore him.

Draco leaned over the side of his bed to rummage through his bag until he found one of his self-inking quills before settling back into bed and drawing the curtains.

Yes, we talked , Draco wrote, and added, for good measure, you big Blabbermouth.

Well, you wouldn’t have said anything, and someone had to, Harry wrote back immediately, clearly still awake, too. I’m just watching out for you.

Draco had to smile at that.

Sap, he wrote.

Git, Harry answered.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

So, Draco wrote, easily changing the subject. Tomorrow night, Occlumency.

Right. Let’s meet in the Room of Requirement? We should be undisturbed there.

Sounds good. Try to not be too agitated when you turn up, it might make things difficult.

I’ll… try?

It’s all I ask. Goodnight, Harry.

Goodnight, Draco.

Draco smiled, spelling the parchment clean before rolling it up once more and placing it back on his bedside table. Talking to Harry like this, he could almost imagine what it would be like to share a dormitory with him.

Weasley didn’t even know what a lucky bastard he was.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Harry panted as he burst into the room fifteen minutes after their designated time, dropping into the cushioned seat the room had provided when Draco had asked it to. “Angelina caught me on my way out of the Great Hall and she was going on and on about Saturday’s match and I just couldn’t get away. I swear, I’m starting to wish for Wood's return because Angelina is starting to reaaaaally get on my nerves.”

“What did she ask of you? Pushing me off my broom?” Draco asked, cracking a smile.

“All but,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. We’re not here to talk about Quidditch.”

“Indeed, we’re not,” Draco agreed, settling back more comfortably into the couch he was perched on.

For the occasion, he had conjured the farthest thing from a classroom he could think of - so instead they found themselves in a cosy sitting room with a set of generously cushioned seats, a fireplace, and a coffee table in the centre with some writing utensils should they need them. The floor was covered with a fluffy carpet and Draco sort of wished he could move out of the Slytherin quarters and live down here instead. He was sure the room would provide a splendid bed, too, should he ask.

“Alright,” Harry asked, sitting up a little straighter and looking at Draco curiously. “How do I do Occlumency?”

Draco took a deep breath, his brows furrowing.

“I think it’s best if we don’t jump into it like a Niffler into the gold pile,” he pointed out. “It’s a mindset rather than a spell to use, so I’d say we prepare you for it slowly. Get comfortable.” When Harry just frowned in confusion, Draco rolled his eyes and gestured at him. “Drop your bag. Sit however you feel at ease. Remove your shoes, if you want. Whatever you do when you get up to the Gryffindor Common Room.”

Harry still looked taken aback, but after a moment, he did as Draco asked. He dropped his satchel of books to the floor and toed off his shoes. He hesitated for an instant before he moved over to Draco’s side on the couch, which provided him which much more space to stretch out on. Nodding to himself in apparent approval, crossed his legs, and faced him.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much better,” Draco grinned. “You need to be calm to achieve this kind of magic, so it’s best if you're relaxed, at least while you're learning it. If you get the gist of it, you should be able to do it under any circumstances.”

“Okay,” Harry gave a small nod of understanding.

“Now,” Draco began. “I know this may sound weird to you, but remember that when I learned Occlumency, I was only a child. I was maybe three or four, so my mother used a very practical approach. Nevertheless, I still think that it's very useful, so I’m going to try it the same way with you. I know it might seem strange to you at first, but please try to think past that, okay?”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “Whatever you say.”

“Alright,” Draco nodded. “So, my mother used to tell me that my mind was nothing but a cupboard.”

“A cupboard?” Harry repeated, raising his eyebrows.

“A cupboard,” Draco confirmed. “I told you, it’s childish, but please roll with it for now. So, in this cupboard of yours, you have all these drawers for thoughts and emotions and memories, and if you properly sort through them and stuff them away where they belong, the mind itself remains sorted and protected. But if you leave the drawers open and the emotions and thoughts are spilling out, everyone can look at them. Are you following me so far?”

“I think I am,” Harry said slowly. “So Occlumency is learning how to shut the drawers?”

“Not only,” Draco shook his head. “The first step is figuring out what and where the drawers even are. If you don’t know your mind, Harry, you can’t protect it. And that’s actually the hard part of it. You first have to get a clear picture of the cupboard and the drawers available, and then you have to sort everything in, and only then can you shut them.”

“I see,” Harry muttered, looking deeply confused. Draco sympathised with him. “So what exactly do you want me to do now?”

“Don’t laugh at me,” Draco sighed. “But we’re going to get a good picture of your drawers first. As in, what your mind looks like. How you can sort through it. And then, you can work on sorting your mind.”

“How the hell is a mind supposed to look like?” Harry asked, sounding slightly panicky.

“Well, it’s different for everyone,” Draco shrugs. “If it helps, I can give you an example with some of my drawers?” Harry was nodding eagerly, and Draco tried not to blush as he leaned towards the table to grab parchment and quill.

This was... personal, but also necessary, Draco knew. And it was just Harry, after all. He trusted Harry. Enough to give him a preview of what was going on in his mind, the same way he knew he would be entrusted with images Harry might not want to share. The least Draco could do was to make the ground even. 

Harry slid closer so he could look over his shoulder, and Draco could feel their sides pressed together. It made his heartbeat speed up.

“Alright,” he began, a little breathless. “So, imagine my mind like a walk-in closet.”

“Of course it would be something posh,” Harry teased. His breath hit Draco’s cheek. He shuddered.

“Shut up,” he said weakly. “So, on one side, we have drawers sorted by certain themes. The top drawer here is family, for instance.” He was drawing to illustrate his words. “And there’s a partition between the memories pre-Hogwarts and after I met you, since they mean different things. I can’t let them get tangled up, you see? That would weaken the defences. Then, the second drawer would be Hogwarts, and here we’d have a partition, as well, with knowledge acquired at Hogwarts and memories about school life. The next would be all thoughts and memories revolving around the Dark Lord. Can you follow the pattern here?”

“I think so,” Harry nodded. “What about the drawers on the other side?”

“They’re sorted after people,” Draco explained. “All the important people in my life get a separate one, and some get group-drawers. The Weasley family is in one drawer, for example, but you and Hermione have your own. Professor Lupin and Viktor have their own. My parents have their own.”

“I see,” Harry nodded. “And these drawers, do they have partitions, too?”

“Some of them,” Draco nodded. “The group ones, obviously. And the one of my father has various with different time periods. Yours has.”

“Mine has?” Harry asked, looking up from the paper in Draco’s hand to watch his face, green eyes shining in curiosity. “What kind of partitions?”

Draco bit his lip, wishing he hadn’t spoken. He could hardly say ‘platonic and romantic feelings’ out loud. So, instead, he borrowed the partitions from another drawer, hoping Harry would not detect the lie.

“Oh, you know. I need to divide everything that concerns our friendship and things that concern the Dark Lord and the war.”

“Ahh,” Harry nodded, clearly buying it, much to Draco’s relief. His gaze landed back on the parchment. “Makes sense.”

“Great,” Draco nodded, pushing quill and parchment at Harry and picking up his wand. He spelled the parchment clean and looked at Harry expectantly. “Now it’s your turn. If you want to, you can just list which drawers you might have in a first step, and then we can work on mapping them out. It might take some time.”

“Okay,” Harry said, making a face. “Can we start with the people? They might be easier.”

“Your drawers don’t need to look the same way mine do, Harry,” Draco reminded him. “That’s my style of sorting, but it doesn’t have to be yours. We’re different people. That’s why it’s so important you take your time and do this properly. But yes, if you want to do people, do people. Do what feels right.”

“Good,” Harry nodded, setting the quill on the parchment. “So, there’d definitely be one for you, and Ron, and Hermione.”

“Alright,” Draco said, watching as Harry wrote their names down, one after the other.

“And Sirius,” Harry added. “And I guess the Weasleys, as one?”

“Makes sense. They are hard to separate,” Draco nodded. “Sometimes I sort the same memory in two drawers to be very exact, but I think having a drawer for the whole family makes it easier.”

“Okay,” Harry said, holding in, thinking. “Can Hedwig have a drawer?”

“Of course she can,” Draco told him. “Aquila has one, too. And anyway, if there are enough emotions and memories attached, everything can have a drawer. You can give your broom a drawer, for all I care.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Harry smiled as he penned down Hedwig’s name. “Okay,” he nodded. “What about Hagrid?”

“Definitely deserves one,” Draco agreed. “I gave him one, too.”

“We’re not so different, after all,” Harry joked.

“That’s not the aim of this exercise,” Draco scolded, but he was laughing. “Now, who else?”

Harry paused, thinking, and then he muttered, more quietly: “Dumbledore, I guess.”

“Fair enough,” Draco nodded.

“Probably Hogwarts in general,” Harry added. “I mean, it’s the only place that ever felt like home to me. It should be there.”

“Agreed,” Draco said softly, squeezing his shoulder. When Harry kept silent for a long time, he suggested: “Your parents, Harry. Surely you need a drawer for them.”

“You’re right,” Harry murmured, though his voice was subdued. He penned down a messy ‘ Mum and Dad’ , anyway, before sighing and muttering: “I guess my aunt, uncle and cousin need to go somewhere, too.”

“I’m afraid they do,” Draco grumbled, his voice disapproving. Salazar, how he hated Harry’s Muggle relatives.

“I guess he deserves one, too,” Harry sighed, the quill already writing before Draco understood who he was referring to. Draco gulped when he read the name ‘ Voldemort’ .

“As much as I hate it, he plays a big part in your life,” Draco nodded.

“Did I forget anyone?” Harry asked, frowning.

Draco looked over the list.

“What about Professor Lupin? Or people from the fellow DA?” the words tasted sour in his mouth even before he said them. “What about Chang?”

Harry was blushing now. He didn’t answer, but he was scribbling furiously, and when he was done, the words, ‘Lupin’, ‘Pettigrew’ , ‘DA’ and ‘Cho’ had been added to the list.

“Alright,” Draco muttered, looking away. “So, you have something to work with now. It’s the first step. You need to carve out an order with these now. Draw a plan if you must.”

“Will you help me?” Harry asked, looking at him searchingly.

“I think you need to do most of that alone,” Draco said, apologetically. “At least in the first step. You need to figure out what makes the most sense for you. If I do it for you, it will be my order, and it won’t fit for you.”

“I see,” Harry sighed. “And this will really help me protect my mind?”

“If you do it right, yes,” Draco nodded. “I mean, I know my drawers by heart. Some have moved and changed over the years, but I know exactly where to put which thought or memory and I do it without thinking. And like that, it’s easy to put up a defence. I can do it while I sleep. And so should you, if you master it.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “I’ll try my best.” Then, he leaned sideways into Draco and touched the side of their heads together. “Thank you for doing this,” he whispered. “You’re the best.”

“Don’t mention it,” Draco muttered, breathless again.

Everything smelled of Harry, and his whole body reacted to it. It was only when he was safely back in his dormitory, though, that he allowed himself to indulge in his feeling. He closed his eyes, felt Harry’s closeness, imagined it was Harry’s hand touching him while his own fingers closed around his straining erection.

It was not the first time he had pulled himself off, of course. He was a healthy teenager, and he was head over heels in love. Draco felt it would have been unnatural for him if he hadn’t been fantasising about touching Harry or being touched by him. His physical attraction to him ran too deep, and thoughts like that were inevitable. But tonight was different. With the intimacy between them still so fresh that Draco could taste it, Draco came to a trembling climax, feeling tingly all over as he came down from his high.

And afterwards, as he lay in bed, he tried to remind himself that on Harry’s list, it had been his name up on the top, and Chang’s right there on the bottom.

The match Slytherin vs. Gryffindor came up on Saturday, with all its annual wave of rivalry, not that Draco cared much about that side of things, and neither did Harry, as they both very well knew. Sure, Harry had his grievances with the rest of Draco’s house, but it was a long way from the heat with which Weasley or Johnson sang hate tirades against Slytherin house. Not that Draco felt particularly irked by them. He couldn’t stand most of his teammates, either, least of all his new team captain.

“Malfoy,” Montague growled as Draco changed into his robes, his dark eyes narrowing to slits as he looked him up and down once. “I want no nonsense from you. I don’t care if you’re a blood-traitor at heart -”

“I will push Harry down the broom if that’s what it takes for me to get to the Snitch,” Draco recited, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been getting the same speech three times a year from Flint, I know it by heart already. Don’t bother.”

A few lockers away from his, Goyle chortled. Crabbe elbowed him, and he fell silent. Draco frowned but shrugged it off.

Those two were another proof to the incompetence of their new captain. Of course, Crabbe and Goyle equipped with Beater bats were a force to be reckoned with, but they didn’t exactly have the brains to utilise them. Then again, neither had their captain.

With a sigh, Draco grabbed his broom and followed the rest of his team out onto the field. They were greeted by deafening shouts of the crowds. The Gryffindor team was already waiting for them, and Harry waved at him from the other side of the pitch. Draco waved back.

Madam Hooch called the captains towards the centre of the pitch, asking them to shake hands. Draco’s eyes travelled towards the other Gryffindor players. Weasley looked like he was going to be sick. Weasley had made the tryouts as Gryffindor’s new Keeper this year, and while Draco had bitten his tongue and kept all his taunts to himself, he wondered now if the ginger was really cut out for the job.

“Mount your brooms,” Madam Hooch called, and Draco hastened to comply. When she blew her whistle, the balls were released, and everyone shot into the air. Draco and Harry rose highest, looking out for a glimpse of gold, but there was nothing to be seen, for now. They exchanged a look, the corners of their lips turned slightly upwards, and then they started circling, eyes wide open in search for the prey.

All the while, Draco stole glances at the match. It didn’t look good for Gryffindor, or more specifically, Weasley, and every once in a while, he saw Harry cursing. Weasley’s nerves seemed to be preventing him from performing up to, well, any standard at all, and with every goal he failed to block, the derisive cheers from the Slytherin quarters grew louder and louder, intensifying the problem.

After the third goal for Slytherin, Draco caught Harry’s eye, but his friend looked so pained that he didn’t make a comment.

And then he saw it. The Snitch was hovering just near the ground of the Hufflepuff stands, and Draco dove for it. He knew Harry was at his heels, and that Harry had the better broom. He would catch up with him in no time. So Draco tried to block Harry’s path as he flew, tried to make it impossible for Harry to outfly him. And it seemed to work. He was almost to the Snitch, and he was stretching out his hand, so close already - when the Snitch took off into the air.

And Harry after it.

Harry had it in a matter of seconds, and before Draco could react, the crowd was cheering. Madam Hooch blew her whistle.

“Potter catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Jordan boomed through the stadium, and Draco cursed. He only had a moment to be angry at himself before Harry landed flat on his face next to him, groaning in pain, a Bludger whizzing just past Draco’s ear. In the distance, Draco could see Crabbe swinging his bat, a grim look on his face.

“That bastard ,” Draco spat, falling to his knees next to Harry. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry gasped, sitting up. “I wasn’t up high.”

“Harry! Are you alright?” Johnson, the Gryffindor captain, joined them, her face twisted with worry, anger and badly hidden relief. “It was that thug Crabbe, he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you’d got the Snitch - but we won, Harry, we won!”

Draco helped Harry to his feet, and Harry leaned against him heavily.

“You and your Firebolt,” Draco grumbled. “Just watch me, I’ll get one too one of these days, and then it will be fair and square.”

“You’re a sore loser,” Harry snorted.

“Shut up,” Draco rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but smile.

In the distance, he could see Montague glaring at him, and knew he could expect a good telling off once he got back to the changing room.

Hours later, when all Draco wanted was to fall asleep and put the day behind himself, he realised that the emerald-adorned handle of his charmed parchment had turned golden. He unrolled it and read Harry’s message.

Hagrid’s back. Come out of your Common Room. We’re picking you up, and we’re going down with the Invisibility Cloak.

Draco didn’t need to be told twice, suddenly wide awake. He grabbed his warm cloak and ran back into the common room - thankfully, it was mostly deserted, and no one who lingered paid him any mind - exiting it into the corridor. Once the wall closed up behind him, Harry lifted the cloak over all their heads, revealing the three of them momentarily.

“Come on,” he hissed at Draco. “We need to hurry!”

It was bloody difficult, moving through the castle and then across the grounds towards Hagrid’s hut all hidden under cloak, mindful of staying out of sight - Weasley and Draco had both grown a considerable amount over the summer - but they made it work, and the moment they reached Hagrid’s hut, Harry knocked on the door, calling: “Hagrid, it’s us!”

“Shoulda known!” came Hagrid’s immediate answer, voice both exasperated and fond, and they exchanged a grin. “Bin home three seconds… out of the way, Fang… out of the way , yeh dozy dog…”

The smiles fell from their faces, though, the moment Hagrid pulled the door open and they got a good look of the beat-up state of his face. Hemione screamed.

“Merlin’s beard, keep it down!” Hagrid hissed, eyes wandering - they were still hidden under the cloak - and waved them inside.

“I’m sorry!” Hermione gasped as they entered Hagrid’s home and finally shed the cloak, revealing their shocked and concerned faces to him. “I just - oh, Hagrid!”

“It’s nuthin’, it’s nuthin’!” Hagrid tried to calm her, continuing to shut the door and all the curtains, to be safe.

‘Nothing’ was the understatement of the year, in Draco’s opinion. Hagrid’s hair was blood-soaked and his skin was covered in bruises and cuts. His left eye was so swollen it was a miracle he could even see with it. He was also holding himself tenderly, as if each and every movement hurt, and Draco had a strong urge to body-bind him and levitate him to Madam Pomfrey.

“What did they do to you?” Draco whispered, a tremble in his voice. “I know Dumbledore sent you out to some mission with the giants, but surely it didn’t include getting you mangled like that!”

Hagrid’s eyes landed on him, wide and weary.

“Who told yeh my mission was ter do with giants?” he demanded.

“It was kind of… obvious, Hagrid,” Weasley pointed out. Harry and Hermione nodded, a little apologetically.

Hagrid sighed deeply.

“The lot o' yeh. Always knew more than was good fer yeh. Alright. I'll tell yeh already. Sit down.”

They reluctantly took their seats around the wooden table in the centre of Hagrid’s cabin. He joined them after a moment, handing them each a mug of tea and pressing a large piece of dragon meat to his swollen eye. Then, he told them how Dumbledore had sent him and Madam Maxime out to track down a colony of giants in Eastern Europe earlier this summer. Their mission had been to forge bonds with them before the Dark Lord could get to them, the way Fudge had refused to do when Dumbledore had suggested it after the last task of the Triwizard Tournament. And it seemed like they had actually made some headway, but then, there had been a revolt of sorts among the giants. The leader - or Gurg, as he was called - was killed, and replaced by someone who was apparently much more inclined towards Death Eaters than them. Hagrid and Madame Maxime had tried to convince some of the giants who didn’t seem as loyal towards their new leader and were hiding out from them, but after renewed waves of violence, that turned out to be a dead end, too.

“So… so there aren’t any giants coming?” Weasley asked, sounding more sad than the phrase warranted.

“Nope,” Hagrid sighed heavily. “but we did wha’ we meant ter do, we gave ‘em Dumbledore’s message an’ some o’ them heard it an’ I ‘spect some o’ them’ll remember it. Jus’ maybe, them that don’ want ter stay around Golgomath’ll move outta the mountains, an’ there’s gotta be a chance they’ll remember Dumbledore’s friendly to ‘em… could be they’ll come.”

An oppressive silence fell over them. Hermione was the one to break it, though very tentatively.

“Hagrid?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you… was there any sign of… did you hear anything about your… your… mother while you were there?”

Draco willed himself not to flinch. Hagrid just looked at her for a moment, not answering, and Hermione began to panic, but then Hagrid grunted out: “Dead. Died years ago. They told me.”

“Oh… I’m… I’m really sorry,” Hermione said, in a small voice.

Draco got up and strolled over to the window, uncomfortable. He peaked past the curtain, and let it drop with a gasp when he saw movement outside.

“Hagrid,” he said. “Umbridge is on the way down here!”

“Who?” Hagrid asked, frowning, but the other three had already jumped up, getting to their feet.

“She works for Fudge, and she’s a nightmare!” Draco hastened to explain. “Quick, Hagrid, hide our mugs!”

“Get under here!” Harry hissed, and they huddled together in a corner of the cabin, Harry throwing the cloak around them.

Poor Hagrid, completely taken aback by their panic, thankfully followed their instructions, hiding their mugs under a cushion just in time before there was a knock on the door. He held in to check that they were completely hidden under the cloak before turning to open the door.

The next couple of minutes were some of the most uncomfortable of Draco’s life. Not only was Weasley’s elbow digging into his stomach, but Umbridge was taking Hagrid apart bit by bit in front of their very eyes in a way that told Draco two things: A) Hagrid was right on top of Umbridge’s list, both for being a half-giant and for being close to Dumbledore, and B) she knew Hagrid was keeping a secret, and was determined to get behind it.

The worst thing, though, was that they had forgotten, in their hurry to hide from Umbridge, that they had left footprints in the snow leading to Hagrid’s hut, but not away from it. And Umbridge had picked up on them. He could have kicked himself for not erasing their footprints on their way here. How could they have been so careless?! The Gryffindors must be rubbing off on him.

When Umbridge finally left, she announced that she would be inspecting Hagrid’s class the following week. That, naturally, rang alarm bells in all their heads.

“Um… what sort of things are you planning to do with us in class, Hagrid?” Hermione asked gently.

“Oh, don’ you worry abou’ that, I’ve got a great load o’ lessons planned,” Hagrid waved her off, the enthusiasm returning to his face, the way it usually did when he talked about his classes and totally inappropriate creatures he was planning to bring into it.

Draco and Hermione exchanged a look.

“Erm… special in what way?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“I’m not saying,” Hagrid shook his head. “I don’t want ter spoil the surprise.”

“Alright, Hagrid, listen,” Draco said, shaking his head. “I hate to be the big bad Slytherin spoiling the fun, but you have to be extra careful now that Umbridge is around. Do you hear me? She will put you on probation if you as much as breathe too loudly in her direction, and if you break any regulations, she will have you sacked faster than you can appeal to Dumbledore to get you out of it. So please, please stick to the Ministry approved curriculum. I’m serious.”

“But the Ministry approved curriculum’s borin’, Draco,” Hagrid snorted. “What I have fer yeh is much more interestin'. Yeh’ll see.”

“I don’t care about interesting!” Draco snapped. “I’ll feed a Flobberworm all year if that’s what it takes to keep you at Hogwarts!”

“Hagrid… please…” Hermione begged, coming to Draco’s aid. “Umbridge is looking for any excuse to get rid of teachers she thinks are too close to Dumbledore. Please, Hagrid, teach us something dull that’s bound to come up in our OWL.”

But Hagrid clearly wasn’t listening to them any longer. He was yawning widely and throwing longing glances towards his bed, and in a matter of minutes, they found themselves politely cast out into the cold.

“I don’t know if you got through to him,” Weasley muttered, holding the cloak up so they wouldn’t trip as Draco and Hermione erased their new footsteps as they made their way up to the castle, making sure to leave the old ones to not make Umbridge even more suspicious.

“Then I’ll go back again tomorrow,” Hermione huffed. “I’ll plan his lesson for him if I have to. I don’t care if she throws out Trelawney but she’s not getting rid of Hagrid!”

“I’m coming with you,” Draco promised, his voice grim. “We might have a better chance, two against one.”

“Thanks,” Hermione sighed, shooting him a grateful smile.

“I’m not sure it will do much good, mind you,” Draco muttered. “But we have to try.”

Chapter Text

As promised, Draco and Hermione returned to Hagrid’s hut right after breakfast to convince him of the benefits of a ministry-approved curriculum. Harry and Weasley stayed behind due to their mountains of homework (though why Weasley didn’t get on with it, Draco couldn’t fathom - he had neither elected as many classes as Hermione and Draco nor had he had to suffer through any detentions or extracurricular Occlumency classes), and when Draco and Hermione stomped through the snow to find Hagrid’s cabin deserted, he envied their inadvertent foresight.

“Where is he?” he moaned, banging his elbow against the door. “It’s cold. There is a crazy old hag out there who has it in for him. Now is not the time to disappear.”

“Maybe he’s up at Dumbledore’s office to report to him?” Hermione sighed, leaning against the door.

“Or maybe he’s out there in the forest,” Draco said grimly. “Caring for whatever horrible creature he plans to throw at us in class on Tuesday.”

It turned out that Draco had been right. They had to wait in the cold for about half an hour before Hagrid finally appeared from between the trees, still covered in yesterday’s bruises, which, if anything, seemed to have grown worse since they had seen him last night. Draco wondered if there was some kind of venom involved, keeping them from healing properly.

“What are yeh kids doin' here?” he asked as he approached.

“Trying to knock some sense into you,” Draco grumbled. The long wait in the cold had done nothing for his temper.

“Hagrid,” Hermione said tentatively. “Are you sure you don’t want to have these wounds checked by Madam Pomfrey? They look really bad, you know.”

“I told yeh, Hermione, I'm fine,” Hagrid shrugged her off, pushing past them to unlock the door. “No need ter worry bou’ me.” He pushed the door open, waving them inside. “Come in. Come in.”

They followed Hagrid into the relative warmth of his cabin, sighing in relief when he started a fire. Even the slobbering affection of Fang was welcome to Draco right now, seeing as the dog had body heat to warm his hands on.

“Now, Hagrid,” Draco began, getting down to business right away. “I know you want your class to be a surprise and I know you are excited about what you want to teach us, but we really think you are underestimating Umbridge. And believe me, you don’t want to do that. I did. It wasn’t pretty.”

“He’s right, Hagrid,” Hermione nodded. “You really don’t want to take any chances with her. Professor Grubbly-Plank has a Ministry-approved curriculum all worked out. If you’d just-”

“I know yeh jus' want what's best fer me,” Hagrid interrupted her, smiling at them fondly over his shoulder as he prepared them each a cup of tea. “And I appreciate it, yeh know? I really do. But I know what I'm doin'. Yeh gotta let me do this my way.”

“But Hagrid,” Draco argued, trying his best to find the calm and patience he needed for these words to not come out the wrong way. “Your way isn’t always the most conventional , you have to admit that. And Umbridge presses down on everyone who pushes just a toe over the line. Do you know what she did to Harry when he spoke up against her in class? What she did to me, too, when I tried to threaten to expose her methods?” He raised his left hand and balled his hand into a fist. The scars on the back of his hand, not quite legible but still clearly visible, stood out against his pale skin. Hermione flinched, looking away.

Hagrid paused. He stepped closer, frowning, and then he reached out to inspect the back of Draco’s hand.

“What's tha'?” he growled, his voice dangerous. “What did she do to yeh?”

“Lines,” Draco scoffed. “Only they were scarved into our bloody skin.

“WHAT?!” Hagrid bellowed. “Tha’ bloody - does Dumbledore know abou’ this?!”

“No,” Draco said grudgingly. “Harry didn’t want to tell him.”

“Why in Merlin's name not?!” Hagrid called. “He would've put a bloody stop ter it! Tha's torture, Draco! Dumbledore won’t stand fer it, I’m tellin’ you! He's never allowed students ter be physically punished at his school!”

“But Dumbledore doesn’t have the full authority over these things anymore, Hagrid,” Draco sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Umbridge has been made High Inquisitor, which means she stands above him in most matters. If she wants to do something, he cannot stop her. That’s how it is now.”

“It’s an outrage!” Hagrid yelled. “A scandal!”

“Well, I’m glad to see you finally grasp the seriousness of the situation,” Draco commented, rather bitterly. “Which is exactly why you have to be careful and play well by her. One wrong step and she’ll eliminate you. So please-”

“Oh no,” Hagrid glared. “I’m not goin' ter let her terrorise me, Draco. Not after what yeh jus' told me. Tha's the last thin' I'm goin' ter do.”

Draco gaped at him, not having expected that.

“But Hagrid,” Hermione piped up, alarmed. “Didn’t you hear what Draco just said? Umbridge is dangerous! You can’t make her your enemy! She will definitely have you sacked! And from what we saw yesterday, she’s already out for you!”

“Oh, I'm not goin' ter make her my enemy, Hermione,” Hagrid shrugged. “But I'm not goin' ter cower in fear, either. I'm goin' to teach the best classes anyone has ever seen, my way, an' then we'll see what she can do abou’ it.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged an uneasy look.

“That’s a nice thought, Hagrid,” Draco said slowly. “But you should know that this woman teaches her classes by letting us read a chapter on spell theory in silence and then summarising it each lesson. She wouldn’t recognise a good class if it hit her in the face.”

“Exactly,” Hermione nodded. “So, really, if you could just speak to Professor Grubbly-Plank, I’m sure-”

“But I'm not Professor Grubbly-Plank, Hermione,” Hagrid shook his head. “I'm me, an' I will teach the class my way. There's a reason Dumbledore gave the job ter me in the first place, an' not her, yeh know. I'd betray his trust in me if I jus' copied another teacher's work. I have ter do this on my own. Besides, nobody in their right mind would rather study Knarls than Chimaeras.” Draco froze. He and Hermione stared at each other. Hagrid, though, seemed unaware of their horror. “Gotta keep it interestin', yeh know? Tha's my strength. Givin' the subject a little edge, yeh see?”

“Please tell me you don’t have a Chimaera,” Draco pleaded.

“Nah,” Hagrid laughed, waving him off. “Impossible ter ge’ eggs these days, wha’ with the Ministry regulations.”

Draco nodded, though he wasn’t exactly soothed.

“Please, Hagrid,” Hermione pleaded. “I understand what you’re trying to say, but now is not the time to make statements by bringing, um, interesting creatures into class. Please bring boring, ordinary ones that all of us have seen a thousand times and that are Ministry-approved. Just for Umbridge, so that we can get her off your back. So that we get to keep you.”

But Hagrid was already shaking his head, a fond smile on his face, and Draco knew they had lost.

“Yeh’re goin’ ter keep me, Hermione,” Hagrid smiled, ruffling her hair. It stood up rather comically as a result. “Don’ yeh worry abou’ tha’.

When their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson finally rolled around on Tuesday afternoon, the four of them were more than a little nervous. Umbridge was nowhere in sight when they arrived at Hagrid’s cabin, but Draco suspected that it was only a matter of time till she turned up. They wouldn’t be so lucky for her to be unavailable today of all days.

Of course, to absolutely no one’s surprise, Hagrid did end up leading them into the forbidden forest, carrying a dead cow over his shoulder.

“Bit more sheltered!” Hagrid explained, completely oblivious to all his students’ concerned looks. “Anyway, they prefer the dark.” What exactly preferred the dark he did not reveal to them just yet, but he did prattle along happily as they followed after him. “I’ve bin savin’ a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we’d go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we’re studyin’ today is pretty rare, I reckon I’m probably the on’y person in Britain who’s managed ter train ‘em.”

Draco did not like the sound of that at all. Sure, it meant that whatever creatures Hagrid was about to show them, they were - hopefully - harmless if handled properly, but it also meant that very few people knew how to handle them properly. He exchanged a long-suffering look with Hermione, who was biting her lower lip very hard in a sign of desperation.

After a ten-minute march, Hagrid came to an abrupt halt and deposited the cow carcass on the ground.

“Gather roun’, gather roun’” Hagrid called out when most students still seemed reluctant. “Now they’ll be attracted by the smell o’ the meat but I’m goin’ ter give ‘em a call anyway, ‘cause they’ll like ter know it’s me.”

The cry Hagrid emitted then was best likened to some kind of bird call. They all waited in tense silence as Hagrid repeated the call two more times. Then, Harry nudged Draco and pointed into the dark shadows between the trees. Draco frowned, looking closer, but he couldn’t make anything out.

“What?” he whispered, eyes travelling back to Harry’s face, noting that his friend was staring at the same spot he had indicated just now with such obvious relief that Draco felt a little taken aback.

“It’s the things pulling the carriages,” Harry hissed, and understanding filled Draco.

“Thestrals,” he breathed, his eyes travelling back to where he still couldn’t see anything along the clearing. He wasn’t the only one. Most of the students were staring blankly ahead. It was only Longbottom and Zabini that could apparently see the creatures as well, their eyes fixed instead of searching.

“Oh, an’ here comes another one!” Hagrid announced, rather proudly. Large bites began to disappear from the cow carcass, but because it happened soundlessly, no one seemed to realise. People were still waiting for the arrival of the creatures Hagrid had called. “Now… put yer hands up, who can see ‘em?... Yeah… yeah, I knew you’d be able ter, Harry. An’ you too, Neville, eh? An’ you, Zabini?”

“What are you seeing?” Parkinson hissed, turning to Zabini and looking at him sharply. “What are they?”

Zabini did not meet her eyes, instead staring straight ahead, where apparently one of the creatures was standing.

“Thestrals,” Hagrid explained happily, and they could hear a soft sound of comprehension from Hermione next to them. “Hogwarts has got a whole herd of ‘em in here. Now, who knows -?”

“But they’re really, really unlucky!” Parvati Patil interrupted him with large eyes. Draco frowned at her, a little wary. He’d always preferred her twin. This one was a little too airheaded for his taste. As if to prove his point, she continued: “They’re supposed to bring all sorts of horrible misfortune on people who see them. Professor Trelawney told me once -”

“No, no, no,” Hagrid stopped her, much to Draco’s relief, clearly amused. “tha’s jus’ superstition, that is, they aren’ unlucky, they’re dead clever an’ useful! Course, this lot don’ get a lot o’ work, it’s mainly jus’ pullin’ the school carriages unless Dumbledore’s takin’ a long journey an’ don’ want ter Apparate - and here’s another couple, look -”

Parvati shivered and pressed herself closer to the tree she was standing next to, calling: “I think I felt something, I think it’s next to me!”

Draco rolled his eyes. Harry grinned at him.

“Don’ worry, it won’ hurt yeh. Righ', now who can tell me why some o’ yeh can see ‘em ab’ some can’t?”

Both Draco and Hermione raised their hands. Draco, with a look at Hermione, snorted and relented, letting her speak.

“The only people who can see Thestrals are people who have seen death,” she answered.

“That’s exactly right,” Hagrid beamed. “Ten points ter Gryffindor. And five ter Slytherin fer Draco bein’ a gentleman. Now, Thestrals -”

“Hem, hem.”

All of Draco’s insides turned to ice. Despite all of his nerves prior to the lesson, he had actually forgotten all about it once the Thestrals had turned up. It had gone well.

But he knew, with absolute clarity, that Umbridge would find a way to ruin it.

Umbridge was approaching them, clipboard in hand. Hagrid’s face darkened once he saw her. Obviously, he had not forgotten what Draco had told him about her on Sunday over tea.

“Hello, Professor,” he said, rather stiffly.

“You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?” she asked in a slow, overly loud and clear voice, clearly insinuating that she doubted both Hagrid’s intelligence and grasp of the English language. Draco’s hands balled into fists. “Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?”

“I did,” Hagrid nodded. “I see yeh found the place. As yeh can see - or maybe yeh can’t, I dunno - we’re doin’ Thestrals today -”

“I’m sorry?” Umbridge interrupted him, cupping her ear in a dramatic gesture. “What did you say?”

Hagrid frowned.

“Thestrals,” he repeated.

“Surely you’ve heard of Thestrals, Professor,” Draco spoke up, unable to help himself.

He could hear Hermione groan as Umbridge’s eyes narrowed in on him.

“Mr Malfoy, this may not be my class, but the rules still apply,” Umbridge said softly. “You speak only when you are spoken to. 10 points from Slytherin.”

“I was only trying to help, Professor,” Draco said innocently. Hermione elbowed him.

“Well… anyway…” Hagrid said, turning back to the class. “erm… what was I sayin’?”

“ Appears… to… have… poor… short… term… memory,” Umbridge muttered as she scribbled onto her board. A few Slytherins, among them Nott, Crabbe and Goyle, snickered. Draco, on the other hand, felt like he was going to explode.

“Oh, yeah,” Hagrid continued, in a valiant effort to ignore her. “Yeah, I was goin’ ter tell yeh how come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an’ five females. This one,” he must have been indicating one to one of the Thestrals, though Draco couldn’t see it, “name o’ Tenebrus, he’s my special favourite, firs’ one born here in the Forest -”

“Are you aware,” Umbridge interrupted him. “that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as ‘dangerous’?”

Draco bit his lip, closing his eyes for a moment. He knew it. He knew this would happen. Bloody hell.

“Thestrals aren’ dangerous!” he heard Hagrid protest. “All righ’, they might take a bite outta yeh if yeh really annoy them -”

“Shows… signs… of… pleasure… at… idea… of… violence…” Umbridge muttered, scribbling away on her clipboard. Draco almost moaned out loud. Draco felt Harry’s fingers close around his fist. He was not sure who it was supposed to calm down - Harry, or him. Maybe both of them.

“No - come on!”  Hagrid called. “I mean, a dog’ll bite if yeh bait it, won’ it - but Thestrals have jus’ got a bad reputation because o’ the death thing - people used ter think they were bad omens, didn’ they? Jus’ didn’ understand, did they?”

Umbridge did not answer, and Draco reluctantly opened his eyes again. She was still scribbling away on her clipboard, and when she finally looked up again, she said, very loudly: “Please continue teaching as usual. I’m going to walk among the students and ask them questions.” All the while, she accompanied her speech with rudimentary sign language, and the Slytherins surrounding Nott roared with laughter. Draco was so angry he felt sick with it. Hermione, next to him, had tears in her eyes.

“You hag, you evil hag!” she whispered. “I know what you’re doing, you awful, twisted, vicious -”

Hagrid pushed on bravely, continuing the lesson, as Umbridge tried to quiz Zabini and Parkinson. Draco shushed Hermione, trying to catch what they were saying.

“- of course I don’t particularly like the fact that I can see them,” Zabini answered Umbridge’s question, with some contempt. “But I’m not afraid of them. I ride school carriages drawn by them various times a year. I’d have a hard job doing that if I was afraid.”

“I see,” Umbridge said indulgently, noting something down on her board. “So I am correct in assuming you’d rather he’d not brought them into class?”

“I did not say that,” Zabini frowned. “I was just -”

“Thank you, Mr Zabini,” Umbridge smiled sweetly, walking on. Zabini stared after her, open-mouthed and incredulous. For a moment, it looked like he was going to say something, but when Parkinson put her hand on his arm and shook her head, he grudgingly let it go.

Umbridge next moved to Longbottom, whose words she managed to similarly twist.

“Students… are… too… intimidated… to… admit… they… are… frightened,” she muttered as she scribbled on her clipboard, much to Longbottom’s horror.

“No!” he called. “No, I’m not scared of them!”

“It’s quite alright,” Umbridge soothed him, before turning to Nott, Crabbe and Goyle.

Draco could not hear what was said amongst them. He could only see Umbridge scribbling furiously on her clipboard, and Nott talking a mile a minute, while Crabbe and Goyle nodded and perfect synchronisation.

“I’m going to murder them in their sleep,” Draco moaned, under his breath.

Harry’s fingers only tightened around his fist.

Finally, when it appeared Umbridge had had enough, she took her leave, naturally not without making another show of insulting Hagrid thoroughly as she did. It took all of Draco’s self-control not to land himself in detention by giving her an earful about her behaviour. If it hadn’t been for Harry’s fingers closed around his fist, he actually might have.

“That foul, lying, twisting old gargoyle!” Hermione ranted as they made their way back up to the castle again after class. “You see what she’s up to? It’s her thing about half-breeds all over again!”

“Of course it is!” Draco hissed, still deeply upset. “She’s going to report him to Fudge as some sort of violence-loving, dimwitted troll. And the unfair thing about it is that he didn’t even stand a chance from the beginning. She would have done the same thing no matter what happened in class today.”

“Exactly!” Hermione called. “Honestly, today’s class wasn’t bad! If it had been Blast-Ended Skrewts again, but Thestrals are fine - in fact, for Hagrid, they’re really good!”

“Umbridge said they’re dangerous,” Weasley injected.

“Umbridge can go stuff herself,” Draco said violently. “Umbridge would think a Flobberworm is dangerous if it crossed her the wrong way. Thestrals are perfectly reasonable creatures to show us in class. Interesting, like Hagrid said.” He heaved a deep sigh when they reached the greenhouses. The Gryffindors had Herbology now, while he had a free period and Astronomy in the evening. “I’ll see you at dinner,” he said, waving at them.

Draco was still fuming all the way up to the castle. They had just gotten Hagrid back, and now, it looked like they were going to lose him again.

Wasn’t there anything anyone could do against this woman? There had to be a way to stop her. The DA was an underhanded way of tricking her, but it didn’t feel like enough. Draco hated feeling like this - so powerless, so defeated, so goated.

He had almost reached the library when he crossed ways with the devil herself. Umbridge was probably on the way back to her office, and when her eyes landed on Draco, she smiled a bright, self-satisfied smile. Draco did not return it. He glared at her with all the fire he felt, not bothering to hide any emotion, any threat in his gaze.

You just wait , he thought. You’ll pay for this. For all of it.

They passed each other without a word, but still, Draco thought, they’d understood each other perfectly.

Chapter Text

It was already well into December when Harry and Draco managed to meet up for the purpose of training Occlumency again. What with Quidditch, homework, the DA and Draco’s Prefect duties, which had increased significantly as Christmas approached, they had simply not found the time, but tonight, on a stormy Monday night after Quidditch practice, Draco dragged himself up to the Room of Requirement. He had taken a hot shower in the changing room after practice, but the way back to the castle had had him freezing again, so when he opened the door to find Harry in front of the crackling fire, a hot cocoa waiting for him and lifting a woollen cover for him to slip underneath, Draco wanted to kiss him.

Well, he always wanted to kiss him. Just sometimes, the longing stifled in its intensity, making it hard to breathe. Harry, though, seemed unaware of any such emotion.

“I asked Dobby to help us out,” he grinned at Draco, pushing the mug of steaming beverage into his hand. “I figured you’d need it, it’s crazy out there. Sorry you had to come see me after Quidditch. You probably had better things to do.”

“Harry,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Teaching you how to protect your mind from unfriendly attacks is pretty high on my list of priorities. I’ll make time for it.” Harry smiled, nudging his cold foot with his warm one under the blanket. Then, he left it leaning against Draco’s to share his warmth. Draco felt like he was going to implode. The things Harry was doing to him. “So,” Draco said, forcing himself to take a deep, calming breath. “have you worked over your mental sorting system?”

“I have,” Harry nodded. “And I changed it up a little. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Draco said immediately. “It has to feel right to you, not to me.”

“Alright,” Harry nodded, and he pulled out a piece of parchment, depicting a messy layout of what he guessed were supposed to be the drawers. He couldn’t really seem to make sense of it at first glance. Harry’s drawings and handwriting were usually untidy, and all in all, he had never been the most organised person.

“So,” he explained. “I kept the people on one side because that seemed sensible to me, but I also added groups according to topics? Like Hogwarts and the DA. Though I think we did that together, last time.”

“We did,” Draco agreed.

“So what I added anew,” Harry continued, pointing to the right side of the parchment. “Is drawers for different time periods in my life. One for the time before my parents died. One for the time before I knew I was a wizard. And then one drawer for each school year.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded, “and are you sub-sorting each of these drawers for certain events?”

“I guess so,” Harry nodded, frowning.

“You need to know for certain,” Draco advised. “You can’t just stuff everything in there and hope for the best. If your drawers are chaotic, they won’t close properly, and you’ll be unprotected.”

“I see,” Harry said, looking unsure. “Even if it’s just a mental image to help me?”

“The mental image is everything, Harry,” Draco impressed. “If you don’t carry it through till the end, at least as long as you haven't completely mastered the art of Occlumency, you won’t be able to do it. I’m sure there are other ways, other mental images to choose, but you need to take all of them equally serious.”

“Yeah, okay,” Harry nodded. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to doubt your method or anything. It’s just… You know I’m no good with order.”

Draco smiled at that.

“You’ll just have to try. Order. Discipline. Control. These are extremely important for Occlumency. Without them, you won’t be able to shield your mind.”

Harry let out a deep sigh. Draco elbowed him in sympathy.

“Do you want to try it?” Draco asked tentatively.

“What?” Harry asked, perplexed. “Just like that?”

“Yes?” Draco shrugged. “Maybe it will give you a better picture of what you have to do if you try it for yourself, just once.”

“Okay,” Harry frowned. “But you never really told me how to do it.”

“But I have,” Draco contradicted. “Picture your cupboard, including all your drawers. Then clear your mind of all thoughts and emotions. Once you have done that, your walls should be up, and I should be unable to penetrate them.”

“That’s pretty vague,” Harry sighs, looking unhappy.

“Just try it,” Draco encouraged. “Close your eyes and picture your cupboard.”

Harry hummed and nodded, his eyelids drooping as he breathed evenly, a frown on his face. Draco waited. A few heartbeats passed. Then, Harry muttered: “Can you maybe… I dunno… talk me through it? Help me a little? I don’t know where to start. You do this all the time, don’t you?”

“I do,” Draco nodded, biting his lip. “But my process is mine. You’ll need to find your own. I… I might be able to try and guide you, though.”

“Please,” Harry whispered, not opening his eyes, but a warm hand found Draco’s knee. It made him feel rather helpless.

“Okay,” he said, a little unsteadily. He closed his eyes too, for a moment, trying to clear his own head. “Let’s try it like this. Please imagine the way your cupboard looks in its entirety - the way the space stretches out in your mind, and the drawers align along the walls, building a sturdy, steadfast fortress for your deepest thoughts and emotions. If you look closely enough, you can see all the labels along on the wood, telling you just what can be found inside. Can you see them, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry breathed. “I can.”

“Good. Now, please take a moment to look into yourself. What do you feel at the moment? Identify your emotions, your thoughts. Sort them into the right drawers. Shut the drawers firmly behind yourself.”

Harry was quiet for a long moment, long enough for Draco to open his eyes and look at him. He looked so concentrated, so determined, and it made Draco’s heart ache.

How had he fallen so hard for this boy?

“Okay,” Harry whispered, at last. “I think I’m ready.”

“Alright,” Draco said, keeping his voice equally as soft, as if he’d break the spell between them if he spoke any louder. “Please open your eyes and look at me, Harry.”

Harry did. Their gazes locked, and for a moment, Draco forgot to breathe. Harry’s eyes were so very green.

But he had a job to do. This wasn’t the moment to get lost in his feelings for Harry.

He tried to reach out with his magic, tried to connect with Harry’s, and when he brushed against the raw magical energy surrounding Harry, he felt it like a blast of lightning right to his heart.

It was easy to push through the barrier surrounding Harry’s mind, like diving into water, and then, quite suddenly, his head was full of images.

He found himself in a dark, damp space - a cupboard, he soon realised - and a little boy was sitting in front of him, his face pressed to his knees, shoulders shaking. Draco noted that he was crying. The mop of messy, black hair was recognisable even in the dark. Outside, he could hear people laughing.

The scenery changed. The next place he found himself in was equally dark and a lot damper, though he recognised it immediately. A shiver ran through him, and he felt cold in a way he hadn’t in a very, very long time.

“Draco!” Harry pleaded, a sob in his voice. “Draco, oh god. Please open your eyes. Please. Don’t be dead.”

Harry was kneeling on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, leaning over Draco’s lifeless body. Draco looked at himself, his fair hair soaked so thoroughly that it looked almost grey in the darkness of the Chamber, clinging to the pallor of his skin.

He looked like a corpse.

“Draco,” Harry gasped, stroking the wet hair from his face, and Draco could see that Harry had tears in his eyes. “God, what did you do?” he murmured. He stroked one finger over his cheekbone, a gesture of absolute tenderness, and then hissed: “Don’t you dare leave me!”

Draco tore himself out of Harry’s mind, rather forcefully. Harry blinked at him, disoriented, but Draco couldn’t meet his gaze - he was trembling, and his heart was racing, and his throat had closed up.

Shit. He had not expected to see that.

“Draco,” Harry whispered, and there was a hand on his elbow. Draco twitched, trying to get away, but Harry held him in place, gently but firmly. “It’s okay,” he soothed, and his other hand came up to stroke Draco’s hair from his face. Like he had done in the memory. Draco shivered, blinking back tears. “It’s okay,” Harry repeated. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Harry whispered, and then, he pulled him into a tight embrace.

Draco didn’t know how long they stayed like this, but gentle fingers traced patterns over his back until Draco stopped trembling and until his breathing returned to normal.

“So,” Harry said conversationally, as if Draco hadn’t just had a breakdown in his arms. “I guess I didn’t do it right?”

Draco let out a shaky laugh.

“It would have been amazing if you had done it at your first try,” Draco muttered, his face still pressed against Harry’s neck.

“What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t clear your mind properly,” Draco explained, finally pulling away from Harry’s embrace. He didn’t go far, though, settling down next to him on the sofa, their shoulders still touching. “You need to be more thorough. You need to practice.”

“Okay,” Harry nodded. “So I, what, sit down various times a day and go through my mind, identify my thoughts and stuff them away?”

“Yes,” Draco nodded. “That’s exactly what you’ll do. And we’ll meet up at regular intervals and test if you made any progress.”

“I see,” Harry sighed. “No offence, but Occlumency sounds like very vague business to me.”

“It’s a very mental kind of magic,” Draco shrugged. “You just need to learn how to use it properly.”

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, leaning his head against his shoulder. “For taking the time and effort to try and teach me. I know it’s not easy.”

“I told you,” Draco said. “If you can learn to protect yourself, it’s a small price to pay.”

“And don’t beat yourself up over what you saw in my head,” Harry added, very quietly. “It wasn’t my favourite moment of all time, I’ll admit that, but I don’t blame you in any way. Please remember that.”

“Yeah,” Draco whispered, gulping down against the lump in his throat. “Okay.”

Harry reached out to entwine their fingers. It felt like a talisman against the bad memories.

All in all, Draco had never been as reluctant to go back to the Manor for Christmas as he was this year. But he had no choice on the matter - Hermione was travelling with her parents, Harry was invited over to the Burrow, and Draco didn’t fancy staying at the castle alone. He honestly considered it for a desperate moment, mind you, but the thought of his poor mother alone with that maniac soon cured him of that idea.

“Maybe it’s not going to be as bad?” Hermione said gently, as Draco grumbled about it during one of their study sessions. “Didn’t you say your father was rarely present last summer, either? Maybe he’ll be mysteriously absent for most of the Christmas holidays, too.”

“I’m not sure if that’s reassuring or comforting,” Draco sighed. “But I’m still clinging to that hope.”

They had one more meeting with the DA two nights before the Christmas holidays. When Draco arrived at the Room of Requirement, a little early, as usual, it was to find the room festively decorated in golden baubles bearing Harry’s face. The words “HAVE A VERY HARRY CHRISTMAS!” were to be read from them. Draco keeled over laughing, dodging when Harry threw one of the baubles after him. It shattered against the wall behind him.

“Shut up and help me get them down before everyone else arrives!” he hissed.

“But they’re so nice,” Draco wheezed. “I should put them up in the Manor. Father would have a heart attack.”

That made Harry laugh, too. “I guess it’s a good thing Dobby’s not working for your family anymore,” Harry shook his head, reaching up to remove some more baubles. Draco took pity and joined him.

“Though you have to admit, he has a certain style,” Draco grinned. “If you sold these, you’d make a fortune.” When Harry raised his eyebrows at him, Draco grimaced and relented: “Okay, maybe not in the current political climate.”

“Yeah,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Definitely not.”

“But they do serve as effective weapons,” Draco grinned, vanishing the shards of the one Harry had thrown after him. “Maybe we should just use them in our fight against Umbridge. It would make for an epic tale. ‘ High Inquisitor of Hogwarts struck to death by school children with Christmas ornaments depicting Harry Potter’. The Prophet would have a field day.”

“Will you shut it,” Harry laughed, reaching past Draco to pull the last baubles down from the ceiling. “Okay, that should be it. Only these left, but I think we can leave them.” He nodded up to the ceiling, and with a start, Draco realised that they were standing right underneath a mistletoe.

He glanced at Harry, who seemed completely unaffected. His stomach sank. Then, the door opened, and Luna Lovegood entered the room, humming to herself.

“Oh, mistletoe,” she said cheerfully, and Draco took a self-conscious step backwards. “Good thinking,” Luna said seriously. “It’s often infested with Nargles. Although,” she peered at him more closely. “You’re already suffering from them, I see. Poor thing. I recommend a potion made from dirigible plums and cocoa. The cocoa helps with the mood swings, and the dirigible plums chase the Nargles away. I can give you the recipe if you want?”

“Um,” Draco said, glancing at Harry, who was grinning at him. “Thank you?”

Thankfully, the room started to fill then, and Luna found other people to engage in conversations about strange creatures and infestations with.

When everyone had arrived, they started practising in pairs again. The aim of today’s lesson was to revise the spells they had learned in the past weeks, and as usual, he was teamed up with Longbottom. He didn’t mind, exactly. Longbottom was a nice enough bloke, though a little slow on the uptake sometimes, but he knew that was exactly why Harry had wanted him to work with Draco - if he had worked with Hermione, they’d have both been unable to share their knowledge with anyone. It was better that way, he knew, and he was ready to help Harry out wherever he could. So he spent the evening tutoring Longbottom while inconspicuously throwing glances at Harry whenever he strolled too close to Chang and her friend.

He couldn’t help it. Chang was like a giant pebble in his shoe. The way she smiled at Harry, and the way he smiled back… it made his stomach churn, to the point where he lost focus each and every time. By now, he was pretty sure Longbottom knew what was up with him, but thankfully, the other boy was considerate enough not to mention it.

“You’re getting really good,” Harry announced proudly at the end of their session. “When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff - maybe even Patronuses.”

The room began to empty to excited murmurs. People wished each other a ‘Happy Christmas’ - a lot of people even stopped to smile at Draco, which was new for him. He was used to being ignored by everyone. He wished them ‘Happy Holidays’ and joined Harry, Hermione and Weasley in cleaning up the cushions from all over the room, stacking them neatly into a corner. Then, when it was time to leave, he noted that they were not the only ones left - Chang and her friend had hung back, and Harry seemed reluctant to leave while they were still around.

“No, you go on,” Chang said to her friend, and Draco watched in confusion as Edgecombe took off, leaving only Chang and -

Hermione’s arm suddenly hooked through his.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

“But,” he muttered, looking back between Chang and Harry. “Harry -”

“He’ll be fine,” she said decisively, bodily dragging him out of the room.

Draco felt like he was going to be sick. Every fibre of his body told him to stay, to not leave the two of them to their own devices, but that was selfish, wasn’t it?

Harry wasn’t his possession.

The door fell closed behind them, and Hermione let go of him, winking and saying: “Goodnight, Draco.” She seemed completely unaware of his inner turmoil. He would congratulate himself on his poker face if he had any space left for such an emotion.

“Goodnight,” he brought out, pushing past her and leaving for the dungeons.

It took a long time for him to fall asleep that night. His thoughts kept returning to the Room of Requirement, and to Harry and Chang.

When he went down to breakfast the next morning, Harry was not there. Neither were any of the Weasleys. Only a very distressed Hermione was waiting for him.

“Draco,” she said, pulling him close to sit next to her.

“Where’s Harry?” he whispered. “Did something happen?”

“Yes,” she breathed, glancing at the staff table. Draco noted that Umbridge’s eyes were on them. “But I can’t talk about it here. I only heard about it earlier from Professor McGonagall, and she firmly instructed me to act normal in the Great Hall. So please, can you wait until we’re alone?”

Draco’s chest clenched in panic. Merlin.

“Tell me he’s okay,” Draco whispered.

“He’s not hurt,” Hermione promised.

“Alright,” Draco nodded, reaching for the pumpkin juice, just for something to do. “I can wait to hear the rest, then.”

When he finally did, they had withdrawn for a chat in the privacy of the Room of Requirement. Draco had let it become the same room he used with Harry during their Occlumency session, and now he regretted this as it made his throat ache with guilt. Draco sat on one sofa, his feet on the seat next to him and his arms wrapped around his knees in a protective position, and Hermione was sitting on the armchair across from him, cross-legged.

“I knew it,” Draco said miserably, his voice muffled since his face was half-pressed against his knees. “I should have paid more attention to teaching him Occlumency.”

“Draco, I don’t think that’s what you’re supposed to be beating yourself up over now,” Hermione frowned. “If Harry hadn’t seen into V-Voldemort’s mind, then Mr Weasley would probably be dead now.”

“You’re right,” Draco said, horrified at himself. “Damn, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Hermione whispered. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I’m just so worried about him,” Draco sighed. “If the Dark Lord realises that he can use this connection between them… Do you know how dangerous this is? And now that this happened, the chances of him becoming aware of it are all the higher, Hermione.”

“Yeah,” Hermione nodded. “I see what you mean.”

“I should have tried harder,” Draco muttered. “Met up with him more often. We had half a year and what did we do?”

“You did your best, Draco,” Hermione soothed him. “You had so much on your mind. We all had, what with Umbridge and Fudge and Voldemort. You’ve watched out for Harry better than anyone. Better than me and Ron, let’s be honest. You have absolutely no reason to feel guilty.”

Draco sighed, pressing his face further into his knees.

“I’m going to see them at Headquarters,” Hermione told him after a moment of silence. “I will let you know whatever I can. I know how frustrating it is for you to be apart from us like this, but I promise I’ll try my best to keep you in the loop.”

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, without looking up. “And please tell Harry to keep on practising Occlumency. It’s more important now than ever.”

“I will,” Hermione promised.

Chapter Text

It was weird, going through the motions of their last school day and pretending like nothing had happened, but they did what they had to do. At least Draco, unlike Hermione, didn’t have to face Umbridge in Defence Against the Dark Arts - Draco was pretty sure he would have landed himself in detention for the rest of the school year otherwise.

They received a letter from Ginny halfway through the day, telling them that Mr Weasley was feeling much better, though he was still at St Mungo’s. There was no mention of Harry’s state of mind, and it worried Draco. Didn’t Ginny know that Draco would want to be reassured about Harry?!

“I’ll write to you,” Hermione promised him, squeezing his hand.

And she kept that promise. Draco had barely arrived at the Manor, the elves unpacking his luggage when he entered his room and found the handle of the parchment Hermione had charmed for the purpose of their communication turned golden.

Draco,

I’m sorry, but can you meet us at four-thirty in the Leaky Cauldron? I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent. Harry needs you.

Love,

Hermione

Draco checked his watch. It was just past four. He crossed the room towards the desk and scrambled for pen and ink.

I’ll be there , he wrote, Give me a couple of minutes.

With a stroke of luck, his father seemed to be out for the day, so when he located his mother and explained the situation, he did not have to worry about being overheard or found out. He flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and found Professor Lupin waiting for him by the fireplace, his tired, worry-lined face lighting up a little as soon as he lay eyes on Draco.

“Draco,” he said heartily, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s been too long. I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch lately. I wished I could chat, but someone else is waiting for you upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Draco repeated, eyeing the steps leading towards the inn rooms. Draco hadn’t been up there since Harry’s runaway moment in the summer holidays between their second and third year.

“Yes,” Lupin confirmed. “We figured it would be better for you to have some privacy to talk. Also, the fewer people know you are here…” Lupin trailed off, but Draco got the idea. He nodded.

“Alright,” he said. “Which room?”

“Number 7,” Lupin said. “Take your time. I’ll be waiting down here.”

“Thank you,” Draco said, and with that, he made his way up the stairs and out of the pub.

The corridor connecting the inn rooms was, thankfully, deserted, despite it being the holidays. Number 7 was a few steps down on the right, and when he located the room, he knocked two times. Hermione was the one to open the door.

“Thank god you’re here, Draco,” she whispered, stepping aside to let him in.

Draco took a look around. It was a small single bedroom, which was rather stuffed with five people occupying it. Ginny was sitting on the bed, smiling at him when he entered the room. Weasley was leaning against a wall, nodding in greeting. Harry was sitting as far away from everyone as he could - on the windowsill, with his back to the door. He did not turn to greet Draco.

“Alright,” Draco said slowly, assessing the atmosphere. “What's wrong? Why am I here?”

“You’re here to knock some sense into this one,” Ginny answered brusquely, pointing at Harry’s back. “He’s been hiding away from everyone since we came back from St Mungo’s last night, and we all agreed that if he’d talk to anyone, it would be you.”

“Oh, you did, didn’t you,” Harry snapped, finally turning around to glare at her. He looked tired and pale. There were dark shadows under his eyes. “Nice to know you were all talking behind my back. Not that I’m not used to that, mind you.”

“We wanted to talk to you, ” Ginny pointed out, rolling her eyes. “but as you’ve been hiding ever since we got back -”

“I didn’t want anyone to talk to me,” Harry spat, turning away from them again.

“Alas,” Ginny groaned, waving her hands in an angry gesture. “Why we called Draco. Please work your magic, will you?”

“We’ll leave you two alone for a while,” Hermione said softly, touching Draco’s arm and catching his eye. For a moment, they communicated without words. “If you need us, we’ll be with Professor Lupin.”

“Okay,” Draco nodded, and at his agreement, Ginny and Weasley immediately got to their feet, moving to leave. Hermione was the last one to leave the room, softly closing the door behind herself. It left Draco alone with Harry, who still wouldn’t so much as gaze at Draco.

This didn’t bode well for him.

“Harry,” Draco said gently, taking a tentative step towards him. “What happened?”

Harry didn’t answer. Neither did he turn around. Draco took another step closer to him. The room was so small that it took him close enough to touch Harry if he stretched out his hand.

“What happened at St Mungo’s?” Draco tried again, even more softly. Still no reaction. “Harry,” he breathed, lifting his hand to find the other boy’s, the way they so often did when they were looking for comfort. “Talk to me.”

The moment his fingers made contact with Harry’s, though, his friend flinched away, getting to his feet and stepping away from Draco, eyes wide and full of fear.

“Don’t touch me,” he hissed.

“Why not?” Draco asked, confused. “What’s wrong, Harry?”

“It’s not safe, okay?” Harry ground out, his voice rough. “I’m not safe to be around. You need to leave.”

Draco frowned at him. He took a moment to process Harry’s words. Then, he asked, almost calmly: “Is this because of what you saw happening to Mr Weasley?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what it means, Draco!” Harry snapped. “You’ve been warning me about this all along! About letting this connection between Voldemort and me get too strong. And now it happened. I hurt someone!”

“Harry, what are you saying?” Draco breathed. “You didn’t hurt Mr Weasley! You were in bed at Hogwarts. The Dark Lord’s snake hurt him. You only saw it.”

“But what if I didn’t!” Harry challenged. “The way I saw the attack - I was the snake, Draco! I could feel what it was feeling, I knew what it was thinking - what if Voldemort was possessing me, and somehow, he brought me out of Hogwarts, and -”

“Harry,” Draco shook his head, reaching out again to touch Harry’s shoulder. This time, Harry let him. “He can’t have. There’s no way to apparate you in and out of Hogwarts like this, even for the Dark Lord. The school is protected by enough wards. Believe me on this. Also,” Draco gulped, but he pushed on bravely, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “I know what it feels like, being possessed by the Dark Lord. And trust me, you wouldn’t have such a clear recollection of it. You would have no memory of it at all.”

“Oh,” Harry muttered, green eyes searching his. “Are you sure?”

“Very sure,” Draco said firmly. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t think there is a very real danger. We need to work on your Occlumency. But you had nothing to do with that attack, Harry. Please, just trust me on this.”

“But Moody said-”

“I don’t care what Moody said,” Draco cut him off. “Did Mad-Eye Moody have the Dark Lord in his head in the past? No. Then he can sit down and shut the fuck up. You listen to me, Harry. You have not been possessed by him. And we’re going to keep working on your Occlumency and make sure that it doesn’t happen. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry breathed, nodding. His eyes were watery, and then, he seemed to sort of crumble, searching out Draco’s embrace. Draco willingly wrapped him up in his arms, keeping him as close to his chest as he could. Harry was trembling from relief, if only ever so slightly, and Draco was so, so glad Hermione had called him. The thought of Harry suffering through this alone was unbearable.

“I didn’t tell you everything,” Harry whispered, his face still pressed against his shoulder. “There was a moment, in Dumbledore’s office, where I - I looked at him, and I suddenly felt so angry, like I wanted to hurt him, to kill him, I - what if I’m losing my mind, Draco?”

“You are not losing your mind,” Draco said firmly. “Your mind is simply connected to the Dark Lords. You see his thoughts when you sleep. It could very well be that you also get flashes of strong emotions when you are awake. I doubt it was you who felt that way. It was him.”

Harry took an unsteady breath, his arms tightening around Draco’s waist.

“We need to work on making your mind your own again,” Draco continued. “That is all.”

“I’m so glad I have you,” Harry murmured. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“Now, now,” Draco said softly, resting his cheek against the side of Harry’s head. “You’re so much stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

“I don’t feel strong at the moment.”

“That’s because so much shit keeps happening to you. It’s bound to wear you down.”

Harry only hummed noncommittally, and they stayed like this for a while longer - for how long, Draco did not know. They only broke apart, though, when there was a knock on the door.

“Yes?” Draco called, watching as Harry attempted to regain composure.

“Are you two okay?” Hermione asked anxiously. “Is it alright if we come back in?”

Draco looked at Harry in askance. Harry sighed but nodded.

“Come in,” Draco called.

The door opened, revealing their three reluctant friends.

“So,” Ginny said, arching an eyebrow. “is this one going to bite our heads off some more, or are we quite safe?”

“I think it’s safe now,” Draco smiled, looking at Harry, who rolled his eyes. “We have established that Harry has, at no point, been posessed by the Dark Lord and attacked anyone in your family, so there will hopefully be no more hiding away.”

“You know,” Ginny muttered. “I could have told you the same thing, but something told me you’d take it better if it came from Draco.”

“He takes everything better when it comes from Draco,” Hermione smiled. “It’s my number one rule when dealing with Harry.”

“You are impossible,” Draco snorted. “And you wonder why he takes everything better from me. You don’t even try anymore!”

“Why try if there’s no point,” Weasley scoffed, but he was eyeing Harry. “You okay, mate?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed heavily. “Sorry I was so out of it.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Weasley shrugged. “With everything going on, you’re bound to get a bit messed up eventually.”

“So, Draco,” Ginny turned to him, a little more cheerfully. “Do you have to get back to the Manor right away?”

“I don’t think so,” Draco frowned.

“Then let’s have dinner down at the pub with Professor Lupin,” Ginny suggested. “Mum said she’d be too busy to make anything tonight, what with Dad out at the hospital, and if we’re already all here, we can have a lovely evening out and forget about all the horrible stuff for a while.”

So that’s what they did, and when Draco returned to the Manor later that evening, he felt much more lighthearted, and like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

For the rest of the winter holidays, Draco communicated with Harry and Hermione via their charmed parchments. He was informed when they ran into their former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lockhart - and my, he almost missed him, in the face of Umbridge - in the Janus Thickey ward, still not having regained his memory. He was also updated when Mr Weasley was finally released from the hospital shortly before the start of term, but the news also came with other, rather unsettling ones.

Snape came over to inform me that he would be teaching me Occlumency once a week from next year on. It seems Dumbledore shares your concerns about my connection with Voldemort, which is fine, but why Snape of all people?!

And Draco had to agree. Even with Draco teaching him, Harry had had trouble emptying his mind of all thoughts and emotions. How was he supposed to do achieve that goal with a teacher whose guts he hated, and vice versa?  Draco couldn’t help but think that Dumbledore hadn’t thought this move through till the end. He must have had other options. He could have taught Harry himself, or he could have given the task to another teacher. Snape can’t be the only one qualified.

So all in all, he felt very skeptical upon his return to Hogwarts in January. He was glad to get out of the Manor - even though he had barely seen his father over the holidays, the place made him feel anxious nowadays - but with Umbridge and Snape waiting to wreak havoc in their near future, he was more than a little reluctant to start classes again.

“Does anyone else feel like this school year is cursed?” Draco grumbled as they made their way out of the Great Hall after breakfast. Draco had DADA first thing in the morning, and he was reluctant to leave.

“Sure feels like it,” Harry grumbled in agreement.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of it,” Hermione smiled, nudging Harry, and they all looked up to find Chang approaching them. Harry went a weird shade of purple, and Draco blinked at him in confusion.

“Well, we’ll go ahead to Charms, Harry,” Hermione announced, seizing Weasley’s arms and dragging him along. When Draco didn’t move, she grabbed him, too, pulling him after them.

“Really, you two,” she hissed. “You have no sense for these things, have you? I expect nothing better of Ron, but you, Draco. We really should give them some privacy after what happened before Christmas.”

“What happened before Christmas?” Draco asked, a little too sharply.

“Oh, right,” Hermione started. “You don’t know. Everything went crazy after and I forgot to tell you.” She leaned in a little closer and whispered: “You remember that night after the DA meeting, when we left Harry and Cho alone together? They kissed.”

Hermione looked up at him, obviously having envisaged some grand reaction from his side that would show how thrilled he was for Harry, the way she obviously was, but Draco couldn’t breathe. His chest felt like it was on fire.

Oh Merlin. Oh no.

“Brilliant,” he said, but his voice sounded lifeless, and Hermione’s eyes widened. Fuck. He couldn’t do this here. Not in front of her. Not in public. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go, or I’ll be late for Umbridge’s class.”

And he took off.

In the opposite direction of the Defence Against the Dark Arts Classroom.

He heard Hermione call his name, but he did not stop. His vision blurred, and there was white noise in his ears.

Harry had kissed Cho Chang. Draco'd known that Harry was infatuated with her, but this was different. With an infatuation, Draco could always delude himself that it wasn’t serious - that nothing would ever come of it, and that Harry would come to his senses.

But this changed everything. This was a kiss. A start to what was probably actual dating. Would he now have to watch them together every day? Would he have to stand by and observe as Harry embraced her, touched her, kissed her, looked at her the way Draco wished he’d look at him?

Draco didn’t think he could stand it.

He didn’t know where he was going. He had lost complete track of his surroundings, and it was only when fingers wrapped around his wrist that he stopped.

“Draco,” Hermione whispered, out of breath. “Please, stop.”

“Go away,” Draco gasped. “Not now, Hermione.”

“Oh, Draco,” she breathed, looking despaired. “Since when?”

Draco closed his eyes. He hadn’t wanted Hermione to know. His feelings still felt like such a shameful weakness sometimes, like something that he definitely should not be feeling. Having someone inside their group aware of them made it so much worse.

“Hey,” she said soothingly, and then, Draco found himself wrapped in a tight embrace. “It’s okay. You don’t need to hide from me any longer.”

At that, Draco broke. Sobs spilled from his mouth and he pressed his face into Hermione’s bushy hair. She didn’t say a word, just waited until he’d calmed down enough to pull away, anxiously wiping at his face.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t notice,” Hermione muttered, taking his hand. “I feel horrible.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Draco shrugged.

“Why?” she asked. “Did you think I would push you away?” When Draco didn’t answer, she looked pained. “Oh, Draco,” she shook her head. “I would never.”

“I know some Muggles don’t accept homosexuality,” Draco whispered. “I wasn’t sure…”

“I don’t care who you love,” Hermione said, rather forcefully. “You’re you, and you’re my best friend. I want you to be happy. And I’m so, so sorry you are suffering, and that my careless comments have probably added to that suffering. I really didn’t know, Draco - you are so difficult to read sometimes, and with Harry and Ron around, I chose to believe you were like them, a little slow on the uptake rather than…”

“... hurting and in denial?” Draco asked, his voice small.

Hermione made a pained sound, and hugged him again.

“How long have you felt this way?” she enquired.

“I’ve known since Yule Ball last year,” Draco murmured. “Viktor tipped me off.”

“Viktor,” Hermione sighed. “Oh, that makes so much sense. I should have known.”

“You can’t know everything in the world, Hermione.”

“Still! The way you acted at that time, and after the second task… It all makes sense now…” When Draco didn’t reply, she pulled back to look at him. “Have you considered… telling him?” she asked, very carefully.

“What?” Draco snapped. “Are you mental?!”

“It’s just,” she muttered, biting her lip. “You’re special to him. You’ve always been. I think he might love you back without knowing he does.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Draco ground out, pulling away from her hug completely. “He’s with Chang now. You did your best to encourage that.”

“Okay, first, he’s not with her,” Hermione pointed out firmly. “It was one kiss. That means nothing . Second, I know you can’t see it, but his feelings for Cho aren’t even in the same league as his feelings for you. He’d throw her over in a heartbeat if you needed him. And that’s no exaggeration. It’s a fact. He fancies Cho. You and him… that’s something else entirely.”

“It’s called friendship, Hermione,” Draco said bitterly.

“Is it?” Hermione challenged. “Until today, I would have said yes, but now that I know how you feel, I am prepared to bet it’s something more. You two have always been different. Just compare the way Harry and me or Harry and Ron act with each other to the way you and Harry do. There’s a reason we call on you every time there’s a problem with Harry, Draco.”

“Still, it wasn’t me down in that lake,” Draco pointed out. “If Harry really loved me back, wouldn’t it have been?”

“Maybe not, if he hadn’t realised it yet,” Hermione mused. “That’s why I think you should tell him. It might help him realise.”

“No,” Draco said firmly. “I won’t destroy what we have. Not for anything in the world.”

Hermione sighed, searching his face.

“Are you sure?” she questioned. “I think Harry would want you to talk to him.”

“Hermione, Harry’s got enough on his plate,” Draco groaned. “What kind of friend would I be if I pushed in now that he finally got a girlfriend, something to be happy about, and told him I was in love with him? It would be selfish. I won’t do any such thing.”

Hermione sighed.

“Okay,” she sighed. “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want,” Draco nodded. “And you’ll keep quiet, won’t you?”

“Of course I will,” Hermione promised. “You don’t have to worry about me, Draco. But…” she held in, reaching out again to take his hand. “in the future, please lean on me if it gets too hard? I want to be there for you. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

Draco’s eyes watered again at her words. He squeezed her hand, and nodded, quite unable to speak.

He was late for class, but he found that it was quite worth the deduction of house points, in this case.

Chapter Text

Draco next saw Harry at lunch and tried his very best to act like nothing was bothering him. Hermione kept shooting him worried glances across the table, but when Draco gave her an irritated look, she flushed and averted her eyes, sufficiently abashed.

They made their way down to Hagrid’s hut for Care of Magical Creatures after, and the news they got from Hagrid in the five minutes before the other students arrived did nothing to lift Draco’s mood. Apparently, their friend had been notified by Umbridge that he was now officially on probation.

“S’n more’n I expected, ter tell yeh the truth,” Hagrid muttered.

“Yeah, well,” Draco sighed, a deep frown on his face. “After the way the inspection went, it was safe to say that this would be the outcome.”

“Please, Hagrid,” Hermione whispered. “Please promise us you’ll be more careful from now on. Stick to the Ministry-approved curriculum.”

“I will, but I don’ reckon it’ll help all tha’ much, ter be honest, Hermione,” Hagrid sighed. “She wants me gone. She migh’ find a way ter make tha’ happen no matter wha’ I do.”

There was a tense silence between them, but Draco had to agree with that miserable thought. It made him want to cry.

Why did everything in his life have to go pear-shaped lately?

Draco had Astronomy in the evening, but he joined Hermione and Weasley in the library after, where they were working on an essay for Umbridge and waiting for Harry to return from his first Occlumency lesson with Snape. He was anxious to hear how this particular collaboration would go - he had a horrible feeling about this recent idea of Dumbledore’s, and he didn’t think he could wait until tomorrow to find out.

When Harry finally joined them, he looked positively ghastly: He was pale and sweaty, and he seemed to be shivering, and his green eyes were wide and flitting between the three of them.

“What happened?” Draco asked, under his breath, because Pince would kill them if they used their normal pitch in the library. “What did Snape do?”

“Nothing,” Harry muttered, absentmindedly. “Listen, I just realised something… These dreams I’ve been having, about this corridor?”

“Wait,” Draco interrupted him. “You’ve dreamt of a corridor? You never told me!”

Harry looked guilty at that.

“Um, yeah,” he mumbled. “I didn’t want to worry you. Anyway,” he pressed on, looking at Hermione and Weasley. “I made the connection earlier when Snape read my mind and I had to relive a couple of memories… It’s the same corridor your Dad was attacked in, Ron! It’s the Department of Mysteries!”

Draco’s mind was still reeling with the information that Harry had been having dreams about what was apparently the Department of Mysteries without telling him about it when Hermione breathed out a deep, long sigh and whispered: “Of course!”

“Of course what?” Weasley asked impatiently.

“Ron, think about it… Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic -”

“Who?” Draco asked, completely out of the loop.

“Someone from the Order,” Harry supplied absentmindedly. “He’s in Azkaban now, for trying to get through a door at the Ministry of Magic. It must have been the Department of Mysteries!”

“How come Sturgis was trying to break in when he’s on our side?” said Weasley.

“Well, I don’t know,” Hermione frowned. “That’s a bit odd…”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Draco frowned. “He must have been under the Imperius Curse. If the Dark Lord is trying to get inside, what better way is there than to use someone from the other side as a pawn to put the blame on?”

“That makes sense,” Hermione nodded, her frown disappearing. “I’m sure you’re right.”

“So what’s in the Department of Mysteries?” Harry asked, looking from Weasley to Draco. “Have your Dads ever mentioned anything about it?”

“I know they call the people who work in there ‘Unspeakables’,” said Weasley with a frown. “because no one really seems to know what they do.”

“They can’t speak about it,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Unspeakables are contractually forbidden to discuss their work outside of the department. They do all sorts of research about the nature of magic. But because their research is so sensitive, it could be fatal if it falls into the wrong hands. I can see why the Dark Lord would be interested in things hidden in the Department of Mysteries.”

“It does make sense,” Hermione agreed. “It may be something top secret that the Ministry has been developing… Harry, are you sure you are all right?”

“Yeah… fine…” Harry shrugged her off, but when he lowered his hands, they were still trembling. Draco longed to reach out to entwine their fingers but did not dare to do so in front of their friends. “I just feel a bit…” he caught Draco’s eyes. “I much preferred our Occlumency lessons.”

“What did Snape do?” Draco sighed.

“He just attacked me with Legilimency over and over again,” Harry grumbled. “He didn’t even explain anything to me. If I didn’t have your instructions, I wouldn’t have known how to do it at all. All he kept saying was ‘empty your mind’ - yeah, like that helped.”

Draco bit his lip and closed his eyes. This was just the disaster he had anticipated.

“This is never going to work,” he muttered in despair. “You hate Snape way too much. He’s counterproductive to your learning experience.”

“I’ve been saying that for years about Potions,” Harry joked, finally cracking a smile.

“Potions is different,” Draco groaned. “Potions is not about controlling your emotions. Occlumency is. What was Dumbledore thinking?! ”

“I don’t know,” Harry muttered. “But maybe the two of us should keep practising together, too. You know. Just in case.”

“If we can find the time,” Draco said doubtfully. “Between Occlumency with Snape and the DA and both our Quidditch teams and our mountains of homework…”

“We’ll have to try,” Harry said, a pleading look in his eyes.

“Alright,” Draco nodded, melting a little. How could he resist if Harry needed him? “We’ll try.”

The next morning didn’t start much better than the last one ended. When the Daily Prophet arrived, it carried news about a mass breakout of Death Eaters from Azkaban, among them his batshit crazy aunt Bellatrix.

Draco stared at the photograph of his aunt with some horror. He had seen images of her before, of course, but being confronted with her like this at the breakfast table made him feel rather sick.

His eyes travelled down to the captions below the picture, reading: Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Draco felt like he was going to throw up. He had known that his aunt was a horrible person, but he had not known that the people she had hurt were someone in his direct vicinity was related to.

So his aunt was the reason Neville Longbottom had grown up with his grandmother.

Bloody hell. Why was his life so fucked up?!

“Draco?” Harry asked, apparently noting his distress, and a gentle hand found his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Draco couldn’t speak. He felt like he was going to throw up right at the Gryffindor table if he opened his mouth. And how rude would that be, especially thinking that he didn’t even belong here?

He couldn’t raise his gaze to look at Longbottom a few seats down the table.

He felt Harry take his hand and pull him to his feet wordlessly, and then, he was led out of the Great Hall. They walked until they found a quiet alcove on the second floor, and Harry pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Hey,” he whispered, running a soothing hand over his shoulder. “Breathe. In and out.”

“I didn’t know she went for Longbottom’s parents,” Draco forced out, and his voice sounded unlike his own.

Harry was quiet for a moment, then he said, very softly: “I did.”

Draco tensed. “You never told me,” he muttered.

“I was ordered to keep it quiet.”

“How can Longbottom even be in the same room with me?!” Draco asked, his breath hitching.

“Draco, you didn’t hurt his parents,” Harry reminded him forcefully. “You are not your aunt. And Neville knows that.”

“How?” Draco muttered. “He barely knows me! And look at my family! I’m surrounded by evil people! What makes me any different?!”

“Dumbledore once told me that it’s our choices that make us who we are,” Harry said firmly, pulling away to look into his eyes. “You chose to be different from them, so you are. Have faith in yourself. You can have sympathy for his loss, but don’t apologise for something you haven’t done. I won’t allow it.”

Draco bit his lip, but nodded, if a little shakily. Harry pulled him back into their embrace until Draco stopped shaking and his breathing evened out.

The mass breakout sent a wave of anxiety through the student body. The rumour mill was running overboard with sightings, ranging from London to Hogsmeade, and the poor children of victims of the Death Eaters crimes, like Longbottom or Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff from their year, were mobbed and questioned by their peers. Draco felt rather horrible for them, but he still tried his best to actively avoid Longbottom’s presence.

Most notable, though, was the shift in the student’s attitude towards Harry. Where most people outside of the DA had scrutinized him with skepticism before the article, they now watched him with something akin to curiosity. It was clear that the Prophet’ s version of the events wasn’t satisfying to them.

The Ministry, meanwhile, was taking their own, rather drastic line in dealing with the recent events. New notices had appeared on the house noticeboards the morning after the breakout, announcing:

BY ORDER OF THE HIGH INQUISITOR OF HOGWARTS

Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subject they are paid to teach.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-six.

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, High Inquisitor

While this particular decree seemed rather unspecific at first glance, it effectively dimmed in the questions anguished students would have otherwise directed at their teachers.

It also had the inconvenient side effect that they could not be observed to be talking to Hagrid, and seeing that their every Care of Magical Creatures class was now under inspection, it left absolutely no room to direct a few encouraging words to their friend.

Hagrid was not the only one under probation - Professor Trelawney was suffering the same fate, but unlike Hagrid, Draco thought that in her case, it was actually justified. He really hoped Umbridge had the good sense to sack her first. It would give them time, if nothing else.

When their next DA meeting rolled around, Draco begged Harry to not pair him with Longbottom.

“You cannot hide from him forever,” Harry reasoned.

“I can try,” Draco grumbled, and when Harry only looked at him sternly, he added, rather defensively: “Isn’t it kinder that way?! I probably remind him of my aunt as it is! He shouldn’t need to look at me all the time!”

“Draco!” Harry growled. “For the last time: You. Are. Not. Your. Aunt.”

“But you cannot change the fact that we are related,” Draco argued, rather petulantly.

“I’m related to the Dursleys,” Harry pointed out. “That doesn’t define me, either. And if Neville has a problem working with you, he can come speak to me.”

“Harry,” Draco sighed.

“No, Draco,” Harry shook his head. “I’m done discussing this. You’re making too big a thing out of this, and I won’t let you. For your own sake.”

So Draco ended up practising with Longbottom again, and if the other boy had any trouble with Draco as a partner, he did not show it - on the contrary; the news that his parents’ tormentors were on the loose again seemed to have given him a push, and he worked tirelessly on the Shield Charm they were practising, resulting in them being the fastest pair in the room to master the spell.

“That was fantastic,” Draco said, without looking at him. “Marvellous job, Longbottom.”

“Thank you,” Longbottom replied, his voice very quiet. There was a beat of silence, and then he muttered: “You know I don’t hate you, right?”

“What?” Draco muttered, his heart sinking.

“I know you’re nothing like your aunt,” Longbottom explained, and when Draco finally met his gaze, he was nervously kneading his fingers. “Harry, Hermione and Ron wouldn’t have been friends with you for such a long time if you were. Plus, you’ve always been nice to me. I don’t want you to feel bad about something that was never in your hands in the first place.”

Draco’s throat was very dry.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Draco asked, at last. “Looking at me and knowing…?”

“I knew all along,” Longbottom frowned. “It might have bothered me a little, right at the beginning, but that was before I knew you. I soon realised you were different. I don’t really connect you to her anymore now. You’re just Draco.”

And at those words, Draco felt strangely lightheaded. He smiled at Longbottom, and the other boy smiled back.

Meanwhile, Harry’s Occlumency lessons were still going disastrously. Draco was trying to squeeze in a session or two into their week whenever they found a free spot, but Harry was usually so wrung out from everything else going out that there was not much sense in working together at all. Draco also felt that the work with Snape only weakened Harry’s mind instead of strengthening it - Draco found it progressively easier to penetrate his friend's thoughts and memories whenever they met up, and it worried him.

It moved him to make his way down to Professor Snape’s office in the dungeons one night after one of his own sessions with Harry, when he was hopeful that Umbridge wouldn’t linger in the corridors and catch him seeking counsel from a teacher.

Snape’s eyes narrowed when he opened the door to find him waiting, and he regarded him suspiciously, drawling: “Mr Malfoy, I don’t recall making an appointment with you.”

“You didn’t, Sir,” Draco admitted. “But there is something I’d like to discuss with you.”

“Surely you know that any discussion not pertaining potions of any kind can cost me my job,” Snape reminded him, rather bitterly. “But I don’t expect you’ve come all this way to ask me for extra homework, now have you?”

“No, Sir,” Draco agreed. “I’ve come here to discuss another class you’re paid to teach, so technically, it’s not against the rules.” When Snape only frowned at him, Draco elaborated: “Occlumency, Sir. I’ve come here to discuss Harry Potter’s Occlumency lessons.”

Sharp dark eyes bore through him, and Draco carefully emptied his mind, sorting all his emotions and thoughts away, making sure there was nothing for Snape to find.

“I wished I was being paid for these lessons,” Snape pointed out, his lip curling without humour. “As it is, I’m doing them as a favour for the Headmaster.” Then, he stepped aside. “You’d better come in. I don’t want to discuss this in the hallway.”

Relieved, Draco stepped into Snape’s office. He took a seat across from him when the Professor offered it, watching as his Head of House took the chair behind his desk, scrutinising him.

“Potter was not supposed to tell anyone about our lessons,” Snape pointed out. “He was advised to tell others that he was taking remedial Potions classes.”

“Please forgive him, Professor,” Draco said quickly. “It’s just that he’s been working on Occlumency with me before he started lessons with you, so it was hard to conceal it.”

“Has he, now,” Snape enquired, raising his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t have guessed, from the way he has been performing.”

Draco took a deep, calming breath.

“Yes, well,” Draco said slowly. “That’s what I came here to talk to you about. The farthest thing on my mind is to criticise your methods, Sir -”

“I would hope so,” Snape drawled, his eyes flashing.

“But I fear that your classes haven’t shown any effect,” Draco pressed on. “On the contrary. Harry’s defences have become weaker.”

“That’s because he’s not practising,” Snape spat.

“With all due respect, Sir,” Draco shook his head. “That’s not true. I’ve been sitting down with him. We’ve been practising. But his mind is only getting weaker. I think the classes with you, as they are currently happening, mentally exhaust him.”

“Of course they are exhausting!” Snape snapped. “Because he possesses no abilities to keep me out of his head. Abilities he won’t foster by practising on his own. ”

“But he does practise!” Draco pointed out. “I just think maybe, a different kind of approach would help. I’ve been teaching him a little differently, and I found that -”

“Have you had any results?” Snape interrupted him.

“Well, not yet,” Draco admitted. “But still, his response is much more positive to my way of -”

“Unless you have a concrete success that you can prove adheres from your teaching, Mr Malfoy,” Snape cut him off. “I suggest you keep your thoughts to yourself. I have been teaching for much longer than you have, and I will not accept cheek from a student, no matter how good his scores may be.”

Draco pressed his mouth into a thin line. He was dying to say more, like how he knew Harry much better than Snape did, but he knew he’d cross a definite line if he did that.

“I see,” Draco said instead. “I apologise for disrupting your evening, then. Goodnight, Sir.”

And with that, he stood and left the room, fuming.

Chapter Text

As January turned into February, the first Hogsmeade weekend approached. Draco had actually been looking forward to a day away from this hellhole the school had been turning into lately, but when he mentioned it during breakfast a week before the scheduled trip, Harry blinked at him said: “But didn't I tell you? It's on Valentine's day, and I promised to go with Cho.”

“Oh,” was all Draco managed to say. Hermione looked at him with an expression of sympathy across the table, but it didn't stop his stomach from dropping through the floor.

That night, he sat down and wrote to Viktor. He had only sent him a letter around Christmas, but in that very moment, he felt like talking to him rather than anyone else, so he tried to put his feelings down on paper, and when he watched Aquila fly away with it, he felt a little lighter, indeed.

On Valentine's Day, though, things did not go quite as anticipated. At the breakfast table, Hermione received a letter that made her turn to Harry, her eyes gleaming in a dangerous, determined way.

“This is really important,” she told him. “Do you think you could meet us at the Three Broomsticks around midday?”

“Well… I dunno,” Harry said reluctantly. “Cho might be expecting me to spend the whole day with her. We never said what we were going to do.”

“Well, bring her along if you must,” Hermione pressed, and Draco looked at her like she'd grown a second head. What in Merlin's name was she on about? It was bad enough that Draco knew Harry was on a date with Chang. The last thing he wanted was to watch them at it.

Hermione on a mission was not to be argued with, though, so she made Harry promise he'd come and then she took off without explanation to answer the letter.

Harry left them shortly after to meet up with Chang, resulting in a historically awkward couple of minutes with only Weasley and Draco.

“So,” Weasley asked, after an eternity of silence. “What do you reckon Hermione is planning this time?”

“No idea,” Draco said honestly. “It'd better not be another secret underground rebellion. Our schedule is full.”

“I hope not,” Weasley said, eyes wide.

It turned out it was something else, thankfully. Hermione picked them up at the entrance door, in the company of Luna Lovegood of all people, finally ready to fill them in.

“After that Azkaban breakout, I decided that it was time for people to hear the truth about what is happening,” Hermione told them, under her breath, mindful to walk a couple of steps away from all other students. “Harry needs a platform to state his version of the events. An alternative that the people can turn to now that they are starting to be dissatisfied with the official statements the Ministry is approving. So I contacted Rita Skeeter.”

“You did what?!” Draco demanded, gaping at her. “Have you completely lost your mind, Hermione?!”

“I hate to side with Malfoy,” Weasley said. “But he's right, Hermione. Did you forget Skeeter was the one to start all the fire against Harry? She's the last person we can trust!”

“But we can,” Hermione smiled, self-satisfied. “Because if she doesn't do as I say, I'll report her as an unregistered Animagus. Simple as that.”

Draco stared at her, considering.

“You really think that will work?” he asked, doubtful.

“All Rita Skeeter cares about is her job and her fame,” Hermione sniffed. “She won't risk having me take that from her forever. She'll swallow my terms. Kicking and screaming, but swallow she will.”

“But the Prophet will never print such an interview,” Weasley frowned. “Even if Skeeter agrees to write it.”

“Well,” Hermione smiled, waving her hand over to the girl walking next to her in a dreamlike state, as if none of this concerned her in the slightest. “That's why I asked Luna along.”

And then Draco understood.

“Your father owns The Quibbler,” he said slowly. “Isn't that right?”

“Yes, he does, Draco Malfoy,” Luna nodded, granting him an absent-minded smile. “And he'll be happy to print Harry's interview. Anything to support him and Dumbledore against the Ministry.”

He felt a surge of affection for the odd girl.

“I just hope Harry will really come,” Hermione noted worriedly, gnawing on her lip. “We're meeting Skeeter at twelve. I'm not sure how long we can hold her there if Harry isn't around.”

“Well, if he doesn't turn up, we know who to blame,” Draco grumbled, his stomach turning. The knowledge that Harry was out there with Chang right now made him feel sick.

He could feel Hermione’s eyes on him, but he did not turn to look at her.

Both Skeeter and Harry turned up at the Three Broomsticks earlier than expected. Skeeter was already there when they arrived, nursing a firewhiskey, and Harry turned up about an hour before their appointed time, without Chang in tow, looking upset. Draco felt, in equal measures, uplifted by that development and guilty about the fact that he felt relief at the discontent of the boy he loved - he was a horrible person, wasn't he? -  but they didn't pry, not in front of Skeeter, at least. Instead, they filled Harry in on Hermione’s plan, until Harry reluctantly agreed to live through the horrors of that fateful night of the Dark Lord's return one more time. He was struggling visibly, retelling some of it, and Draco moved closer to him as he did, lightly resting his hand against Harry's under the table. He noted that Skeeter was watching their movements with shrewd eyes but when she noted Hermione glaring at her, she rolled her eyes and turned back to the task at hand.

When they were finally done, Harry looked particularly worn out, so they made their way back to the castle immediately. Draco joined them at the Gryffindor table, as had become a bit of a habit lately, and they discussed the upcoming article with a couple of DA members in hushed voices, among them Longbottom.

Only when Chang entered the Great Hall, completely failing to acknowledge Harry's presence, did Hermione address Harry’s rather aborted date again, and Harry fell into a retelling of what sounded like a quite disastrous get-together.

“So after I tell her that Hermione asked me to meet the three of you at the Three Broomsticks ,” he explained. “She starts acting all weird. The Ravenclaw Captain, Roger Davies, was sitting a couple of seats away from us, snogging his girlfriend, and suddenly she's telling me all about how not long ago, he was asking her out-”

“Excuse me?!” Draco burst out, outraged on Harry’s behalf.

“ -or how she used to go to that place with Cedric,” Harry continued, obviously egged on by Draco's reaction. Draco hissed, shaking his head. “And suddenly, all she wants to talk about is Cedric. So I tell her I don't feel like talking about Cedric.”

“Of course you don't,” Draco frowned. “That should be the last thing to discuss on a bloody date. Merlin.”

“I know, right?” Harry called. “But then she starts crying and saying she needs to talk about it, and she thought I needed to talk about it, too. And I told her that I had you guys to talk if I wanted to, so then she jumps up and says ‘I'll see you around, Harry!’ and runs out of the place!” He turned to look at Hermione, whose face was rather pained. “I mean, what was that all about? What was going on?”

Hermione sighed deeply, and she glanced at Draco for a moment, as if unsure whether to proceed with what she had to say, but finally muttered: “Oh, Harry. Well, I'm sorry, but you were a bit tactless.”

“Me, tactless?” said Harry, outraged. Draco gaped at her, equally incredulous. “One minute we were getting on fine, next minute she was telling me that Roger Davies asked her out and how she used to go and snog Cedric in that stupid teashop - how was I supposed to feel about that?”

“Well, you see,” Hermione explained, very patiently. “you shouldn't have told her you wanted to meet me halfway through your date.”

“But, but,” Harry spluttered angrily. “But - you told me to meet you at twelve and to bring her along, how was I supposed to do that without telling her?”

“You should have told her differently,” Hermione said softly. “You should have said it was really annoying, but I'd made you promise to come along to the Three Broomsticks, and you really didn't want to go, you'd much rather spend the whole day with her, but unfortunately you thought you really ought to meet me and would she please, please come along with you-”

“Ok, stop,” Draco interrupted her, feeling livid. “Harry would never, ever actually say any of this. Also, why are you defending her, anyway?”

Hermione’s eyes were on him now, and they were wary.

“Draco…”

“No, it's true. This girl just threw a jealousy fit over you of all people. She tried to force Harry to talk about something he wasn't comfortable with, and then she threw another tantrum when he wouldn't. And in general, from what I heard about this date, it felt to me like she was trying to fit Harry into a very Diggory-shaped mould. Bringing him to the teashop they used to frequent? Wanting to discuss him? Harry is not Diggory, and if she doesn't get it into her head that Harry is worth dating for his own sake then she is not worth his attention.”

Hermione did not answer, but the look she gave him was very knowing. It made his face feel hot.

He glanced over at Harry and noted that the other boy’s gaze had wandered over to the Ravenclaw table. He looked very subdued, and Draco felt a little bit horrible.

Still, he would not take back what he'd said about Chang. Harry deserved better, and it was time someone said it.

“They're barmy, these girls,” Weasley said, shaking his head and surfacing from his chicken long enough to share a compassionate look with Harry.

It was on the tip of Draco's tongue to comment and tell him that all they had to do was choose the right ones to avoid trouble, but he quickly shut his mouth, lest he gave Harry any ideas.

He didn't want Harry to look at any girls. He didn't want him to look at anyone but him, no matter their gender.

On the day Harry's Quibbler interview was released, he was assaulted by owls in retaliation to his statements - not all of them positive, but not all of them negative, either. The impact, though, was probably best to be seen amongst the students at Hogwarts. Umbridge, upon coming to investigate the commotion at the breakfast table, had taken the magazine from Harry, taken 50 points off Gryffindor for the interview, given Harry another week of detention (which had almost made Draco speak up, if Hermione hadn't stepped on his foot) and banned him from Hogsmeade for the remainder of the school year. The Quibbler had subsequently been banned from the school in Educational Decree Number Twenty-Seven, but all that did was make sure that every last student got their hands on a secretly transfigured copy. It was the talk of the school, and it seemed not only a few of them were inclined to believe Harry's version of the story. One of the first to come and face Harry about it was Finnigan, and Draco could tell how happy that made his friend. Finnigan immediately joined the DA, much to Draco's admitted suspicion, but he was, as always, hopelessly overruled.

Another person who tried to make up with Harry in the aftermath of the interview was Chang. To Draco's surprise, though, this didn't go over as well with Harry.

“Maybe you're right about her,” Harry told her with a deep frown one night after working - rather pointlessly, in Draco's opinion, since Harry was wrung out after Umbridge's detention - on Harry's Occlumency. “I mean, apart from Quidditch, we don't have anything in common. And that date… it really did seem a little like she wanted me to be someone I'm not.”

“I'm sorry,” Draco muttered. “ Maybe I shouldn't have…”

“No,” Harry shook his head. “You were honest.”

Draco didn't respond. He wasn't so sure if he was honest as much as bitter. Maybe, he figured, it was a mix of both.

The edition with Harry's interview quickly became the most sold editorial of The Quibbler in existence. Umbridge, though, wasn't the only one at Hogwarts who was livid about the interview. Draco had known that when Harry had listed the names of the Death Eaters present the night of the Dark Lord’s rebirth that there would be hell to pay for this, one way or another, but when he entered the dormitory the evening after the magazine had been published, Draco found himself slammed against the cold, unforgiving stone wall.

It took a moment for him to gather his wits. He could taste blood in his mouth.

“You filthy little traitor,” Nott was already yelling, and Draco was fumbling for his wand. “It’s bad enough that you’d sell out your own flesh and blood like that - your own father - the shame - but you sold out all of our fathers, too. You should have considered that before you and all your little friends went public, Malfoy.”

“We did what we had to do,” Draco ground out, his fingers clenching around his wand. He turned to glower up at Nott, who was towering above him, Crabbe and Goyle at his shoulders. “We did what was right. ”

Crabbe growled and reached out for him, but this time, Draco was prepared - he sent a Petrificus Totalus at Crabbe, a Levicorpus at Goyle, but then, he was hit with an Expelliarmus and found his wand flying from his hand and right into Nott’s. He stared in horror as Nott sneered, stepping closer and pressing his own wand against Draco’s throat.

“You’re scum,” Nott spat. “You and Potter and all of your merry troop, and I can’t wait till I don’t have to look at your ugly face again every single day. I just hope I’ll be the one who gets to do it in the end. Who gets to kill you. I know Potter’s saved for the Dark Lord but as far as I know, no one has tabs on you yet. Maybe I’ll be so lucky.”

That was the moment the door opened, and Zabini stepped into the dormitory. His eyes fell on Crabbe’s stiff figure on the floor first, and then he glanced at Goyle suspended in the air before the took note of the position Draco and Nott were in.

Zabini acted faster than Draco would have thought possible. He disarmed Nott in a matter of seconds, and Nott watched with an indignant cry as Zabini caught both his and Draco’s wands from the air.

“What the heck, Theo?!” Zabini spat.

“This is none of your business!” Nott yelled.

“It’s my business if it’s happening in my dormitory!” Zabini rolled his eyes. “Now, step away from Malfoy, or do I have to call Professor Snape?”

“What right do you have to boss me around?” Nott hissed, rounding up on him. “You’re not even a Prefect! You’re a no one!”

“Funny you should mention Prefects, seeing that you just threatened one,” Zabini drawled. “How does it work in cases like these? Does Malfoy get to punish you, or do I have to get Pansy to do it? She’d step up gladly, don’t you worry.”

“Be careful,” Nott growled. “The game you’re playing is dangerous. You might end up on the wrong side.”

“I don’t take sides,” Zabini said flatly. “Now get out of here, if you know what’s good for you.” Zabini held out his wand, and Draco knew it was a peace offering. Zabini wouldn’t tell if Nott left without making a fuss.

Nott glowered at him, and after a long moment of silence, he wordlessly took the wand and the offer. He cast two quick spells at Crabbe and Goyle, releasing them, before heading for the door.

“You were lucky this time, Malfoy,” Nott hissed. “But remember what I said.” And with that, he left.

“Are you alright?” Zabini asked the moment the door closed behind them, crossing the distance between them and holding out a hand to help him to his feet.

“Yes,” Draco muttered, taking it gratefully as he stood. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem,” Zabini sighed. “I’m afraid it won’t keep him off your back forever, though.” He frowned. “You’re bleeding. You should see Madam Pomfrey.”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco waved him off. If Harry heard that he’d been to the hospital wing, there’d be hell to pay.

“Alright,” Zabini rolled his eyes. “At least let me cast a healing spell, then.”

“Okay,” Draco smiled. “Give it a go.”

Zabini pointed his wand at the wound at Draco’s temple, and Draco forced himself not to flinch away. Then Zabini muttered the spell, and Draco felt the skin knit itself back together.

“It’s still a little red,” Zabini made a face. “But it might be gone by the morning.” He repeated the movements on the wound on Draco’s upper lip.

“Thank you,” Draco said, again. “I really appreciate it. I know it’s hard to stand up to Nott.”

Zabini shrugged, a frown on his face.

“He needs standing up to,” Zabini said softly. “Now more than ever. But I guess you of all people would understand that.”

Draco blinked, not quite having expected that answer. He opened his mouth, scrambling for a response, but Zabini had already turned around, opening his trunk.

“Oh, right,” he called, throwing him his wand. Draco caught it. “Here. Take care of yourself. You’re kind of an important figurehead in this whole upcoming war.”

“Come again?” Draco said, quite taken aback.

“Well,” Zabini smiled, looking at him over his shoulder. “You’re the Death Eater son who changed sides. A Slytherin nonetheless. A Pureblood. Do you have any idea what an inspiration you could be to people?”

Draco didn’t answer. He’d honestly never thought about it.

“Just don’t get killed anytime soon,” Zabini snorted. “It would be quite a waste.”

The next morning, Harry had more news of the Death Eater variety.

“In the dream I had,” Harry told him and Hermione in hushed tones, as they walked the grounds with sandwiches instead of having breakfast in the Great Hall. “Voldemort had a conversation with Rookwood, one of the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban. And he told Voldemort that Bode would have been unable to remove what they were after from the Department of Mysteries. But Avery told Voldemort that he would be able to take it, so Draco’s Dad -” Harry threw him a quick, hesitant look, and Draco’s stomach fell at the mention of his father, “put him under the Imperius Curse and forced him to retrieve whatever they are after. He fought very hard against the curse, but they made him go anyways, and naturally, he failed. That’s why he was in St. Mungo’s.”

“Who’s Bode?” Draco injected.

“We met him at St. Mungo’s,” Hermione explained. “When we visited Mr Weasley, but got lost and ended up on the Janus Thickey Ward? He was in the same room as Lockhart. On the day of the mass breakout, there was an article in the Prophet that he had died. Someone had sent him a Devil’s Snare seedling as a pot plant, and it strangled him. Apparently, he had been getting better, so -”

“- so the Death Eaters needed to silence him,” Draco finished her sentence, feeling sick to the bones. He wondered if his father had been involved in that, too. If he had sent that plant, or if he had asked one of their house elves to do it.

“But you shouldn’t have seen this at all, Harry,” Hermione said, quite abruptly, fixing him with a stern look.

“What?” Harry asked, clearly confused.

“You’re supposed to be learning how to close your mind to this sort of thing,” she continued, turning on Draco now. “I thought you were helping him.”

“I am!” Draco ensured her, a little defensively. “It’s just a little hard to find the time and energy in between homework and the DA and detention and -”

“Well, you’ll just have to try a little harder, don’t you,” Hermione said firmly.

Both Harry and Draco were so angry that they barely spoke a word with her for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

In the whole chaos between Umbridge, the Dark Lord and escaped Death Eaters, it was hard to remember sometimes that Draco was still part of a Quidditch Team, but as February drew to an end and Slytherin’s match against Ravenclaw approached, he was hit with a sudden burst of motivation.

Facing the Ravenclaw team meant, naturally, facing off against Cho Chang. And he would not lose against Chang, and if it was the last thing he did. He would walk out of this match victoriously, preferably while making the girl look an utter fool, and Harry would end up asking himself why he’d ever fancied her.

(And maybe he’d finally realise he’d been in desperate love with Draco all along? A boy could dream, right?)

“Draco,” Hermione told him tentatively Friday afternoon, as he packed his books to retreat from the library. He had Quidditch practice in half an hour. “Please don’t run your head into a wall with this match, okay?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco hissed, glaring at her.

“Just,” Hermione sighed. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been glaring over at the Ravenclaw table this past week and… I really think there’s no need for you to get all worked up because of Cho anymore. The date was a disaster. If you ask me, Harry doesn’t seem all that interested anymore.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that I am going to win against her, Hermione,” Draco pointed out.

“And that’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Hermione muttered. “It’s just Quidditch, Draco. In the big picture, is it really all that important if you win a match against Cho?” Draco did not answer, but the deadly glare he sent her way was answer enough. Hermione threw her hands up in defeat. “ Boys!” she snapped.

“You’ll never understand Quidditch, Hermione,” Draco shook his head, his tone icy. “Anyway, this may be my only chance to get back at Chang for ever laying hands on Harry, and I plan on taking it. So kindly shut your mouth and let me do whatever I bloody please.”

When the match rolled around Saturday afternoon, Draco was hyper-aware of Harry in the crowd. It was ridiculous because technically, Harry had never missed a single one of his Quidditch matches. He had always been either in the stands or up in the air with him. But today, when he was playing his quasi-ex-girlfriend, the knowledge that Harry was watching seemed to be burning holes into his skin.

Chang looked petite on her broom. She had that tiny, slight statute that meant that she was light and fast in the air. Perfect for a Seeker, really, but Draco knew that his technique was better than hers, as was his broom. They circled the pitch up in the air for a while, searching for the tiny golden ball as the match happened below them.

Draco was the first one to catch sight of it as it hovered near the Gryffindor stands, of all places. He dove to get to it, adrenaline rushing through him, his eyes focused on his aim… In his periphery, he saw Chang following him, and on the right side, he passed a couple of his own teammates… And then, something hit him in the side of his face, and blinding pain shot through his skull.

Everything went black.

When he woke up, he felt sick, and his head was still pounding, though it didn’t feel like it was splitting open any longer.

He made a noise of discomfort but didn’t dare to open his eyes.

“Draco?” Harry asked, very softly, and his hand was squeezed. Harry was holding it.

“Where am I?” Draco brought out, eyes still shut.

“In the hospital wing,” Harry answered. His other hand came up to very tenderly draw his thumb over Draco’s cheek, and that more than anything made Draco's eyelids flutter open. “Crabbe accidentally hit you with a Bludger.”

“Crabbe?!” Draco snapped, incredulous, and immediately regretted it when his head pounded and his stomach turned. “The fucker is on my team!”

“My guess is Nott told him to do it,” Hermione said, and only then did he notice her presence from the other side of the bed. “As revenge for Harry naming their fathers as Death Eaters in The Quibbler. ”

“Ugh,” Draco groaned, closing his eyes again. “He told he’d get me for that, but I didn’t think it would be during Quidditch .”

“He’s threatened you?” Harry asked, rather sharply. “You didn’t say!”

“Because you’d have hexed them three ways into Sunday and then you’d have gotten another month of detention,” Draco drawled. “I wanted to avoid that.”

Harry growled. An actual growl.

“Now, now,” Hermione said, warily. “Crabbe has gotten a fair amount of yelling from his team captain, who’s extremely unhappy with his actions, and I saw Professor Snape demanding a word with him, too, so I’m sure he’ll get his punishment. Harry will let it go. Right, Harry?” Harry didn’t say anything. “Harry!” Hermione said, rather sharply.

“Fine,” Harry spat. “I’ll let it go. But if any of them touch Draco again -”

“I know, I know,” Hermione interrupted him. “Draco is precious goods, not to be damaged.” She cracked a smile at Draco, who rolled his eyes, then winced. That hurt, too. “Now, Harry, why don’t you go get Madam Pomfrey and tell her that Draco is awake? I’m sure he could use a potion or two for the pain.”

Harry nodded, anger fading into concern, and he scrambled off to Madam Pomfrey’s office.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, sighing.

“I can’t believe Crabbe’s timing,” he mumbled. “I would have had that Snitch!”

“Oh, come off it, Draco!” Hermione hissed, frowning disapprovingly. “Do you really think that, between all of this, Harry has wasted one thought on Cho? He was down on that field the moment you fell, and he’s been at your side ever since. Cho might have caught the Snitch, but that doesn’t mean she won.”

Before Draco could respond to that, Harry had returned with Madam Pomfrey, and he was being poked into a seating position and cast diagnostic spell after spell on him. All the time, green eyes didn’t leave his face, and Draco wondered if maybe, there wasn’t some truth to Hermione’s words.

March was already well underway when Umbridge, at last, made true of her words to use her power to sack one of Hogwarts' teachers. The unlucky one was, thankfully, not Hagrid. Not yet, at least. Instead, she made a huge production out of dismissing Professor Trelawney, one that had apparently even inspired pity in a woman as formidable as Professor McGonagall - not that Draco had been around when it happened - in an attempt to set a sign to the rest of the staff, as Draco could only presume. It had not worked out as she would have liked. Dumbledore had stepped in, reminding her that, while she could very well dismiss teachers from their positions, she could not banish them from the grounds, resulting in a temporary pardon for Professor Trelawney in terms of living arrangements. Though why she would like to stay in the castle now that she was out of a job, Draco couldn’t fathom.

The second thing Dumbledore had done to royally piss Umbridge off was hire a replacement for Trelawney the very same day - Firenze, the Centaur from the Forbidden Forest who Harry and Draco had met during their detention in their first year. Draco felt a little gleeful at the fact that Dumbledore had managed to find the one person for the job that would manage to tick Umbridge off the most. Firenze wasn’t even a Half-breed, like Hagrid; he was not a wizard at all.

Hagrid, meanwhile, still had each and every one of his classes inspected, and if anything, Draco was sure that Umbridge was now even more determined to let him go. He wished there was anything they could do to prevent it, but for once, there seemed absolutely no way out. It was horribly frustrating.

Even if they did have an answer to Hagrid’s problem, though, there’d have hardly been any time to work on it. As their O.W.L.’s drew nearer, their workload multiplied, and that in addition to all the extracurricular work they were doing this year was giving them no time to take a breath.

Harry, though, seemed to be flourishing whenever they worked in the Room of Requirement, completely in his element in his role as their mentor, that Draco couldn’t really begrudge the time it took out of their schedules. Besides, as he fondly watched his own Arctic Fox Patronus run across the room, chasing after Hermione’s Otter playfully, he had to admit that it was kind of fun today.

That was until the door opened, and Dobby entered the room. Dobby, who looked awful: The poor elf was shaking from head to toe, big eyes wide and fearful. Draco’s Patronus faded into nothingness at the sight, as did Hermione’s.

“Hi, Dobby!” Harry said, bending down to look at him more closely. “What are you - What’s wrong?”

“Harry Potter, sir…” he squeaked. “Harry Potter, sir… Dobby has come to warn you… but the house-elves have been warned not to tell…”

And then, he ran head-first into a wall. Harry and Draco both reacted immediately, meaning to catch him before he could hurt himself, but Dobby just bounced off, thanks to the countless ridiculous woollen hats he was wearing. He was sure they were all of Hermione’s making.

“What’s happened, Dobby?” Harry asked, holding onto the elf this time to make sure he wouldn’t hurt himself again.

“Harry Potter… she… she…”

Dobby tried to hit himself in the face, but Draco intervened, catching hold of both his wrists.

“Who’s ‘she’, Dobby?”

“We know who ‘she’ is, Harry!” Draco snapped. “What’s more important is, does she know about us?”

The fear in Dobby’s eyes was enough of an answer. Draco cursed.

“Is she coming?” Harry asked quietly.

Dobby let out a howl and tried kicking the floor, as his feet were the only part of his body he could still use to punish himself.

“Yes, Harry Potter, yes!”

Harry got to his feet, leaving it to Draco to restrain Dobby.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” he yelled. “RUN!”

Draco heard the sound of desperate scrambling and then, Harry pushed him aside, grabbing Dobby.

“GO!” he called. “I’ll take care of Dobby! Just go! ”

Draco was about to protest, but the wild look in Harry’s face left no room for argument. He nodded and pelted for the exit. He pushed through the door and ran down the corridor -

A shadow to his right and Draco looked up - there was Parkinson, looking at him with wide eyes. Draco came to a halt, quite on instinct.

Shit.

There was a beat of silence. Both of them had their wands in their hands. Then, voices down the corridors broke the tension between them.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, jaw set. “ Run!”

Draco gaped at her. Then, without questioning it, he took off. He ran all the way to the Owlery, where he collapsed on the bench, catching his breath.

Aquila let off an inquisitive sound and flew over, settling down on the windowsill behind him.  

Draco waited for a long, long time, hoping against hope that Harry or Hermione would come to find him, but they didn’t. Then, when he thought the air was clear, he made his way down to the Slytherin common room.

Inside, Nott was sitting with Crabbe and Goyle by the fire, jeering as he entered the room.

“Malfoy,” he called. “Look at you, crawling out of your hole. Sit down and celebrate the news with us.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Draco muttered, his jaw clenched.

“Your little group was busted,” Nott called, his gin almost splitting his face. “I caught Potter myself on his way out of that room you were using. Dumbledore admitted to everything, and now he’s on the run and we finally have a capable Headmistress. Things are going to change around here, Malfoy. Finally. ”

Draco felt like he was going to throw up. What exactly had Dumbledore admitted to? Had he taken the blame for their stupid idea? Oh, Merlin and Salazar. This could not be happening.

“I just can’t imagine how your poor father must feel,” Nott sighed, faking affection. “With his son being a member of a group called ‘Dumbledore’s Army’. The shame .”

“His definition of shame and mine are quite different,” Draco muttered, very quietly.

He needed to talk to Harry. He needed to find out what had happened.

For a moment, he caught the eyes of Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini across the room, but he did not stay around to interpret their gazes. Instead, he bolted towards the dormitories and got hold of the charmed parchment that connected him to Harry, unrolling it and scrambling for quill and ink.

‘What happened?’ he scribbled, hoping with all his might that Harry would get the message.

To his relief, the answer came almost immediately.

‘Cho’s friend, Marietta Edgecombe, talked. She told them about the DA and about our meetings in the Room of Requirement, and that’s how they knew where to find us. But Hermione had cursed the parchment we had all signed, so she now has ‘SNEAK’ written all over her face in ugly pustules, and that must have scared her so she stopped talking in the middle. Still, it was enough for them to get hold of me, and to find the list with the names of every member.’ Draco flinched at that. He’d told them it would all blow up in their faces one way or another. But none of them had listened. ‘Dumbledore then took the blame on himself an pretended that he had given me the order to form an army for him. He fled before Fudge could arrest him.’

Draco buried his face in his hands for a moment. Then, for want of a better response, he wrote: ‘Fuck.’

‘Yeah,’ Harry replied. Then, after a short pause, he added: ‘You got away okay? You weren’t caught?’

‘Parkinson got me, but she let me go. I don’t know why.’

‘That’s… interesting.’

‘I know. I don’t know what to make of it.’

‘Maybe you do have a few friends in Slytherin, after all.’

‘It would appear so.’

It was at that moment that Zabini entered the dormitory. He looked uncharacteristically tired, and when their eyes met across the room, he paused.

Draco cleared his throat.

“Why did Pansy let me go?” he asked.

Zabini sighed.

“It’s complicated,” he said.

“But she was helping Umbridge, wasn’t she?” he asked. “She should have handed me over. So why-”

“I told you,” Zabini interrupted him. “It’s not that easy.”

“Whose side are you?” Draco asked, frustrated. “Hers, or ours? The Dark Lord's, or Harry’s?”

“I told you,” he rolled his eyes. “I don’t do sides. I only protect the people I care about. And in this case, that’s Pansy.”

“Then Pansy,” Draco prodded. “Whose side is she on?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” Zabini groaned. “Stop asking questions and be thankful she helped you out, why don't you?”

“I am,” Draco clarified. “Thankful. Immensely. But I’m also confused. Is this going to come and bite me in the butt later? You and Parkinson helping me all the time?”

Zabini sighed and shook his head.

“No,” he said simply. “Just take it at face value. We have our own, private reasons for being interested in your welfare.”

Draco stared at him. He didn’t know what to make of that, but Zabini didn’t clarify. He just made his way to his four-poster bed and drew the curtains.

Draco turned his gaze back to the parchment in his lap.

‘You were right all along, ’ Harry had written. ‘We should have been more careful about who we trusted. More careful about everything. And now look where it’s landed us. Dumbledore is gone.’

Draco’s heart felt heavy.

‘I’m sorry,’ Draco wrote. ‘For what it’s worth, I wished I had been wrong.’

Harry took a while to respond, so Draco thought he had already fallen asleep, but when the answer came, it sounded defeated and brought him no joy.

‘You rarely are.’

As her first order of business as Headmistress of Hogwarts, Umbridge put out a couple of new Educational Decrees. For one, she formed the so-called ‘Inquisitorial Squad’, a group of students she trusted to torment the rest of the school into obedience, namely Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and a couple of other Slytherins, among them Parkinson and Zabini, though Draco was not sure whether to feel relieved or outraged by that fact. Members of the Inquisitorial Squad were allowed to take house points from fellow students, something that exceeded even the powers of a Prefect, and naturally, Nott had jeered at Draco about it the moment he had stepped out of the dormitory.

“I told you, Malfoy,” he had smirked. “Times are changing. And now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to find Potter and knock some points off Gryffindor for his ugly face.”

As a result of the unfair majority of Slytherins in the Inquisitorial Squad, the other houses soon lost pretty much all the house points they had. But that wasn’t the only new rule Umbridge forced upon them.

BY ORDER OF THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC

Students are henceforth required to attend mealtimes
at their own house tables unless they have
a written excuse by a teacher.

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Thirty.

Signed: Dolores Jane Umbridge, Headmistress of Hogwarts

And that had Draco fuming almost more than the whole Inquisitorial Squad disaster, because it was one thing that he had to endure being tormented by Nott even more than usual, but now he didn’t even have his usual refuge amongst his friends during mealtimes, whether it was at their table or during a walk over the grounds.

Draco knew why Umbridge was doing it, of course. She wanted to cut Draco off from Harry. Their friendship had been a thorn in her eye from the moment she had entered school grounds, and now she was abusing all the power in her hands to get what she wanted.

No wonder his father supported the bitch.

Just because Dumbledore was gone, it didn’t mean people were taking Umbridge’s rule lying down, though. Oh no. If anything, the resistance against her had multiplied, and the figureheads for that resistance were Fred and George Weasley.

The twins seemed to have completely lost all fear of repercussions and set their sails with the complete aim to annoy the heck out of their new Headmistress and cause as much mayhem as they could possibly manage. Starting with shoving Montague into the Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor after he tried taking points from them before setting fireworks loose on the entire school, which resulted in Umbridge spending her first day as the Headmistress running after explosive fireworks spelling insults.

Draco had to admit, he was impressed with them.

‘It’s quite satisfying, seeing Umbridge run across the school with that wild and harried look in her eyes, trying to put out fireworks,’ Draco wrote to Harry through their enchanted parchment that night, a smile on his face. ‘I especially love how the other teachers don’t bother helping.’

‘The whole school has formed an alliance against her, it’s brilliant. Even the castle is in. Have you heard that Dumbledore’s office has sealed itself against her?’

‘I have! The castle knows what’s good for it, obviously.’

Draco had barely seen Harry today. They'd had only had one shared class - Care of Magical Creatures - but that had been inspected by Umbridge, so they had been unable to talk. And Umbridge had made the Inquisitorial Squad keep headcount on the house tables to make sure everyone was present during meal times, which made it quite impossible for them to have a proper chat. Therefore, these parchments came as a blessing now.

‘Umbridge tried to question me under Veritaserum today,’ Harry wrote, quite suddenly, and Draco almost dropped his quill. ‘I managed to avoid drinking it, and Fred and George’s firecrackers interrupted her interrogation, but you should be careful. She might not stop with me.’

‘Merlin,’ Draco wrote, feeling quite shaky. ‘What did she ask you?’

‘Whether I knew where Dumbledore or Sirius were.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah. I mean, even if she slipped you Veritaserum, there’s nothing you could tell her. You don’t know where either of them is. But still. Be careful.’

‘I will,’ Draco promised. ‘You too. We really, really need to work on your Occlumency, too.’

‘How do we do that, now that Umbridge knows about the Room of Requirement?”

‘I hadn’t thought of that. We’ll need somewhere else to practice.’

‘It’s probably best to find an empty classroom every time we need one, and change location every time we meet. We shouldn’t take chances with Umbridge.’

‘No, we shouldn’t. She’ll feel personally victimised by me teaching you Occlumency.’

‘You know she will. It’s a plot against the Ministry.’ Draco snorted, rolling his eyes even though Harry couldn’t see it. ‘Are you going to be okay, though? With Nott in your dormitory?’

‘I certainly hope so,’ Draco replied, grimacing. ‘He can’t take house points from me without hurting his own house, so that’s a plus. But that’s about it. Having him in a position of power is definitely dangerous. I’m going to try and lie low.’

‘Do that,’ Harry agreed. ‘If he hurts you again, I might have to kill him with my bare hands, Umbridge or no Umbridge.’

‘You could delegate the job to Fred and George,’ Draco joked. ‘They seem to be eager for ideas.’

‘I might mention it to them,’ Harry replied, and Draco couldn’t tell whether he was joking or not.

Chapter Text

Draco was counting down the days to the Easter holidays - not that they were getting out of the castle, per se, or that with only six weeks left until their OWLs, they would have any kind of relief in terms of free time, but with the way things had been building up ever since Umbridge had become Headmistress, he would take kind of reprieve they could get, and if that came in the form of two weeks without lessons, so be it.

The tension between them all was stifling whenever they saw each other for longer than five minutes, and Draco didn’t quite know how to make it go away. Hermione had been outright avoiding Draco, and it had taken him a while to figure out that the reason for that was that she felt guilty for the whole Marietta Edgecombe disaster.

“Can you really blame her?” Weasley glared at him, as if it was all Draco’s fault to begin with. “You’ve been at her throat about the way she chose the members from the moment the DA was formed, and now that things blew up -”

“You mean now that it turns out I was right,” Draco ground out. He wouldn’t have said that if it had been Hermione talking to him, but something about Weasley attacking him was ticking him off.

“See!” Weasley snapped, pointing at him. “And you wonder why she’s afraid to face you!”

Draco sighed deeply, rubbing his face in a tired sort of way.

“She’s not really scared,” Harry told him apologetically. “She’s just really angry with herself. She feels like the whole thing could have been prevented if she had just listened to you.”

“Well, it’s too late for that now,” Draco grumbled. “It happened. Avoiding me won’t change that.”

It wasn’t until Draco wrote Hermione an angry message via their charmed parchments that they were finally able to sort the whole thing out. They stayed awake half of the night and wrote page after page, for when Hermione spoke her mind, it was never short, but the next morning, she pulled Draco into a tight hug, and with that, the whole issue was forgotten.

Hermione wasn’t the only problem, though. Harry had been extremely quiet and sullen for a while now, and Draco couldn’t pinpoint what the problem was. First, he thought it was the whole Umbridge/Dumbledore disaster, but then he noticed that Harry’s Occlumency lessons with Snape had come to a sudden halt.

“He reckons I can carry on by myself now I’ve got the basics,” Harry told him, not meeting his eyes.

“What the hell,” Draco asked, stunned. “You haven’t got any basics, Harry, we both know it. You haven’t once managed to deflect neither my advances nor Snape’s. And you don’t tell me about your dreams regularly but if they stopped I’ll fly a lap around the school starkers.” Harry grimaced. “Tell me the truth.”

“I told you the truth,” Harry said forcefully, but he was still not looking at him. He really was a horrible liar. “He probably just wanted to get rid of me, to be honest. Thought I was a lost cause, anyway.”

“But that’s an outrage, Harry,” Hermione cut in. “Dumbledore gave him an order, and he disobeyed. I think you should go back and -”

“No,” Harry shook his head, determination in his eyes. “Just drop it, Hermione, okay?”

Draco studied his face, and he knew that whatever had happened, there was no way there’d be any more classes between Snape and Harry. Maybe, though, that wasn’t the worst thing. These classes had been a horrible idea in the first place.

“Alright,” Draco said finally. “The less time you spend with Snape, the more time we can spend on working effectively. Works fine with me.”

“Okay,” Harry shrugged, but the idea of more Occlumency sessions with Draco did not seem to exactly cheer him up.

Harry kept moping all the way to the Easter holidays, and regardless of what Draco tried, no matter if he asked straight out what was wrong or if he pretended not to notice and stayed at his side in silent support, nothing seemed to comfort Harry. Draco didn’t quite know what to do.

It was only when one afternoon, as they were sitting in the library brooding over revision for Potions exams and Ginny joined them to hand them both an Easter Egg Mrs Weasley had sent, that he got to the root of the problem. Harry accepted his egg in the quiet serenity that Draco had gotten used to lately, and Ginny met Draco's eyes, exchanging a look of concern with him.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Ginny asked finally.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Harry said quietly, though he didn’t sound it.

“You seem really down lately,” Ginny persisted, her voice soft. “Is it about your fight with Cho?” Oh? Draco had not even known there had been a fight. His heart fell. “I’m sure if you just talked to her…”

“It’s not Cho I want to talk to,” Harry cut her off, and Draco frowned at him, intrigued.

“Then who do you want to talk to?” Draco asked, slightly miffed. It’s not like he hadn’t been practically begging Harry to talk to him for the past week.

“I…” He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. “I wished I could talk to Sirius. But I know I can’t.”

Draco just looked at him, his stomach heavy. He should have thought of this before. Sirius was the only thing Harry had in terms of a parental figure. Of course, he would want to talk to him when things got rough.

Draco only averted his eyes when Ginny spoke up, drawing him out of his thoughts.

“Well,” Ginny said slowly. “If you really want to talk to Sirius, I expect we could think of a way to do it.”

“Ginny,” Draco hissed. “Umbridge has eyes and ears everywhere, especially now that she formed the Inquisitorial Squad. If she catches Harry -”

“Still,” she frowned. “The thing about growing up with Fred and George is that you sort of start thinking anything’s possible if you’ve got enough nerve.”

Draco stole an apprehensive glimpse at Harry, but Harry was staring at her with something akin to hope in his eyes, and Draco knew that this was going to happen. Goddamnit. Gryffindors.

In the next moment, though, there came a high pitched screech from Madam Pince about books and chocolate, and Draco realised that Harry had in his absent-mindedness begun eating his chocolate egg. They barely had enough time to grab their notes before they were chased out of the library by their own books, bags and ink bottles.

Shortly before the end of the holidays, their common rooms were equipped with pamphlets and leaflets with the intention of informing them about various career paths, and notices were put up informing them of their career advice sessions with their Heads of House during the first week of the summer term. His own appointment was set for Tuesday morning throughout History of Magic.

He spent a lot of time discussing the pamphlets with his Gryffindor friends that weekend in between their study sessions. Hermione had copied most of them with a spell and brought them down with her, and honestly, it was a perfect excuse to ignore the school work in front of them for a little while.

“Well, I don’t fancy healing,” Weasley said, skimming through the thick St. Mungo’s pamphlet Draco had perused earlier. “It says here you need at least an ‘E’ at NEWT level in Potions, Herbology, Transfigurations, Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I mean… Blimey… don’t want much, do they?”

“Well, it’s a responsible job, isn’t it?” Hermione said absently.

“Plus, honestly, that’s the core subjects,” Draco shrugged. “Who doesn’t aim for an ‘E’ in any of those subjects?”

Weasley glared at him over the edge of the pamphlet. Draco ignored him. He was reading over the Ministry brochure for their different trainee programmes once more, lingering, as he so often did, on the Unspeakable programme.

“... they want Arithmancy, though! You could do it, Hermione, Draco!”

Draco looked up and blinked, not having listened in the slightest.

“I don’t much fancy banking,” Hermione muttered.

“Then what do you want to do?” Harry asked them curiously, dropping his pamphlet and peeking at what Draco was reading. Draco fought the urge to pull it out of his sight. “The Ministry,” Harry said, looking up at him. “You want to join the Ministry?”

“No,” Draco said, frowning. “Yes? I don’t know,” he sighed. “I don’t want to do it under this climate, but I am interested in the job of an Unspeakable.”

“Ohhh,” Hermione said, looking up in awe. “That is interesting. All the research you’d be doing!”

“Yes,” Draco nodded, with a note of yearning in his voice. “That’s exactly why I think it would suit me. Not that my father would approve, of course.”

“Why not?” Weasley frowned. “Isn’t work at the Ministry respectable enough for a Malfoy?”

“ Work isn’t respectable for a Malfoy,” Draco pointed out, snorting. “We’re an aristocratic pureblood family. Gentlemen don’t work. We invest our money, we do charity, politics, or any activities to increase our social standing, but we do not work .”

“Well,” Harry scoffed. “It’s not like you’re planning on following the footsteps of your father, is it?”

“No,” Draco said decisively. “I definitely am not.”

“So if you want to work, do it,” Harry shrugged. “And if you want to be an Unspeakable, go for it. By the time we graduate, maybe the whole Fudge and Umbridge issue will have taken care of itself.”

“Maybe,” Draco agreed. “Still, it might be good to have a plan B. One that doesn’t involve the Ministry. But the only thing I am interested enough to go after is Alchemy, to be honest.”

“You could be a scholar?” Hermione suggested, scrambling for one of the pamphlets and pushing it at Draco. It was the one that held an overview of the most renowned wizarding universities of the world.

“I could be,” Draco said doubtfully. “But the place to go for Alchemy is Paris, and I don’t fancy leaving the country.” He specifically didn’t look at Harry.

“But you speak French,” Hermione said encouragingly. Draco just shrugged.

“So what about you?” Draco asked, keen on diverting the attention off himself. “Any ideas?”

“Not really,” Weasley shrugged. “Mum will want me to join to Ministry, that’s for sure.”

“I want to do something useful,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Though what exactly that is, I’m not sure.”

“Ahh,” Draco smiled. “The penalty of choosing a path when all doors are open to you.”

“Oh shut up,” Hermione rolled her eyes. “As if your situation is any different.”

“At least I have an idea,” Draco pointed out.

“So do I,” Hermione frowned. “I just… I wished I could work in the direction of S.P.E.W….”

They all fell quiet. It took Draco a moment before he could speak again.

“Creature Liaison,” he suggested. “At the Ministry. Or politics in general. If you’re interested in making a difference.”

“Hmm,” she said thoughtfully, looking at him. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Their silence stretched on, and Draco looked at Harry again.

“And you?” he asked finally. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you drink in that page on the Auror trainee programme.”

Harry grimaced and shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “It sounds like something I’d know how to do, you know?”

“It’s dangerous, too,” Draco said softly. “You’ve seen Moody, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, well,” Harry chuckled. “I know for a fact they don’t all look like that.”

Draco sighed.

“Well,” he murmured. “If it’s what you want to do, go for it. Just maybe, think of a plan B, as well. The political climate and all.”

Harry nodded but didn’t say anything.

When school started again, it looked like Ginny had finally come through with her promise of appointing the twins to the role of delegating Harry's conversation with Sirius. Draco was late to the gossip, seeing that he was banned from the Gryffindor table for breakfast and they had to keep their voices and heads down throughout breaks and classes, but while working together in Potions, Harry informed him that Fred and George were going to stage some sort of distraction later that day which would allow him to enter Umbridge's office and use her fireplace to contact his godfather.

Draco, being who he was, immediately saw the sheer Gryffindoresque brand of risky idiocy to this plan, and at the same time, he knew very well that there was nothing he could do to change Harry's mind from taking the chance offered to him. Harry wanted to talk to Sirius, and he wouldn't rest until he'd manage it, and all Draco could do now was make sure he didn't get caught.

So instead of arguing, Draco bit the poisoned fruit and asked if there was anything he could do to help. And Harry's fond smile was almost worth his effort.

“Not really, no,“ Harry told him, a little regretful. “It will be suspicious if you hang around the office when I'm in there, and anyway, I'm not even sure when Fred & George will act... But I really appreciate your support. All Hermione has been doing is trying to talk me out of it.“

Draco wasn't exactly surprised by that information. He stole a look across the classroom to find brown eyes boring accusing holes into both their heads. It was enough to make him feel guilty, but he, unlike Hermione, knew not to fight lost battles.

That did not, though, keep her from lecturing him all throughout Ancient Runes about the weight his words have with Harry and how should use that power effectively instead of just giving in to Harry's every mood. Draco had to bite his lip to keep from smiling throughout her neverending rant because despite the seriousness of the situation, the way she talked reminded him of what little he remembered of whenever his mad grandfather had vented about pureblood privilege and birthrights and not letting them go to waste, but he imagined that voicing these associations would probably raise Hermione's ire even more.

All in all, Draco was happy to part with Hermione after Ancient Runes and make his way down to the greenhouses for Herbology. He spent a quiet lesson efficiently clipping his venomous tentacula, and it was an almost therapeutic task.

When he came back up to the school, though, he stepped right into hell warmed over.

Apparently, Slytherin fifth years had missed quite an ordeal as they had been stuck in the sound-proof greenhouse, away from the tumult of the castle. Fred and George, true to their word, had set up a distraction for Harry – namely, they had turned one of the school corridors into a swamp. Which was a tiny bit ingenious, Draco had to give them that.

Not so great was, though, that they had been caught. Not that they had given Umbridge the opportunity to expel them, mind – or at least that was the story that everyone was telling in the corridors.

Did they really take off on their brooms, shooting fireworks up in the air, scattering flyers for their new shop and sending Peeves after Umbridge? , Draco asked Harry later that night, via parchment, not only a little mournful for having missed such a legendary spectacle.

No flyers, Harry answered , and no fireworks. But the rest is true.

Merlin, Draco wrote, his quill lingering in the last letter.

Yeah, Harry agreed, no words needed to express the sentiment.

I'll miss them, Draco admitted. This place will be dull without them.

I know, Harry wrote. But they've been planning to leave for a while. I just wished it hadn't been for my sake.

Well, if it helped you get out of whatever slump you've been in, I can't think of a better cause, to be honest. When Harry didn't answer immediately, he added: Had a good talk with Sirius?

Yeah, Harry replied. It really helped.

Good. Then I will ask no more.

Thanks. You're the best.

I know.

Prat.

Reckless idiot.

You love me, anyway.

“You have no idea,” Draco whispered into the empty room. Instead of answering, he changed the subject.

Shut up and tell me how your career counselling session went.

Oh. That. Um. It was an adventure.

That sounds intriguing.

Yeah. Umbridge told me there is no way I could ever become an Auror because the Minister would never employ me, and then McGonagall went CRAZY and said she'd personally make sure I'd succeed.

Woah. So no pressure, huh.

Shut it. It was both really cool and sort of scary.

I can imagine. McGonagall can be really intimidating.

You have no idea.

Well, now I'm looking forward to my own session.

Tomorrow, right?

Yup. Second period.

Well, good luck with that. Let's see if she can piss off Snape, too.

If Snape comes to my passionate defence the way McGonagall did for you, I'm going to skinny dip in that swamp.

You never know. Everyone hates Umbridge.

Too true.

And when it was Draco's turn for career counselling the next day, they did indeed see just how much Snape hated their new Headmistress.

Snape's expression was already sour when Draco entered the room, and Draco couldn't blame him. He'd have the same expression on his face after every minute of sharing a room with that toad of a woman.

“Mr Malfoy,” he brought out, obviously calling onto his patience. “Please take a seat. As you well know, this meeting has the purpose to talk over your career options, which, no need to be coy, we both know you have quite a few. So unless you are going to wax poetry about Muggle Liaisons...”

Draco, despite himself, cracked a smile.

“Right,” Snape nodded. “So out with it, we don't have all day. You must have some ideas.”

“Well,” Draco said, collecting himself. “First of all, I have a stark interest in Alchemy, which is why I would like to pursue the subject in some way in the future.”

“I see,” Snape answered, narrowing his eyes. “There are quite a few career paths involving basic alchemic knowledge, but not a lot of them actually focus on the subject as such.”

“I know,” Draco agreed. “That's why I have been looking into two options in particular.”

“Well, don't kill us with the suspense.”

“The first would, quite obviously, go into the scholarly direction. The Nicolas Flamel Institut d'Alchimie in Paris is very renowned, as far as I have read, and if I did my doctorate in the field, I could go into teaching.”

“It is a feasible path, and one I could picture you in,” Snape acknowledged, before continuing: “You surely have the grades for it. Being accepted would not be an issue, and many teachers would not hesitate to write you personal references... Not to mention that Hogwarts has direct links to said institution, due to Dumbledore's history with Flamel...” He held in then, his lip curling into a sour expression as he added: “Though I must warn you that the teaching profession can be quite... taxing, at times.”

Draco tried hard to keep a straight face. He coughed once, before continuing: “I'm not quite sure, though, whether I'm ready to leave Britain after my graduation.”

“Then I'm sure you have another option within Britain.”

“I do,” Draco said, trying hard not to glance at Umbridge, who had been remarkably quiet until now. “And that's the one I prefer, actually, though I don't know how realistic it is in the current political... climate.”

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Don't tell me, Mr Malfoy,” his Head of House drawled, sounding tired to his bones. “That you, too, want to join the Aurors. Because I don't think I'm ready for that particular discussion.”

“Not the Aurors, no,” Draco responded, his words slow and careful. “Rather the Unspeakables.”

Snape stared at him, long and hard. It looked like he was refraining from banging his head against his desktop – or maybe Draco's head, come to think of it.

“Mr Malfoy,” Umbridge spoke up from next to Snape, sounding impatient. “I thought I had made myself clear at the beginning of the year. As long as you maintain your relations with Harry Potter, there is no future for you within the Ministry.”

“Thank you, Headmistress,” Snape rolled his eyes. “Now if you'd please let me continue counselling my student.”

“Oh, please,” she said, in faked sweetness. “Don't let me stop you.”

Snape took a deep breath, seeming to call upon all kind of deities he did not believe in for strength.

“As I said earlier,” Snape began. “with your qualifications, I think, quite frankly, that every door will open be open to you, eventually.”

“Severus-” Umbridge interrupted.

“Oh, do be quiet and let me speak,” Snape snapped. “The current political climate is an issue, but it's up to you to decide how to handle it. All the paths are open to you, you just need to choose to take them.”

It took a moment for Snape's words to sink in, to read everything he was implying. They did have a double meaning – from Umbridge's side, they could be read as him choosing to follow down his father's path and leading a respectable life to turn the tide. From his viewpoint, though, it read quite differently – that it was up to him and his friends to position themselves clearly for a future in which Fudge became inconsequential. Or maybe to even help make sure that Fudge would become inconsequential.

Slowly, Draco nodded, showing that he had understood.

“If you do wish to pursue this,” Snape continued, ignoring Umbridge's expression of utter outrage, “you should realise that the Unspeakable Trainee programme is one of the elite programmes of the Ministry and expects a minimum of seven NEWTS, with at least two “Outstanding” and none under “Exceeds Expectations”. Not that I'd expect any less from you, but I'll mention it nonetheless.”

“Very well,” Draco acknowledged. “And which subjects will be required? The core subjects, I assume?”

“Certainly,” Snape agreed. “Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Herbology, Transfiguration and Charms for a start, and Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. You'll hardly be able to drop any subjects on NEWT-level.”

“I didn't expect I would,” Draco admitted. “On the contrary, Professor, I was wondering... In the past, there have been instances when Alchemy has been offered as an elective on NEWT-level when there has been a demand for it. Do you think that might be the case for our year?”

Snape sighed deeply at that.

“Seeing that Professor Dumbledore used to take over these particular courses, I don't think it will be possible this time around, I'm afraid.”

“Oh,” Draco nodded, having expected as much but still feeling disappointed. “Do you think I can still specialise on Alchemy as a study field if I never took classes on it at school?”

“Seeing that you never were given the chance, I'm sure your future employer would be understanding of your circumstances,” Snape ensured him. “Plus, there are always seminars you could take up once you are in their employ.”

“Severus,” Umbridge cut in, her voice a hiss. “Would you please stop giving the boy false hopes? There is no chance that he'll ever have a position at the Ministry, not with the company he keeps!”

“Yes, we heard you the first time,” Snape shot back impatiently. “I'm just answering his questions. I thought that was what this counselling session was about, Headmistress? To give the students information?”

Draco bit his lip. Hard. And when he was excused only a couple of minutes later, his face broke out into a grin so hard that some of his school camerades actually turned to stare at him.

Snape was, and there was no questioning it, a right git most of the long day, but it could be bloody entertaining if all that broody sarcasm was directed against someone you actually hated.

Chapter Text

The following weeks, Hogwarts sank into further chaos. Fred and George's spectacular departure inspired a great deal of other students to make Umbridge's life as difficult as possible, lead by their unlike new figurehead Peeves the Poltergeist, showering their infamous Headmistress in practical pranks of some sorts or other that constantly chased her from to every corner of the castle every minute of every day. The other teachers did as little as they could to help her, and it was a pleasure to watch Umbridge slowly lose her mind, helplessly directing Filch around the place, who was as powerless against the doom around them as a Flobberworm in a firestorm.

As the end of the school year grew closer, though, their tension grew and they spent most of their time in the library, revising for their O.W.L. exams. Despite their best efforts, Draco and Harry found no time in their laden days to get together and practice Occlumency, especially since the final match of the season was scheduled for the last weekend before their exams, too, meaning that whenever Harry wasn’t studying, he was on the pitch, training with the team or in a private session with Weasley. And as much as Draco wanted to, he couldn’t even be angry - their latest sessions had been an utter disaster, to the point where Draco wondered if Harry was ever going to get the hang of this particular kind of magic. He had been doing fine up until December, he thought, but something about these lessons with Snape had driven a thorn into the whole process and now they seemed to be moving backwards, if at all. It was utterly frustrating and made him curse both Snape for being an incompetent teacher and Dumbledore for giving the job to him in the first place.

All things considered, the match was a welcome distraction, even if he had to watch Harry go up against Chang of all people. He tried not to overthink the fact that Quidditch was most definitely what had caught Harry's attention about the girl in the first place and that this might be an opportunity for them to reconcile - Hermione would have his head if he voiced any of those fears out loud - and instead focused on the thrill of the game. Slytherin was pretty much out of the race for the cup this year, so he could just sit back and enjoy without worrying about the comments from his teammates.

Or at least that had been the plan. But the match had barely started when Hagrid suddenly appeared behind Hermione and Draco and swiftly abducted them from the stands and into the Forbidden Forest. And Draco would have protested because it was the sodding Forest and getting into trouble right under Umbridge’s nose couldn’t be a good idea, but Hagrid’s face was bruised and bloody and anxious and he knew that this was their one shot at finding out what Hagrid had been hiding from them all these months. And damn him if he was going to miss it.

So they followed Hagrid into the thickening trees without complaint, Draco doing his best to not voice any of his worries when they stepped off the path and shushing Hermione when she asked too many questions about why Hagrid was carrying a crossbow. He quieted his growing anxiety as they followed their friend deeper and deeper into the forest until it was almost too dark to see where they were going and Hermione timidly asked if they could cast a Lumos .

Only then did Hagrid stop to fill them in.

“Righ’... Well… see… the thing is…” he took a deep breath. “Well, there’s a good chance I’m goin’ ter be gettin’ the sack any day now.”

Draco grimaced, averting his eyes.

“But you’ve lasted this long -” Hermione tried to console him, but the attempt was weak. “What makes you think -”

“Umbridge reckons it was me that put tha’ Niffler in her office,” Hagrid interrupted him. Draco cursed. That had been one of the many pranks throughout the last couple of weeks. The Niffler had taken Umbridge’s whole office apart in its hunt for shiny objects. “Yeh know she’s bin lookin’ fer a chance ter get rid of me ever since I got back. I don’ wan’ ter go, o’ course, but if it wasn’ fer… well… the special circumstances I’m about ter explain to yeah, I’d leave righ’ now, before she’s go’ the chance ter do it in front o’ the whole school, like she did with Trelawney.”

Hermione made to protest next to him, but Draco just stared at him, resigned to their fate. Hagrid held up his hands to quieten Hermione.

“It’s not the end o’ the word, Hermione! I’ll be able ter help Dumbledore once I’m outta here, I can be useful ter the Order. An’ you lot’ll have Grubbly-Plank, yeh’ll - yeh’ll get through yer exams fine…” His voice wobbled a little at that point, and it broke Draco’s heart. “Don’t worry about me!” He added hastily when he saw their faces. He pulled out an enormous handkerchief and dabbed his eyes with it. “Look, I wouldn’ be tellin’ yer this at all if I didn’ have ter. See, if I go… well, I can’ leave withou’... withou’ tellin’ someone… because I’ll - I’ll need yeh two ter help me. An’ Harry an’ Ron, if they’re willin’.”

“Help you with what?” Draco asked, alert now. “What do you need to tell us about, Hagrid? Just spit it out already.”

“Yeh see…” Hagrid began, still teary-eyed, shifting where he stood. “When I came back from me mission in November, I did no' exactly come alone…”

He let the words hang in the air. Draco turned to stare at Hermione, eyes wide. Hermione’s gaze, though, was fixed on Hagrid. She looked horrified.

“But, Hagrid,” she protested, “you told us none of them wanted to come!”

“Well - no - he didn’ want ter come!” Hagrid admitted. “But I had ter bring him, Hermione, I had ter!”

“May I ask why? ” Draco cut in, his voice slightly higher than usual. “I know you tend to - form special attachments where others don’t, but please explain why you thought this was a good idea. Just for me.”

“They were all bullyin’ him,” Hagrid told him, his dark, button-like eyes bright and glassy. “‘Cause he’s so small. I couldn’ leave him!”

“ Small ,” Draco repeated, his voice faint. “Of course.”

“But,” Hermione began, sounding despaired. “I really don’t want to sound heartless, Hagrid, but - if he didn’t want to come -”

“He’s my brother, Hermione,” Hagrid interrupted her, immediately rendering them silent. “Well - half-brother.”

And really, what could they say to any of that?

Bless Hermione, she tried. She threw a fuss and tried to be the voice of logic, but Draco knew, from that moment on, that it would be no use. Because Hagrid was stubborn when it came to random creatures he’d picked up in the Forbidden Forest or won off strangers in a pub, but this was his flesh and blood. There was no way he was going to back down on this, and Draco wasn’t going to try. If Hagrid thought he had any chance to teach his giant brother English and instruct him on how to behave like a socially acceptable member of the wizarding society, there was nothing they could say to change his mind.

So he resigned himself to his fate of keeping Hagrid’s secret and doing whatever he asked of him, even if it was meeting a wild giant in the Forbidden Forest in case Hagrid got sacked.

Hermione, though, had other opinions.

“You can’t honestly think about doing what he asks, Draco!” she hissed as they left Hagrid on the way out of the Forest, so furious that her bushy mane seemed to have developed a life of her own and appeared to be threatening him in its agitation. “It’s both absolutely insane, ridiculously dangerous and completely pointless! There is no way Grawp will care if we go meet him, one way or another! You know it and I know it! He will beat us into a bloody puddle should he get the chance, and that is if we even get to him in the first place! Don’t forget that the Centaurs are on the warpath! If we enter the Forest without Hagrid…”

“It’s his brother, Hermione,” Draco sighed. “We can’t just do nothing.”

“You’re supposed to be my reasonable friend!” she accused, sounding scandalised.

“While that might be true,” Draco sighed. “I’m also a Pureblood. You might have forgotten, with the way I turned against my own father, but I was raised to treasure family bonds.” Hermione looked pained at his words. “I did not try to stop Harry from talking to Sirius because I knew how much he needs what he views as his only remaining family once every now and then,” Draco continued. “And just the same, I won’t ask Hagrid to abandon his brother. Even if he happens to be a giant. And frankly, as the leader of an Elf liberation group, I didn’t think you would.”

Hermione flushed at that.

“I’m not asking him to abandon him,” she muttered. “I’m just asking him not to put us in danger over it!”

“He doesn’t really have a choice, does he?” Draco countered. “Should he get sacked.”

There was a long silence between them, and it allowed them to register the cheers from the Quidditch pitch.

“Is the match over?” Draco asked, distracted.

“Seems like it,” Hermione muttered. “Should we go find Ron and Harry? Tell them about what Hagrid just showed us?”

“Only if Gryffindor lost,” Draco frowned. “If they won, let’s not bother them with it just yet. Let them enjoy their victory.”

It turned out that Gryffindor had indeed won both the match and the house cup in their absence. Cheering crowds of Gryffindor students were making their way up to the castle, no doubt intending to continue the celebration up at their Common Room. Hermione and Draco exchanged a quiet glance.

“Tomorrow, then,” Draco muttered, squeezing her shoulder.

“Yes,” she sighed, making her way up to the Gryffindor Tower herself, no doubt to find their victorious friends. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” Draco smiled. “Tell Harry congrats from me.”

“I will,” she smiled back before they parted ways, leaving Draco to walk down to the dungeons in solitude.

From what Draco could gather, it had been quite a match for Weasley, which made the news that Draco and Hermione had been absent through most of his legendary success all the more crushing to him. Consequently, he did not take to their news about Hagrid well.

“Well, you’re going to have to break your promise,” he shrugged, immediately siding with Hermione before beginning to count off all of Hagrid’s dangerous escapades on his fingers, from Fluffy to Aragog, leaving Draco to roll his eyes and turn to Harry expectantly.

“We can’t just abandon Hagrid when he needs us,” he muttered, grey eyes boring into green ones. “He’s been there for us all these years, and you know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for us.”

Harry heaved a deep sigh and nodded.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Harry,” Hermione hissed.

“You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to,” Harry shrugged. “If you don’t want anything to do with it, Draco and I can handle it.”

“Great,” Weasley muttered. “The two with the greatest risk of being chucked out of the school.”

Hermione pursed her lips, but when she met Draco’s eyes, she flushed in embarrassment and averted her gaze. Draco imagined she knew that there was nothing she could say to change his mind, even if that didn’t stop her from fretting.

With the beginning of June, it was like a switch had been turned on the school. The whole fifth year was collectively losing their heads over their OWLs, to a point where Draco voluntarily chose the seat next to Luna Lovegood throughout one of his Gryffindor friends’ absences in the library to prevent hearing more of everyone’s nonsense. Students had even started a black market of illegal substances like fake brain stimulants, forcing Draco and Hermione into extra shifts of their Prefect duties (well, Weasley too, but he arguably just didn’t care as much about the cause as they did).

When exams began on the second Monday of the month, it was the first time that Draco’s nerves were actually stretched thin by something as simple as an examination. He knew that he did not lack in knowledge and expertise, but it was the examiners that gave him a headache. They were employed by the ministry, after all. What if they, like Umbridge, were less than neutral?

Their theoretical exams were set for the mornings, and the practical ones for the afternoons. They started out with Charms on Monday, followed by Transfiguration on Tuesday, Herbology on Wednesday, DADA on Thursday and Ancient Runes on Friday (or, in Harry and Weasley’s case, a day off). The first week blew by relatively unspectacularly, though Draco was so tired on Friday night that he fell asleep over Potions revisions, only to have Harry poke him awake in time for curfew.

The second week was no better. Monday started off with Potions, Tuesday with Care of Magical Creatures, and Wednesday was divided between Arithmancy (or else Divination) and Astronomy in the evening.

And here was when it stopped being generic, frantic exam-writing. Because throughout their examination, Umbridge in all seriousness walked up to Hagrid’s hut with Auror escort to sack him, resulting in the whole of the fifth year witnessing the scuffle between Hagrid and the Ministry officials. Professor McGonagall, who had rushed across the grounds to intervene, had been hit by no less than four stunning spells and gone down, and Hagrid, seemingly immune to the stunners, had fled the scene.

Needless to say, none of them got much work done for the remaining minutes of the examination.

Their last exam, History of Magic, was set for the next morning. Draco had barely managed to sleep the night before, images of Aurors attacking Hagrid haunting him through the darkness, but he did his best to focus on the parchment before him, penning down the information he had crammed up in his head as if in a trance. His little bubble burst quite dramatically, though, when a scream burst through the Great Hall, making the blood freeze in Draco’s veins as he whirled around to stare over his shoulder.

The noise came from Harry, who had fallen off his chair, one hand clutching his forehead. His skin was pale and sweaty, and Draco was on his feet before he knew it, about to storm towards him, but he was stopped by one of the examiners, whose surprisingly strong grip caught on his elbow and held him in place. He tried to shake Professor Marchbanks off, who was an old, seemingly fragile woman,  but she did not budge, and in the meantime, Professor Tofty had clambered to Harry’s side and was accompanying his friend out into the Entrance Hall.

“This is an examination, Mr Malfoy,” Professor Marchbanks told him sternly. “Please return to your paper. Professor Tofty has everything under control.”

The doors closed behind Harry and the examiner, and Draco had no choice but to nod numbly and return to his seat.

He did not write a word for the remaining twelve minutes of the exam.

When he was finally allowed to hand his paper in, he all but stormed out of the Great Hall in his quest to find Harry. Hermione and Weasley were at his heels, and when they found no trace of their friend in the Entrance Hall, they took off towards the hospital wing.

They met Harry halfways, dashing down the stairs to get to them. Draco caught Harry’s arms when they came to a halt, needing to touch him in some way to calm himself.

“What happened?” he demanded breathlessly.

But Harry only shook his head and led them down the first-floor corridor, searching until he found an empty classroom and then pushing them inside, closing the door behind them. He leaned against the door, still pale as parchment, and his eyes were wide and fear-struck.

“Voldemort’s got Sirius,” he announced, in rushed words.

Draco stared.

“ What?” Hermione called.

“How d’you -” Weasley began.

“Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam.”

“But - but where? How?” Hermione asked, her face now as bloodless as Harry’s.

“I dunno how,” Harry said impatiently. “But I know exactly where. There’s a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls and they’re at the end of row ninety-seven… he’s trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there… he’s torturing him… says he’ll end by killing him!” Harry was a mess - he was trembling all over, and his voice was shaking as he spoke, and all Draco wanted was to pull him into his arms and hold him. But he was, quite literally, frozen. So all he could do was watch as Harry moved over to a desk, sat down on it and tried to rule in his emotions. “How’re we going to get there?” he asked finally.

At that, something in Draco unlocked. His brain signalled danger so severe that he took a step forward, shaking his head.

“Harry, no,” he said. “You can’t go.”

“What are you talking about?” Harry called, immediately defensive. “It’s Sirius! We have to rescue him!”

“First we have to check if he’s really there!” Draco reasoned. “Have you forgotten everything I told you about the dangers of that connection you and the Dark Lord share, Harry? He might be trying to lure you there! It might be a trick!”

“It wasn’t a trick with Mr Weasley!” Harry shouted.

“I know!” Draco conceded, a little desperately. “But that’s exactly why he might have realised it was an option! Harry, please! We need to stop and think this through!”

“There is no time!” Harry yelled. “Sirius might be dying!”

“And if he isn’t, the Dark Lord will kill you, and then what?” Draco yelled right back.

“Okay,” Hermione interrupted them, stepping in between and holding her hands up in a soothing gesture. “Calm down, both of you. This is getting us nowhere. We need to think of what to do.”

“I’m thinking of what to do!” Harry called. “I’m thinking of how to get to Sirius! Draco is the one who’s stalling!”

Hermione exchanged a pained look with Draco, before saying, very carefully: “Harry, Draco has a point. We have to check. This whole thing just seems so… so unlikely. Think about it! It’s five o’clock in the afternoon… How would Voldemort and Sirius have got in without being seen? The Ministry of Magic must be full of workers!”

“Exactly!” Draco nodded, relieved beyond words that Hermione was backing him up. “Aurors are guarding the whole building - how was he supposed to have gotten in undetected? He can’t have that many Death Eaters in Ministry ranks, Harry, not in the current climate!”

“I don’t know!” Harry shouted, glowering at them. “I don’t know, okay?! He must be using an Invisibility Cloak or whatever - but I know what I saw, and he’s there!”

“You might have seen what he wanted you to see,” Draco corrected.

“Or it might have been like when Ron’s Dad was attacked!” Harry yelled.

“But why,” Hermione called, sounding despaired. “why on earth would Voldemort want to use Sirius to get to the weapon, or whatever the thing is?”

“How would he have even gotten to Sirius, if he has been locked up in the Headquarters for months?” Draco countered. “None of it makes sense!”

“I just thought of something,” Weasley said in a hushed voice. “Sirius’ brother was a Death Eater, wasn’t he? Maybe he told Sirius of how to get the weapon!”

“Sure,” Draco rolled his eyes. “Because obviously, the Dark Lord would have been on a desperate mission for the thing for the better part of the year if the information had been within his own ranks in the first place! Do you really think he’d have let his people spill to the other side but not to him?!”

“It makes no sense!” Hermione agrees. “And we still have no proof that Voldemort and Sirius are even there -”

“Hermione, Harry’s seen them!” Weasley snapped.

“We can’t trust Harry’s dreams!” Draco yelled.

“Oh, so you don’t trust me?!” Harry rounded on him.

“You know that’s got nothing to do with it!” Draco called, stung. “The Dark Lord may be controlling what you see! How many times do I have to tell you?!”

“Well, all I know is that we are wasting time here!” Harry called.

“Draco is right, though, Harry!” Hermione pleaded. “Voldemort knows you. He took Draco down into the Chamber of Secrets to lure you there, it’s the kind of thing he does, he knows you’re the - the kind of person who’d go to Sirius’ aid! What if he’s just trying to get you into the Department of Myst-”

“Hermione, it doesn’t matter if he’s done it to get me there or not! I’d never have left Draco to die, and I’m not going to leave Sirius!”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t check to see if they are really there first!” Draco insisted.

“And how do you propose we do that?” Harry called. “They’ve taken McGonagall to St Mungo’s, there isn’t anyone from the Order left at Hogwarts who we can tell, and if we don’t get to Sirius -”

At that moment, the door opened and Ginny and Luna entered the classroom. Ginny was looking back and forth between them in apparent curiosity, while Luna wore her usual vague expression, humming to herself as she closed the door after them.

“Hi,” Ginny said hesitantly. “We recognised Harry’s voice. What are you yelling about?”

“Never you mind,” Harry shrugged her off.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at that, her eyes immediately flying to Draco’s, as if he was Harry’s official press rep of sorts.

“Care to explain why this one has reverted to being a complete bag of dungbombs?” she enquired, pursing her lips.

Harry groaned, turning away from them in frustration.

“You know, if you talked to us, maybe we could help,” Ginny commented.

“Well, you can’t!” Harry snapped.

“Wait!” Hermione interrupted, her voice urgent. “Wait… Harry, they can help!”

That made Harry pause, and Hermione proceeded to explain that, with Ginny and Luna’s help, they could get into Umbridge’s office, use her fireplace and check if Sirius was at the Headquarters. It was not a bad plan, all things considered, even if Harry was still vehemently arguing on points of there being no time, but still, Draco cut through their heated discussion impatiently, pointing out: “You do realise that you’re forgetting something, right?”

“What?” Hermione asked, looking honestly concerned.

“McGonagall might be at St. Mungo’s, but that does still leave one member of the Order at Hogwarts,” Draco reminded them. When none of them reacted, he hissed, exasperated: “ Snape!”

“Of course,” Hermione breathed, her eyes as wide as saucers. “Draco, you’re brilliant!”

Harry and Weasley, though, were exchanging looks of much less enthusiasm, and Draco knew what they were thinking without them having to voice it.

“Yes,” Draco rolled his eyes. “I know Snape hates Sirius. I know you don’t trust him. But if we tell him what you saw, he’s bound to act!”

“And what if he doesn’t?!” Harry demanded. “He’s ignored me before, Draco. He might do it again.”

Draco groaned, running a hand through his hair and pulling at the strands, trying to think.

“Fine!” he called. “Fine! How about this! You go and break into Umbridge’s office! And make sure not to get caught while at it! In the meantime, I’ll hunt down Snape and try to talk some sense into him. See if he will help us. It can’t hurt to go down both roads, right? If worst comes to worst, we’ll both come up with nothing and then we’ll have Snape there to organise help.”

Harry looked like he had something to say about the idea of Snape being helpful, but he controlled himself and instead barked out: “Fine! But only if we can think of a way to do all of this quickly, otherwise I’m going to the Ministry right now!”

“And on that note,” Draco said grimly, catching Hermione’s eyes and nodding to her. “I’ll entrust you with the break-in mission, while I go talk to my Head of House.”

“Thank you,” Hermione breathed, sending him a quick smile before turning to Ginny and discussing the most effective strategies available. As Draco left the room, he caught mentions of Peeves and Garrotting Gas, and hoped dearly they had everything under control and would not blow up the school in his absence.

Chapter Text

It took Draco too long to locate Snape. He wasn’t in his office when he first knocked, neither did he find him in his classroom or the storage space, and only when he returned to his office once more, out of desperation, did he turn around the corner, his eyes narrowing at the sight of him.

“Mr Malfoy,” he drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need to speak to you,” Draco rushed to say, not caring that he was out of breath and most probably dishevelled from running all over the place. “In private. Please, Sir. It’s urgent.”

Snape took in his appearance for a long moment, then nodded, pushing past him to unlock his office with a swish of his wand. 

“Very well,” he said. “In you come.”

Draco did not take the seat Snape offered him. Instead, he came straight to the point, bursting out, as soon as the door had closed behind them: “Harry had a dream, and now he’s convinced that the Dark Lord is holding Sirius Black at the Department of Mysteries.”

Snape held in, halfway to his desk, to stare at him. His dark eyes were sharp and unforgiving, piercing through him, and Draco’s walls went up immediately, even though in this instance, he had nothing to hide.

“That,” Snape said, his voice flat, “is impossible.”

“It’s what Harry saw,” Draco insisted. “And now we need to know whether it was a real vision, like the one when Mr Weasley was attacked, or if the Dark Lord planted it there to lure him to the Ministry.”

Snape was still staring at him in that unnerving way, and Draco found it utterly frustrating. He balled his fingers into fists as he waited for his teacher to answer to his request. Finally, Snape took a seat, folding his fingers as he looked at him. 

“And what, exactly, do you expect me to do, Mr Malfoy?” he asked, in apparent calmness.

Draco gaped at him.

“You’re a member of the Order,” he pointed out the obvious. “You must have ways to communicate. Ways that Umbridge can’t control. Use them. Find out whether Sirius is safe or not! If he is, then we know to ignore the vision. If not, then you need to send someone to rescue him, before Harry takes his sodding Firebolt and flies across Britain to do it himself!”

Snape did not outwardly react to Draco’s little speech, and it made the hair on the back of Draco’s neck rise with how on edge he was. 

“Potter really does tell you an awful lot, does he not,” Snape said, at last, and his voice was low, soft, but dangerous. “Considering who you are, and who your father is. You have no business knowing who’s a member of the Order, and who isn’t.”

Draco groaned.

“Isn’t that a little beside the point now?!” Draco demanded. “You can chastise us later. Now, we need to find out whether Sirius -”

“How do I know whether I can trust a word you say?” Snape challenged.

Draco opened his mouth, outraged.

“Excuse me?”

“There’s a reason you’re not in the inner circle of the Order, Mr Malfoy. You are the son of a Death Eater. Not only a Death Eater but one of the Dark Lord's closest confidants. For all I know, you might be doing undercover work for him. Or he might have you under the Imperius Curse.”

Draco couldn’t help it - he laughed.

“With all due respect, Sir,” Draco ground out, barely restraining himself. “This is rich, coming from a spy who walks both sides.”

Snape smiled at that, inclining his head.

“I’m glad you see my point, Mr Malfoy,” he replied. “Now, let me ask you - why have you come to me, if you don’t trust me?”

“Because we don’t have another choice!” Draco growled, opting for the truth. “There's no one left to go to! You were the only reasonable option I could think of! Though right now, you’re making me reconsider the ‘reasonable’ , mind you!”

Snape just leaned back in his chair, not rising to Draco’s bait. Draco took a deep, steadying breath. This wasn’t getting him anywhere.

“Listen,” he pleaded. “If you don’t help us, Harry is going to do something stupid. And I can’t let that happen.”

“Potter is always doing something stupid,” Snape shrugged. “How is that my responsibility?”

“Because if you really are on our side,” Draco ground out, his jaw hurting from restraining himself, “then it’s in your best interest that Harry doesn’t get himself killed before the war has even started. You might dislike him, but you can’t deny that he’s an important figurehead in this fight against the Dark Lord.”

The silence between them stretched on. Then, there was a knock on the door. Draco swore, but Snape ignored him, getting to his feet again.

“Yes?” he called.

The door opened, and Nott peeked in, seeming to be absolutely vibrating with excitement. He grinned when he took note of Draco’s presence, but when he spoke, he was addressing Snape.

“Professor,” he said. “The Headmistress is asking for you. She caught Potter trying to use her fireplace and now she wants you to bring Veritaserum so she can interrogate him.”

Draco closed his eyes. Merlin’s soddy pants. When he blinked his eyes open again, Snape’s gaze was on him. It gave nothing away, and when Snape replied to Nott’s words, it was in the same, drawling voice as always.

“As much as I support the idea of interrogating Potter, I have no Veritaserum left for the Headmistress to use.” Nott’s face fell at the news, and Snape sighed, getting to his feet. “Don’t worry, I’ll come up and speak to her myself,” he told him. With a glance at Draco, he added: “You stay here, Mr Malfoy. We’ll resume our conversation when I’m done.”

Draco nodded, rather numbly, watching as Snape left the room. When the door closed behind them, he cursed under his breath and began pacing. He should have known. He should have known things wouldn’t go as smoothly. He should have insisted that the others waited while he spoke to Snape. Sure, Snape was being a difficult prick, but that was still better than Umbridge trying to force-feed Harry Veritaserum for breaking into her office and trying to use the Floo connection.

Godric and Salazar, how were they going to get out of this?!

Draco paced restlessly through Snape’s office for the entirety of his teacher’s absence, and when his Head of House finally did return, there was a new air of determination to his movements. He did neither speak nor acknowledge Draco as he immediately retrieved his wand the moment the door had closed behind him, conjuring his Patronus.

Draco stared, flabbergasted, as a silvery doe appeared in the middle of the office, tilting its head in a curious manner to observe its surroundings and await instructions.

“Deliver a message to Sirius Black,” he instructed. “Black, Potter had a vision of you being held captive in the Ministry of Magic. Confirm your whereabouts.”

Then, he waved his wand, and the doe turned and galloped through the walls, disappearing from sight. 

There was a tense silence between them as Snape returned to his desk, taking a seat behind it as he waited for an answer. Draco remained standing. 

They did not have to wait for long. Only a short while later, a silvery wolfdog appeared in the room, filling its space with Sirius’ voice. 

“I’m at the Headquarters. It’s a trap.”

“Of course it is,” Snape groaned, getting to his feet again. “I warned Potter about this. He’s entirely too gullible, and since he did not bother learning to defend his mind properly -”

“It’s not that he didn’t bother!” Draco snapped. 

“You’d think, though,” Snape returned, his voice icy. “That with two people trying to teach him, he’d at least have picked up some skills, so something like this wouldn’t happen.”

Draco glowered at him, biting his tongue to refrain from responding. He knew it would get him nowhere.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” Snape rolled his eyes. “I have to go back and make sure Potter doesn’t make a run for it. I can’t prevent him from being expelled at this point, not after breaking into the Headmistress’ office, and especially not after she put me on probation for not having Veritaserum to offer her, but I need to at least make sure he remains within the castle.” He fixed Draco with a look. “And you,” he growled, “will stay right where you are, do you hear me?”

Draco took a deep, steadying breath, and nodded, his jaw clenched. His eyes were narrowed as he watched Snape leave the room again, and when the door closed once more behind him, he used every curse in his repertoire to let off some steam. Not that it made him feel any less trapped in this damp, muggy office. 

He couldn’t believe this was happening. One catastrophe after another was unfurling around him and he was stuck in Snape’s damn office, away from Harry and everyone he cared about, unable to help.

Draco expected Snape to be gone for a long while this time, so he was taken off guard when he burst through the door in a matter of minutes once more, muttering under his breath.

“They’re gone,” he spat, flashing a glare so lethal at Draco that he was surprised it didn’t slice right through him. As if it was somehow his fault. “There’s a pathetic mob of your housemates sickening up in the Headmistress’ office, but Potter and his group of imbeciles are nowhere to be found, as well as the Headmistress. Where did they go, Malfoy?”

“I don’t know,” Draco answered, quite sincerely, panic rising inside of him. “But they wouldn’t have taken Umbridge with them, would they?”

“How would I know what they would do?!” Snape hissed. He retrieved his wands once more, and with quick, efficient movements, conjured his Patronus another time. This time, the doe stood more alert, as if it could tell that this was an emergency.

“Find Albus Dumbledore,” Snape ordered, his voice sharp. “Headmaster, Potter has disappeared. He’s under the assumption that the Dark Lord is keeping Black captive at the Ministry of Magic, but I ascertained that Black is still positioned at the Headquarters. Umbridge caught Potter in her office using the Floo connection trying to make contact, and now there is no sign of neither Potter and his friends nor her. Alert the Order. I’ll search the grounds until I receive further instructions.”

With that, he ended the message and sent his Patronus on its way. At last, he turned to Draco.

“You, back to your common room,” he ordered.

“You’re kidding, right?” Draco gaped.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood for jokes, Mr Malfoy?” Snape snapped. “I want you out of my way and back in your common room. Don’t speak to anyone about any of this. Do I make myself clear?”

“I won’t go anywhere!” Draco shouted, not caring in the least that he was being insubordinate. “My best friends are missing and you think I can just go about my evening and pretend nothing happened?! I want to help!”

“I can’t take you along with me, Mr Malfoy!” Snape barked. “You’re a student, and you’re not equipped for the task! You will slow me down!”

Draco flushed, but refusing to back down completely, changed tracks in the speed of lightning.

“Then I’ll stay here!” he countered, crossing his arms in a demonstration of his adamancy. “I want to be right at the source when something happens! Plus, you might need me eventually.”

“And whatever would I need you for, Malfoy?” Snape sneered.

“I know Harry and Hermione like the back of my hand,” Draco pointed out. “If anyone can figure out what they’re planning, it’s me.”

Snape seemed to have no immediate answer to that, and finally, with a groan of frustration, he retaliated.

“I have no time for this,” he muttered. “You won’t set a foot out of this office, do you understand me?!”

“Yes,” Draco conceded. “I’ll stay right where I am.”

“Don’t make me regret this!” Snape warned, and with that, he made for the door, once more leaving Draco in solitude in this abhorrent office that was starting to make him feel slightly claustrophobic. Still, it was better than being sent back to the Slytherin common room, where he had no means of finding out whether or not his friends were still alive.

Draco pressed his face to his hands, taking a shaky breath. There was no way Harry was already at the Ministry, he tried to soothe himself. First, he needed to get there, and they were in Scotland, and the Ministry was located in London, so there was enough time to stop him… 

Only what if he had taken the Floo to the Ministry? If they had overpowered the Inquisitorial Squad in Umbridge’s office somehow and fled through the fireplace? 

Realising he couldn’t breathe, Draco quickly took a seat and rested his head between his knees. He stayed like that until he could get air into his lungs again, and a while longer, until his ears had stopped buzzing and the room had stopped spinning. 

Then, he just sat there, staring numbly at Snape’s desktop and waited. 

It took hours until Snape returned, and by then, he looked hassled and exhausted and Draco had been back and forth through various panic attacks and mental breakdowns. 

“Did you find them?” Draco asked him, his voice trembling as Snape took a seat across from him. 

He looked up to take in Draco’s face, eyes lingering on his for a long moment, and Draco felt like he was going to have another breakdown right then and there if Snape didn’t start speaking right now.

When his teacher eventually answered, his voice was devoid from the characteristic anger.

“I didn’t,” he told Draco. “But we know where they are.”

“The Ministry,” Draco said immediately, closing his eyes against the prickling of impending tears. 

“Yes,” Snape confirmed. “The Order sent out reinforcement to get them out of there. I’m waiting for further information.”

Draco couldn’t speak. This couldn’t be happening.

“They lured the Headmistress’ out of the office by pretending to want to reveal some sort of weapon within the Forbidden Forest to her,” Snape explained. “It was Granger’s idea. That’s what I could gather once Mr Nott stopped sickening up. Mr and Ms Weasley had apparently… enticed them to eat some of their older brothers’ special sweets, which ended up incapacitating them.” Even without opening his eyes, Draco could tell that Snape was curling his lip in displeasure at his students’ stupidity. “That’s how they could escape. I assume they caught up with Potter and Granger once they had… rid themselves of the Headmistress.”

“How did they do that?” Draco asked, barely getting the words out.

“A run-in with the Centaurs,” Snape elaborated. “I found Umbridge a little earlier. She is not in the best of shapes, if I might say so.” He sounded remarkably unfeeling. 

Draco nodded. He could not bring himself to say anything else. 

“I’d really rather you went back to your own quarters, Mr Malfoy,” Snape attempted once more. “You could use a bit of rest.”

“No,” Draco shook his head, finally opening his eyes to blearily glare at Snape. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“The hospital wing, then?” Snape tried. “I can inform you once I have any news from the Order.”

“No,” Draco repeated. “I’m staying.”

Snape sighed, shaking his head, but thankfully, he stopped bothering Draco about it.

It took an eternity until news from the order came in. By the time Dumbledore’s Patronus, a bright, silvery Phoenix, lit up Snape’s office, it was already late at night, and a full-blown headache had developed behind Draco’s right eye, throbbing as he looked right at it.

“Students are safe. Had one casualty on our side, Sirius Black was killed. Other than that, only injuries. The prophecy was destroyed before Voldemort could get to it. Fudge caught sight of Voldemort before he got away. I will see the injured students to the hospital wing, and then have a conversation with Harry in my office. Please meet me there.” The Phoenix vanished with the end message, leaving Draco to stare at the empty spot it left incredulously.

The anticlimactic delivery of the information he had been waiting for all evening made it hard for his brain to process what he had heard. Sirius was dead. Harry was alive. Someone was injured. Fudge had seen the Dark Lord, which meant his return was now an undeniable fact even to the Ministry. And there had been something about a prophecy, though Draco had not understood that part.

Draco looked up when Snape got to his feet, dark eyes meeting his. 

“Well?” he muttered, pursing his lips. “Are you coming or not?” 

Draco blinked, surprised that Snape was not trying to send him to his dormitory again, but deciding not to chance his luck and jumping to his feet, following the Professor out of the office in which he had been stuck for the better part of the evening. 

The corridors of the castle were dark and abandoned as they made their way to the hospital wing, but Draco could hear the portraits muttering as they passed, clearly aware that something had happened. When they finally pushed open the doors to the infirmary, there was a flurry of movement inside, and Draco had to blink against the sudden onslaught of brightness. Dumbledore was standing in the middle of the room, talking to Madam Pomfrey, who was making rounds from one occupied bed to the other. Draco could see Weasley on the one closest to him, eyes closed, and Hermione on the one next to him, unconscious as well. The one behind them was curtained off but clearly occupied, too. On the other side, Luna was resting on another bed, her eyes occasionally fluttering open, though she obviously wasn’t fully lucid. Next to her sat Ginny, who was balancing her ankle gingerly on a stool, though she had apparently been healed already. On the bed to their left sat Longbottom - who Draco hadn’t even known had been there - and he looked visibly shaken, but mostly unhurt, or maybe he had been healed? 

“Severus,” Dumbledore spoke up, taking note of Snape’s presence. “I’m glad you’re here. I need you to take care of everything while I speak to Harry. Wake the other staff if you need support. Filius should be notified, seeing that one of his students was involved, and maybe Pomona could take it upon herself to notify the families of the Gryffindor students, seeing that Minerva is out of action. Through the order, the Weasleys are naturally up to speed, but we need to send notice to the Grangers and Augusta Longbottom.”

“Very well,” Snape nodded. 

“Professor,” Draco spoke up, unable to help himself. “How is Harry?” 

Dumbledore’s sharp blue eyes landed on him then, and he frowned, as if surprised to find Draco here. It took a moment for him to answer.

“He’s not hurt,” he said finally. “But he’s very shaken by what happened. I really need to speak to him.”

“Can I-” Draco began, but Dumbledore was already shaking his head.

“I’m afraid I can’t allow you to question him tonight, Draco,” Dumbledore told him firmly, though not unkindly. “He has been through a terrible ordeal.”

“I don’t want to question him!” Draco called desperately. “I just want to see him, talk to him!”

“I understand,” Dumbledore nodded, his voice gentle as he approached Draco, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It must have been incredibly nerve-wracking for you, waiting here and not knowing whether your friends were dead or alive. But Harry has just watched his godfather die. I think you need to give him some space.”

Draco bit his lip, blinking against the fresh tears in his eyes. He had never felt so freaking useless in his entire life. Dumbledore squeezed his shoulder in sympathy before letting go and turning to address Snape once more. Draco did not hear what was being said, but shortly after, they both left the hospital wing. Ginny got to her feet as soon as they’d left, balancing herself gingerly on her previously injured angle as she approached Draco but not letting it deter her. She pulled him into a tight hug as she reached him. 

“How is everyone?” Draco breathed into her hair, clinging to her in an unusual display of vulnerability towards anyone not Harry or Hermione or his mother.

“Roughened up, but they’ll get through,” Ginny muttered. “Ron touched something he shouldn’t have, and it messed with his brain. Hermione was hit by some curse, and Luna was hit by a stunner and knocked out. Madam Pomfrey will patch them up.”

“And you?” Draco asked.

“Nothing much,” Ginny shrugged, pulling away to smile at him. “A broken ankle, that’s all. Neville had a broken nose.”

Draco looked over at Longbottom, who indeed had blood stains on his robes, but only smiled sheepishly at Draco and shrugged. 

“What happened?” Draco asked, turning back to Ginny. 

Ginny sighed, taking Draco’s hand and pulling him across the room to sit with her and Longbottom - the boys on the bed next to Luna’s, and Ginny on the chair she had abandoned earlier, propping up her smarting ankle once more. 

“Well, as you can probably tell by now, it was a trap,” Ginny sighed. “When we got into the Department of Mysteries, Sirius wasn’t there.”

“I know,” Draco muttered. “Snape contacted Sirius and got word back that he was at Grimmauld Place. So if you’d actually stopped for a moment and waited for backup…”

“Well, shit,” Ginny groaned, exchanging a look with Longbottom. “You might not want to mention that in front of Harry.”

Draco’s stomach turned.

“Believe me,” Draco breathed. “The last thing I want to do now is brag about how I was right.”

Ginny gave him a sad smile and reached out to squeeze his hand. 

“I didn’t think so,” she said softly.

Draco gulped. It felt alien, having Ginny reach out to him like that, but his body craved the physical reassurance, so he did not pull away. 

“So, what happened next?” Draco enquired. “When you figured out Sirius wasn’t there?”

“There was some kind of glass bowl with Harry’s name on it,” Longbottom explained, a frown on his face. “A prophecy? It seemed like that’s what You-Know-Who was after, but only Harry could actually pick it up.”

“So when he did, all those Death Eaters turned up,” Ginny continued. “Your father, your aunt… And they demanded that he handed over the prophecy. Harry refused, and we tried to flee. But we got lost in the Department. It had so many bloody doors. ”

“And then they cornered us,” Longbottom told him, his eyes wide. “And the Order turned up to back us, and hell broke loose. The prophecy got smashed. And somewhere in the chaos…” Longbottom caught Ginny’s eyes.

“Sirius,” Draco breathed, not needing them to voice it. 

He felt numb. Sirius had been his cousin, and despite that, he had only ever actually met him twice and spoken to him once. It was almost laughable now, how they had kept missing each other, with Draco unable to enter the Headquarters of the Order of Phoenix or not speaking to Harry at the end of fourth year, not accompanying them to meet up with him at Hogsmeade… There had always been one thing or another, always an excuse, and Draco hadn’t bothered to push, because Sirius had been more focused on Harry than on him anyway and Draco hadn’t minded because Harry didn’t have any family to dote on him, so Sirius might as well do the job properly. Draco had not needed the attention. But now, he wished he had made more of an effort. 

Draco barely realised that Ginny had started speaking again until she squeezed his hand once more. 

“After she’d killed Sirius, Harry went after your aunt. And she must have called You-Know-Who. I don’t know what happened, but he was there, and Harry was, and then, there was Dumbledore, and there was a huge fight. It only ended when Ministry officials burst in.”

Draco nodded, unable to speak. There was a long silence between them, only broken when Madam Pomfrey clambered over to their side of the room.

“Off to your dormitories, the three of you,” she said briskly. “You two are healed, and you, Mr Malfoy, are uninjured, as far as I can tell. I have enough beds to fill tonight. Off you go.”

They didn’t protest, even though Draco’s eyes did linger on Hermione’s still figure for a long moment before he followed the others out of the room. They walked together up to the staircase, where Ginny and Longbottom had to bid their goodnights to Draco.

“Will you be alright?” Ginny asked worriedly. “You don’t look well, Draco.”

Draco shrugged, hoping it was enough of an answer. Ginny pursed her lips, but thankfully let the subject drop.

Despite the clear orders from Madam Pomfrey, Draco did not return to the Slytherin quarters. Instead, he made his way to where he knew Dumbledore office was located, and then leaned against the wall in front of the gargoyles guarding the entrance. 

Draco knew that Dumbledore would be displeased to see him, but he could not bring himself to stay away. He needed to see Harry, and he needed to see him tonight. There was no way he would be able to fall asleep without seeing his face, and if anything Hermione had told him throughout this year was going to be believed and he and Harry really had a special connection of sorts, Harry was going to be in need of his company now more than ever. At least, Draco was sure that, if their roles were reversed, he would be craving for Harry’s presence.

So when the gargoyles finally moved, revealing a staircase from which Harry and Dumbledore slowly descended, he pushed himself off the wall and stepped into view, his heart in his throat.

Harry looked horrible. His skin was so pale that it looked grey in the moonlight, and he seemed wrung out, as if all life had left his body and he was held together merely by some kind of outer force. His eyes were red and bloodshot as they landed on him.

“Harry,” Draco breathed, his voice cracking.

“Draco,” Dumbledore sighed. “I thought I told you -”

“I know, I know,” Draco said quickly. “And I’m not here to ask questions. I know all I need to know. I just…” he broke off, taking a step towards Harry, who was still staring at him. 

Draco gulped, whispering: “I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“For what?” Harry breathed.

“For not having been there,” Draco shrugged, his eyes stinging again. “For not acting quick enough to prevent it from happening in the first place. For-”

“Stop talking,” Harry cut him off, his voice sharp.

“But-”

Before Draco could continue, Harry had reached out to him, clenching his fingers in Draco’s robes and pulling him closer, until they were almost chest to chest. Harry’s eyes bored into Draco’s, green orbs intense, almost angry as he hissed: “Do you have any idea what would have happened if you had been there?! Bellatrix went after Sirius for a reason. She killed him because they were cousins. If she had seen you there, she’d have gone after you. And I won’t lose you, too. Do you understand me?”

There were tears in Draco’s eyes again, and he rested his forehead against Harry’s. 

“If I thank Merlin for one thing today, it’s that I didn’t take you with us,” Harry breathed. “I wished I hadn’t gone in the first place, but at least I didn’t pull you into it, too. So stop with all that nonsense, will you?!”

Mutely, Draco nodded, before giving into the urge to wrap his arms around Harry. The other boy sort of sagged into his embrace, as if the tension fled from his body, and he leaned into Draco, breathing deeply. They stayed like that for a long moment, neither of them speaking. 

It was Dumbledore, who broke them out of it.

“I think both of you really need to sleep,” he noted, his tone gentle. “Harry, do you want Draco to accompany you to the hospital wing?” 

Harry sniffed once, maybe trying to reign himself in, and then nodded. His hand came around Draco’s, holding on tightly, as if he was afraid Dumbledore would force him to let go.

“Very well,” Dumbledore conceded. “He can stay with you until the Dreamless Sleep takes effect, but then he’ll return to the Slytherin dormitories for a good night’s sleep. Do we have a deal?”

Draco wanted to argue, honestly, and Harry looked like he wanted to, as well, but they knew there was no point. So they trailed after Dumbledore to the hospital wing, where Harry was shown to the bed Draco had earlier sat on with Longbottom, the one next to Luna’s. Draco checked on Hermione as Harry changed into pyjamas, and when he slipped under the covers, he returned to his side. 

Harry reached for Draco’s hand, and Draco took it, carefully entwining their fingers. 

Madam Pomfrey measured a cup of Dreamless Sleep for Harry and pushed it into his free hand. 

“There you go,” she encouraged. “Drink the whole lot, and you should have an uninterrupted night.”

Harry nodded, catching Draco’s eyes once more. Draco squeezed his hand. Harry lifted the cup to his lips and drank the potion down in one go, his swallows growing sloppier with each turn. Draco reached out to take the cup from him just in time before it fell from his hand, and Harry’s head dropped to the pillow. He was fast asleep. 

Draco put the empty cup on the bedside table, allowing himself one moment to just sit there at Harry’s side, look at him and hold his hand. Then, Madam Pomfrey threw him out, and he had to return to his own dormitory.

He did not think he would be able to sleep that night, but once his head hit the pillow, he was gone to the world. 

Chapter Text

The next couple of days were as quietly eventful as they were difficult. The papers were full of the news that the Dark Lord had indeed returned, and that Dumbledore and Harry had been telling the truth all along. Tales of what had happened at the Ministry spread like wildfire, and with it, speculations about Harry’s role in the upcoming war against the Dark Lord.

The Death Eaters present at the night in question had been arrested, among them Draco’s father and aunt, as well as Nott’s father. Nott had not spoken to Draco since it happened, but every time their eyes met in the dormitory they shared, his gaze was burning with hatred. He was sure there would be repercussions of some sort, but Draco had no peace of mind to worry about that now. 

Regarding the fact that his own father had been sent to Azkaban, he felt weirdly numb about the fact. He knew it was well deserved, and by all means, he should feel relieved, or even satisfied, but every time he tried to muster the sentiment, something inside him seemed to block it. Neither, though did he feel regret or pain at the news, as perhaps, it would be expected of him. He did write to his mother, though, wanting to make sure that she was all right - after all, she had always clung to the hope that her husband would turn it all around for the sake of his family - but he had not yet received an answer.

At Hogwarts, things returned to normal. Dumbledore was reinstated, Hagrid returned, and all traces of Umbridge’s reign over the school were erased in a matter of days, as if she had never been there in the first place. The only thing that remained were the scars on the backs of Harry's and Draco’s hands and the memories. 

Speaking of Harry: Their friend was, perhaps predictably, much changed after the escapade at the Ministry. He barely talked when they were all gathered, and often escaped after only a couple of minutes in their presence with some feeble excuse. Later, Draco would find him alone in a corner of the castle, lost and miserable. So Draco would sit with him, not speaking, just offering his silent company, and Harry seemed grateful for it. It was the only times, anyway, when Harry did not run, which was encouraging. Draco realised that Harry was not ready to talk about what had happened, but he wanted to be there for him in any way he could, and he was glad that Harry was accepting his worldless support. 

In Harry’s many absences, though, he spent time with Ginny, Luna, Longbottom, Hermione and Weasley (the only ones actually remaining hospitalized) in the infirmary, and bit by bit, the others filled him in on everything he had missed while he had been stuck at Snape’s office, and in particular, involved him in discussions about the prophecy that had been smashed before any of them got to hear it.

“It must explain Harry’s connection to Voldemort in some way,” Hermione frowned. “It's the only thing that makes sense.”

“The obvious explanation would be that Harry is the one destined to kill You-Know-Who,” Luna shrugged, in her eerily unconcerned way, as if she was talking about the weather. “Don’t you agree?”

Draco balled his fist and looked out of the window. He did agree, though admitting it out loud would make it real, and he was not prepared to do that. Ginny elbowed him, and when their eyes met, her expression was far too knowing, which prompted him to reluctantly join the conversation again. 

“If that’s indeed the case, it’s a shame it got smashed,” Ron said longingly. “Maybe it had hints on how Harry could do it?”

“Don’t you think if that were the case, the Dark Lord would have had it destroyed long ago?” Draco frowned. “It seems unlikely to me that such an easy solution would be at hand. Plus, prophecies are not impervious mirrors of the future, even if they are real. They show one path the future might take, of many.”

Silence followed his words, contemplative and concerned. 

“I wonder if Harry knows something,” Hermione muttered. “Dumbledore spoke to him for a long time that night. He might have told him something.”

“If anyone would know, it’s Dumbledore,” Longbottom agreed.

“If he does know, he’ll tell us on his own time,” Draco shrugged. “We’ll just have to be patient.”

Hermione pursed her lips, indicating just how hard patience was on her. Ginny poked her playfully in the ribs, making her smile.

Hermione and Weasley left the hospital wing three days before the end of the term, and two days before Umbridge was chased out of the castle by none other than Peeves himself. It was a welcome comedic relief in the strain their fifth year had been. 

The End-of-Term-Feast was a serene affair. Dumbledore held a long speech about the events of the year and about the importance of unity and open honesty in the face of what they were going to be facing from now on. Harry was not present, and maybe, Draco thought, it was better that way, for he would have been the centre of attention throughout the whole evening, and Draco was sure that Harry was not ready for that yet.

The train ride home brought the anticipated confrontation with Nott, though it did end fairly quickly, since various members of the DA had been present and had hit both Nott as well as Crabbe and Goyle with various curses at the same time, leaving them incapacitated for the rest of the journey. 

Draco shared the compartment with Harry, Weasley, Hermione, Ginny and Longbottom, and surprisingly enough, they slid into the first easy conversation since the incident at the Ministry. Harry even smiled a little when Weasley taunted him about some move he had messed up in their game of chess, and it made Draco hope that maybe, he was on the heal.

Then Cho Chang of all people passed their compartment, and Weasley elbowed him to turn his attention to her. Their eyes met for a moment through the glass door, but Chang, despite flushing heavily, just kept walking. Harry returned his gaze to the chessboard, seemingly unaffected. 

“What’s - er - going on with you and her, anyway?” Weasley asked, under his breath, making Draco gulp.

“Nothing,” Harry shrugged.

“I - er - heard she’s going out with someone else now,” said Hermione tentatively. Her eyes flitted to Draco’s for a moment, before she quickly looked away. 

Again, Harry shrugged. He was sucking on his lip, seemingly considering his next move. Weasley was watching him. 

“You’re well out of it, mate,” Weasley told him, with feeling, and it was one of the few times that Draco agreed with him. “I mean, she’s quite good-looking and all that, but you want someone a bit more cheerful.”

“Above all, you might want someone less paranoid,” Ginny snorted, looking up from the quiz she was filing out in The Quibbler. “I heard that she threw a jealousy fit over Hermione. I mean, honestly!”

“Thank you!” Draco called, unable to help himself. “I’ve been saying that for months!”

“Well, you were quite right,” she laughed. “If she was going to get possessive, Hermione’s not the person to villainise. If there’s any proof she doesn’t know Harry... There would have been a much better choice.”

Harry was frowning now, the game of chess forgotten as he stared at her from across the compartment.

“What do you mean?” he asked. 

She raised her eyebrows and pointedly looked from Harry to Draco and back. Hermione snorted from her seat between them, but tried to hide it behind a cough and spread out her copy of the Daily Prophet in front of her face to hide her grin. Draco felt quite frozen. 

“Oh, come on,” Ginny called when none of them reacted. “If I had been her, I’d have totally thrown a fit over Draco! I couldn’t have cared less about Hermione!”

“ What?!” Weasley called, incredulous, thankfully unaware of the deep flush on Draco’s face. Harry just looked like he’d been hit over the head with a Bludger. “Draco’s a bloke! What the hell, Ginny?!”

“Oh, because blokes never fancy blokes!” Ginny rolled her eyes, rolling up the newspaper and using it to whip her brother in the head with it. “Really, what century do you live in?!”

“But,” Harry asked, his voice small, “why Draco?”

Ginny turned to look at him, her expression a cross of exasperation and pity. 

“Have you seen yourself interacting with him?!” she demanded. “You touch him all the bloody time! You hold his hand when you think no one’s looking! And that’s just the physical stuff! Shall we have the conversation again about how we call Draco to fix you every time you’re broken?”

“Ginny,” Draco muttered, his face burning up and his voice slightly wobbly.

“What?” she said innocently. “Someone had to say it! You two behave more couply than Dean and I do, most of the time. Only unlike you thickheads, we are actually dating.”

At that, Hermione resolved into a hysterical fit of giggles next to Draco, burying her face into her newspaper. Even Neville, who had been silent on Ginny’s other side, bit his lip to suppress a grin. Harry, on the other hand, was still staring at Ginny with wide eyes, as if she’d just told him that the Dark Lord was going to join The Weird Sisters. 

Weasley, on the other hand, was now side-eyeing Ginny and demanding, in a voice resembling a growl: “Dean? Dean Thomas?”

Ginny moaned and rolled her eyes.

“Not now, Ron!” she complained.

“Since when are you dating Dean Thomas?” he called.

“None of your business!”

“I thought you were dating Michael Corner?!”

“Well, I dumped him because he was a sore loser and sulked when Ravenclaw lost to Gryffindor at Quidditch, so now he’s hooked up with Chang and they can sulk together. Looks like everyone is happy.”

Weasley returned something, but Draco had stopped listening and was instead glancing at Harry again. His friend was staring at the chessboard, looking a little lost, as if his brain couldn’t cope with the information it had just received. Draco gulped and caught Hermione’s eyes. She was smirking like a cat who had just gotten the cream, her eyes glistening with mirth. 

Quickly, Draco averted his eyes again, busying himself instead with the book he had been reading before this conversation had started. And if his eyes traced the same paragraph again and again without taking in any of the words, no one had to know.

When they arrived at King’s cross, they were in for a bit of a surprise committee: None other than Mad-Eye Moody, Professor Lupin and a young woman with bright pink hair awaited them at the platform, standing in a cheerful mob with the Weasleys and his mother. It was a little bizarre as they approached them and the general round of greetings started, leaving him to be pulled into a hug by almost each and every member of the Weasley family and being fondly greeted by Lupin and even acknowledged by Moody before he even reached his mother. 

Narcissa Malfoy’s face was serious, but she embraced her son tightly, not letting go for a long, long moment.

“Darling,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for everything. I really hoped things would turn out differently.”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Draco scolded, squeezing his arms around her shoulders. “It’s not your fault. You gave him a chance. He didn’t take it.”
She sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheekbone before letting go of him. 

“I promise you don’t need to worry anymore,” she told him, clear blue eyes finding his. “I’ve been in contact with your Headmaster, and I made our allegiance clear. He promised us protection. There won’t be any association of ours with the Dark Lord’s side anymore. I won’t allow it.”

“Mother,” Draco whispered, overcome by emotion. He knew what a big step this was for her, what it must have done to her to permanently turn her back on her husband and place herself on the opposite side in an upcoming war. And she had done it for him, Draco knew. If her son hadn’t been so dead-set on his friendship and loyalty to Harry Potter, she’d have insisted on walking the line. “Thank you.”

“Draco,” she smiled, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “I love you more than words can express. I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

Draco gulped and pulled her into another hug, trying to blink away his tears.

“I love you, too,” he whispered.

His mother hummed, gently stroking his hair.

When she let go of him, Draco turned to see that Harry was nowhere in sight. Neither were Moody, Lupin, Mr Weasley, Hermione or the flashy young woman. Ginny caught his eyes and nodded to the barrier to the non-magical world, and he and his mother followed the rest of the Weasleys out of the platform and back into Muggle territory. They found Hermione in the arms of her mother, and Harry surrounded by the remaining adults, facing off the Dursleys in what seemed to be a serious conversation. Draco frowned, taking a moment to glower at Harry’s Muggle relatives with all the disgust he felt for them, knowing how they’d always abused his friend. His mother placed a soothing hand on his shoulder.

When the conversation was over, Harry turned to them to say his goodbyes for the summer, and Draco surged forward to get his share of his attention. 

“We’ll see you soon, mate,” Weasley told Harry anxiously, shaking Harry’s hand in a way that was alien to Draco, like they were sealing some kind of business deal. 

“Really soon,” Hermione added, pulling him into a hug. “We promise.”

Harry nodded, catching Draco’s eyes across Hermione’s bushy head. For a split-second, there was a tiny bit of awkwardness there, a flash of the conversation they’d had on the train, but then it was gone, and there was a determination in Harry’s green eyes that left no room for doubt. He pulled Draco into a tight hug, resting his temple against Draco’s cheek. 

“Write to me,” he whispered. "I need to know you're safe."

“We have the parchments,” Draco reminded him. “You won’t be able to shut me up.”

Harry snorted, and he was smiling as he pulled away. 

He waved at all of them as he left, following the Dursleys down the Muggle platform and disappearing into the crowd.

Draco sighed, turning to his mother.

“So,” he frowned. “Back to the Manor?”

“No,” she shook her head, giving him a sad smile. “Too dangerous. The Dark Lord won’t be… too keen on me, for deserting my husband, and on you, for being friends with Harry Potter. We’d be too exposed at the Manor.”

“Then where do we go?” Draco asked, with a sinking feeling.

“I’ve made arrangements for a case like this,” his mother smiled, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve rekindled some old family bonds. You remember your Aunt Andromeda?”

“Andromeda?” Draco repeated, stunned. “Your sister who married a Muggleborn and was therefore disinherited?”

“The very one,” she confirmed. “We’re moving in with her. And her husband and daughter. It will be a little crowded, mind you, but it’s safe, and that’s what matters.”

Draco was still gaping at her, unable to comprehend the information, when a firm hand clasped his shoulder and he found himself face to face with the young woman with the bright pink hair. 

“Hiya, Roomie!” she grinned at him, her eyes twinkling.