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Chapter Text

Of all the things he could be doing, climbing a bajillion stairs to get to a classroom for a class he doesn’t even take was not at the top of the list.

He’d already gotten lost twice trying to find the blasted place. He was late for Transfiguration now that Herbology had let out. Still, Professor Sprout had insisted that the crystal ball that she borrowed from Professor Whatsherface just had to be returned right away.

“I know Trelawny said that it would make its way back in its own time, but the Crystal Daisies bloomed so I really don’t need it anymore.” Slytherins were all for politeness and punctuality, but goddamn Hufflepuffs would bend over backwards to avoid any mild inconvenience.

Of course, that didn’t help Draco haul the damn thing across school. It was heavy, not to mention the thing buzzed in his fingers like it was sparking. The last thing he needed was to drop it down all the stairs he’d just climbed.

He finally found the ladder and climbed up to the right room. By the time he made it, class was in session. He gagged at the heavy incense floating in the air – he swore he could taste it.

Great, it’s the Gryffindors, he mourned. Small mercies, none of them were paying much attention to him, too focused on their own crystal balls with either expressions of concentration or bewilderment.

He took a moment to survey the room. There was Potter and Weasley, scratching their heads at the orb in front of them. One of the Patil twins (who even knew which one, they were identical for Merlin’s sake) and another girl were giggling madly.

He quickly spotted Trelawny, not that it was difficult. The woman’s bracelets jangled loudly every time she made a sweeping motion. She was doing it now, speaking to—ugh—Potter and Weasley. Unless he wanted to get lung disease from the incense, he’d have to approach her in front of them.

With a slow breath to keep from chocking, Draco made his way toward Trelawny with long strides. He hadn’t made it to her when she spun on him and pointed one long finger at him. “You, boy! What is your name?”

Every head in the classroom turned at the outburst. Potter and Weasley looked especially shocked, angry even, like he was going to start a fight with them in front of a teacher, even one as insane as Trelawny clearly was. He heard his name whispered around the room as the group started whispering.

Draco only sighed and ignored the question. “Sprout asked me to return this to you.” He held out the orb.

Trelawny, sadly, did not tone down her excitement over his mere presence. She walked right up to him. Even though he was taller than her, Draco had to stop himself from retreating. She stared at him with bug eyes. “You have the gift.”

“Umm…” was Draco’s less than eloquent response. Trelawny took one of his hands in hers so she could look at his palm. He dropped the precious orb in the process. Glass broke. Whelp, that makes this entire trip useless.

Potter and Weasley looked like they were trying to keep from laughing as Trelawny hmm’ed and oh, I see’ed at his hand. “Yes, of course. A great journey. I saw it right away, of course. I don’t need your palm to see what’s written on your face.”

Had…had she just insulted him? He opened his mouth to object, then snapped it shut.

Potter and Weasley looked like they were in physical harm trying to keep their laughter quiet. Even Granger looked amused beside them. When did she get there?

“Yes!” Trelawny declared to the class. “Now, young man, tell me what you see.” She held up his own palm to his face, twisting his arm.

Even Draco knew better than to insult a teacher directly to her face. (Rest assured, Blaise and Pansy would be hearing about this in great detail later.) He’d have to play along and endure whatever humiliation was to come. So, he squinted at his palm and saw…

…absolutely nothing remarkable.

“Well, what do you see?” Trelawny was still staring at him, bug-eyed through her glasses.

Draco looked down at his palm, and then back at her, then down at his palm, then back at her.

He looked her dead in the eye and said, “Yes, truly remarkable.”

A switch went off in his brain, the one that made him a dramatic little shit.

He held his palm up to his face. “It’s remarkable. The lines! The curves and the crinkles, with the length of the fingers. How have I never seen it before?!” He really knew fuck-all about palmistry.

Trelawny nodded along like all good enablers do. The class gaped at him. Only Patil and her friend looked truly upset. Even Potter and his gang looked like they were enjoying the show.

“What? What do you see?” Trelawny gasped.

Draco faked a gasp and clutched his chest. “Professor! I can’t tell you the intricate details of my future. That’s private.”

To his shock, she nodded sagely. “Yes, one’s future is an intensely personal experience.”

He had no idea how to reply to that, which was unfortunate, because his silence gave her the time to take his arm again and drag him over to where Potter sat. “Try reading someone else’s future. I believe you are familiar with the crystal ball?” Potter nearly choked as Trelawny forced Draco to sit on the cushion opposite him. Potter’s eyes were wide and his eyebrows had retreated to somewhere behind his fringe.

“Now,” Trelawny announced for the class, “Let’s see what young Darko can see in Mr. Potter’s crystal ball. We all must remember to concentrate and use our inner eyes to see past what is simply before us in the physical world, so we can see into the possibilities!”

Draco gapped at Trelawny. Potter? Darko? Inner eyes? He felt like groaning.

Resigning himself to continuing this little charade, he decided he could have some fun with it. Maybe he could make something up to scare Potter and then taunt him with it later, like he had with the dementors. With that barebones plan in mind and no other way out, he started deciding the most dramatic way to declare Potter’s demise.

Yes, Potter, I see your love life finally coming to fruition. I see a kiss…of death!!

With that happy thought, he turned to the crystal ball and tried to look pensive as he gazed into the cloudy surface. Except, it wasn’t just cloudy. There was a flash of something there. There was…

There was…

He swore he saw something.

Forgetting the plan, Draco stared at the whirling clouds. It was like staring at a running stream, or into a hearth. The changing shapes were mesmerizing. He felt his breathing slow down without his notice. The clouds had colour, he saw now, not just grey. The longer he looked, the more colour there was as his eyes adjusted to the tiny, greyscale world within.

Huh.

“What do you see?” The voice pulled him out of the clouds a bit. Some part of him knew it was Trelawny, and he blinked a few times to try and remember where he was. Right. The divination classroom. He looked around at Trelawny’s bug eyes and spared only a glance for Potter’s increasing discomfort. But the shapes in front of him called his attention back to it. He tried to describe what he was seeing.

“I see…” Draco blinked and stared at the crystal as the clouds took shape. “I see a black dog.”

“No!” Potter yelled, jerking Draco’s attention away. The class exploded in gasps and chattering.

“It’s the grim! He saw the grim!”

“He’s not even in this class and he saw it, too!”

Potter looked furious. Weasley looked shocked and angry too. Granger had her head in her hands in what looked like a silent plea for patience.

Draco had to ask. “Sorry, what’s the grim?”

Trelawny looked absolutely delighted. “The grim, my dear Darko, is one of the darkest omens in divination. It is a sign of death.”

Oh. That explained the class’s reaction, not Trelawny’s though. He didn’t think that she was a dark lord supporter, despite her glee at Potter’s imminent demise. All because he’d seen a black dog in Potter’s crystal ball.

Except, Draco looked back at the crystal ball, that didn’t feel right.

“No,” Draco said, slightly confused as he gazed, “I think it’s just a dog.”

Just a dog felt right, and the longer he stared at the crystal, the longer he was sure that he was right.

Trelawny frown at him, no longer enamoured now that he was predicting something so ordinary. “Just a dog?”

Draco nodded, still looking at the crystal. “Yes, a dog. And…oh! There’s two of them.” Another dog-like form appeared beside the first, this one grey and bigger than the black dog. They rubbed together as they passed each other. It was night and they were outside, but wherever they were was bright.

“Two?” Potter gapped in utter confusion, though no longer angry, presumably because Draco didn’t think his death was imminent.

“Yes. Two dogs. Actually, the second one is bigger and grey. Maybe a wolf?”

Draco saw Granger sit up at that. Trelawny started to say something about the symbolism of wolves. He ignored her and continued to watch the scene in the glass unfold.

“They’re friends,” Draco told them. “The dogs are looking for something. They’re sniffing the ground. They lost something? Or, no, they’re hunting. They’ve lost a scent.”

“What are they after?” Granger said, suddenly interested. “Are they trying to hurt Harry?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. They’re not after Harry.” Draco admitted.

He wasn’t sure where that instinct came from, but he knew they didn’t mean Harry any harm. He felt something warm between them and that extended to Harry. He still had no clue what they were after, though, but he was sure if he looked long enough, he’d find out.

He was startled out of his trance when Trelawny clapped her hands. “What an interesting first attempt at a reading! Let’s give him a round of applause.”

The applause was lackluster. Hearing Potter wouldn’t die must have really disappointed them.

Draco stood up to leave. Before he made it to the trap door, Trelawny hunted him down and shoved another box with a crystal ball into his hands. “Darko, though you are not one of my students, the sages have whispered in my ears that this is supposed to be yours. Treat it well, and let it guide you down your path to enlightenment.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow and quietly took the box. He was too tired to think of something clever to say. “Thanks,” he said before pulling the trap door. Box under his arm, he navigated his way down the ladder.

*

He thought nothing more of his time in the divination classroom. He didn’t even tell Blaise and Pansy that Trelawny had given him a crystal ball as a gift. Pansy surely would have insisted on a reading every day when there was a perfectly good horoscope in The Prophet for her. He didn’t need to make a fool of himself for her to have her fun. He’d shoved the box under his bed and largely forgot about the whole thing, until…

“It was a rat,” Potter declared to him. He’d been leaving the dining hall one morning after exams had finished when Potter cornered him on the steps.

“What?” Draco asked, totally perplexed. “Potter, I know those muggles taught you manners, but statements like that need context.”

Potter did not cower under Draco’s glare. “The dog and the wolf, they were looking for a rat.”

Draco gapped at him. He vaguely remembered giving Potter his reading in the Divination room, but that was months ago. Why tell him now?

Draco fixed him a glare. “How does that explanation make even less sense?”

Potter only shrugged. He turned and walked the other way, while Draco very specifically did not watch him go. He turned instead and headed down to the dungeons, muttering all the way about Gryffindor lunacy.

He only found out about Black’s capture and escape when he returned to the common room, and he only heard about Professor Lupin’s lycanthropy and resignation from Pansy at lunch.

Chapter Text

Draco knew he hated Professor Moody even before his first class, before he demonstrated the killing curse on a spider on Draco’s desk, not a foot away from him. (Seriously, did no one teach this man wand safety? Common sense? Decency? Manners? Anything?)

No, Draco knew he hated Moody the first time Moody entered the Great Hall.

It wasn’t that he’d heard his father curse Moody’s name. It wasn’t the fact that Moody was a paranoid and creepy old man who was still obsessed with the war. It wasn’t even that Moody would take out his frustrations on his students based on their parents.

Draco couldn’t explain why, but the hairs on the back of his neck raised whenever Moody was close to him. Something in him screamed this man is dangerous. The only other person he’d felt like this about was Professor Quirrell in first year, and that had nearly gotten him laughed out of the Slytherin common room when he brought it up.

 So, Draco didn’t say anything. He kept his head down and ignored it.

*

When the Goblet spat out a surprise fourth contestant, Draco didn’t need a crystal ball to tell you it was Potter.

It was always Potter.

What did surprise Draco was Potter approaching him—alone—shortly before the Yule Ball. Potter shifted from foot to foot and stumbled on his weirdly friendly hello. For a moment, Draco panicked and thought Potter was going to ask him to the dance. He quickly told his heart to calm the fuck down and plastered a smirk on his face to hide his thoughts.

“What is it, Potter? No Weasley today?”

Potter closed his eyes and took a steadying breath before meeting Draco’s gaze. “I’ve come to ask for help.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, just one, in a show of constraint. Never show the enemy when you’re unsure. Look confident at all times. “Help? From me?”

Potter nodded, though it looked like it pained him. “I was wondering if you still had that crystal ball Trelawny gave you last year.”

Draco considered not telling him, but curiosity won. “I do. What’s about it?”

“I need a prediction.”

Draco surveyed him. His eyes were honest and his shoulders back. If Potter had come to ask him to the ball, that was the type of expression he should have had. Alas, that wasn’t what was happening. Not that he’d want to, of course. He’d never say yes to that hypothetical situation. Obviously.

Draco tried to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand. (He’d been more distracted by Potter ever since seeing him outfly a dragon.) “What type of prediction?”

Potter glanced around the hallway. “It’s about the second task.”

Draco’s eyes went wide as the pieces fell into place. He knew from the Hufflepuff gossip mill that each of the contestants had been given a screaming egg as a clue. Totally useless, in Draco’s opinion. Almost as useless as trying to divine the second task from a crystal ball.

Still, Draco was curious. He hadn’t used the crystal ball since Trelawny had given it to him. He didn’t want to use it to look at his own future, though he couldn’t explain why the thought filled him with dread. But Potter’s future was free game.

Draco found himself saying, “Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at lunch. Bring food. And don’t let anyone see us together. They’ll get the wrong idea.”

“What, that we’re friends?”

Both shuddered at the thought.

Potter nodded. “Point taken.”

Like Draco had predicted, no one was at the Astronomy tower at noon hour on a Thursday before Christmas. Still, he snuck his crystal ball in his bag just to be sure no one saw him with the thing. He was equal parts embarrassed and protective of the small orb.

Potter arrived ten minutes late with a basket of food from the kitchen. They settled down on an unused set of desks. Potter tucked into the food and said, through a mouthful of food, “Thanks for doing this, Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “If you’re going to die during the second task, I’ll be the first to know and place my bets accordingly.”

Potter snorted.

Draco quickly set up the crystal ball and shoved some mince pie in his mouth. “So, you just want to know about the second task?”

Potter nodded through his own lunch. “Yeah, if I can’t figure out the stupid egg clue, I want to at least know what I’m up against.”

Draco only nodded, already gazing at the clouds swirling behind the curved glass. They changed shape but never became solid, their colour only changing to different shades of grey.

Perhaps his first prediction was only a fluke. As much as he had Potter’s faith, it was pretty much worthless. He’d be so embarrassed if he had to tell Potter, of all people, that he couldn’t tell him what the second task would include.

After about ten minutes of crystal ball gazing and no predictions, Potter was bored. Draco had seen nothing except different types of clouds in the glass.

He started with the deflection, because this wasn’t his fault, dammit. “Maybe when they enchanted the goblet, they warded it against students divining the answers.”

“Is that possible?” Potter said.

“How should I know? You’re the one taking divination.”

“Ugh, this is hopeless.” Potter said. He put his forehead on the table.

“I’m sure it’s just you and that the other contestants are getting on just fine,” Draco sneered.

Potter glared.

“It’s not my fault you turned to me for help,” Draco said. “I can’t help it if we hate each other.”

“Really, Malfoy? You can’t help the fact that you’re a raging blood supremacist?”

Draco rolled his eyes. He focused on the crystal ball in front of him. If Potter started ranting, this could take a while.

He did.

“It’s not like you’ve ever even met a muggle either. You just go around parroting your dad. ‘My father’ this, and ‘my father’ that—"

Draco blinked at the crystal. Was it déjà vu or were the clouds making a pattern?

“Wait.”

“—and to think I thought to go to you for advice. Merlin, that was stupid. Let’s ask Malfoy how Harry Potter should survive the next task. That’s a good idea!”

“Potter, wait.” There was a pattern. Draco knew it. He wasn’t hopeless at this after all. He watched the glass as the clouds inside it changed. First it was rising, then falling in a flowing manner, then it shifted together becoming almost solid, before dispersing again.

Once Draco found the pattern, he couldn’t unsee it. He watched as the clouds formed and took shape. Rising, flowing, solid, and then dispersion.

He gasped. “Water.”

“Huh?” Potter said.

“The second task. It’s water.” Draco pointed excitedly at the glass. “It’s going through the elements. The first task was fire, thus the dragon. You had to use your powers to show that you could face something more powerful than you. Then we have water, the second task.” He pointed to the glass where the flowing motion of the clouds were taking a clear water-shape. He only glanced a look at Potter’s intrigued but confused face before continuing. “You’ll have to conquer water somehow, probably by having to show your willingness to change. I’d guess that it’s something to do with transfiguration, or you’ll have to literally deal with water.”

Potter gasped. “The bath! Cedric told me to take a bath with the egg.”

“Then what do you need me for?” Draco demanded. His anger was quickly forgotten before turning back to the glass. The clouds solidifying seemed so obvious now that he figured out the pattern. He could see the moment when they stopped being clouds at all and before rows and rows of solid earth. “The third task is earth. I see you having to stand your ground against many small challenges to prove yourself.”

“And finally—” Draco continued, eyes fixed on the way the clouds dispersed from solid ground to something more undefined. “—air. The fourth task has something to do with air. You’ll have to be, for lack of a better term, slippery to get past that. Ungrab-able, maybe? Once you’ve shown you understand all for elements, you’ll win the cup.”

He finally looked up. Instead of being excited, Potter looked confused. There was a definite crease in his brow. “Draco, there’s only three tasks. There isn’t a fourth one.”

Draco blinked at Potter. Oh. Yes, he knew that. They’d been told that since day one of this tournament. There wasn’t a fourth task.

Draco turned back to the crystal ball, where the pattern repeated itself once more. Fire, rising. Water, the flowing pattern. Earth, the condensed stillness. And, finally… cloudlike. Floating. Indistinct and flexible. Air.

Maybe it was just the crystal ball returning to its default, cloudlike state before starting the pattern over?

But… no. He’d stared into the crystal ball before. This type of cloudlike floating didn’t look right. If he wasn’t looking for anything, the clouds would float and change in whatever way pleased them, sometimes making shapes, becoming denser in some areas and thinner in others, like bits of clouds were blooming. This didn’t look like that. This had too little movement. It was more like the air locked in a room, or dustmites floating under a sunbeam.

Four elements, but only three tasks. No, that couldn’t be air. Draco must have made a mistake.

“Water,” Potter muttered, oblivious to Draco’s confusion. “I bet you’re right. It matches what Cedric said.”

“What does the egg even do?” Draco asked, trying to forget about the mysterious fourth task.

Potter shrugged. “It just screams at you whenever you open it.”

Draco’s mind flashed to stories his father had told him. They were fairy tales, technically, of sirens and merfolk who were captured and turned their song into weaponize screeches. “Sounds like a Mer language,” Draco said.

Potter jolted. He turned to Draco and Draco watched a grin bloom on his face. Potter had never smiled at him like that before. Draco felt his breath catch. Before he could move, Potter was standing. “Thanks, Malfoy,” he said, before dashing out of the astronomy tower.

*

The case of the mysterious fourth task bothered Draco. Seeing Potter swallow gillyweed and dive into black lake didn’t help matters. If anything, it just confused Draco further. He’d been so sure he’d seen four elements.

Maybe there wasn’t a pattern at all. Maybe the change the clouds made from solid ground to dispersing was just the pattern starting over again. Draco would pull out his crystal ball at night, carefully in his bed with the curtains drawn, and watch the pattern repeat itself again and again. He was missing something. He was sure of it.

All the while, the bad feeling he got from Moody never went away. He found himself able to ignore it, most of the time. The worst time was during class. It got so bad that Draco would find himself physically ill in the man’s presence. He had to excuse himself to the hospital wing after the bell more than once. Pansy told him he was just being dramatic. With any other teacher, he might have been, but he didn’t dare draw attention to himself by leaving Moody’s DADA lessons early.

The night before the third and final task, Draco found himself once again staring into his crystal ball.

*

Draco rushed to the spectator stands the next day, looking for Potter. A handful of teachers were about. They gave him queer looks as he strode toward the champion’s tent, but the tent flaps were wide open and empty, guarded by a frazzled-looking McGonagall. He quickly left, stalking the pathway down to the tent. If he could just speak to Potter first…

He finally spied him. He was with Granger and Weasley as they made their way down the hill to the tent. They don’t see him right away.

Draco rushed forward. “Potter!”

The three stopped and turned to him. Granger and Weasley were clearly suspicious. Draco gulped. “I need to speak to you.”

“What could you possibly have to say to Harry?” Weasley spit.

Draco only then realised he still had a Potter Stinks badge attached to his robe.

Potter held up a placating hand. Even if he hadn’t told his friends that he’d gone to Draco for help, he was listening. Draco was furious that it looked like Potter was taking the moral highroad to his friends. “What about?”

Potter may have been willing to listen, but Draco wasn’t ready to embarrass himself in front of an audience. “It’s private.”

Weasley scoffed, but Harry only nodded. Weasley’s jaw dropped as Potter walked away from his best friends and joined Draco a short distance away where they wouldn’t be overheard.

“It’s about the fourth task,” Draco said.

“This again?”

“Yes, Potter, this again. Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”

Potter blinked at him before nodding. “Fine.”

Draco took a deep breath. “You—it’s—Honestly, this won’t make much sense.”

“Spit it out, Malfoy.”

Draco made a concentrated effort not to punch Potter in the face. “You were right. I don’t think it is an official task, but there is something. It’s something that whoever wins the tournament has to face alone.”

“Okay?”

“I’ve been checking my crystal ball all night trying to predict who will win. Harry, I can’t see anyone else but you winning.” Draco finally met Potter’s eyes. “Everyone else just dies.”

Potter’s eyes widened.

“Harry, you have to win. You can’t be second or tie or forfeit. You have to win.”

Potter stared at him. His eyes were impossibly green. Draco had never had a chance to study them before. They were distracting.

Slowly, Potter blinked, then nodded. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I’ll win.”

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

Potter gave a snort. “For what?”

“Just…” Draco isn’t sure how to finish that sentence. He didn’t have to. Potter turned with a smile and made his way back over to his annoyed friends. They turned and headed to the champion’s tent. Draco steadied his breathing and smoothed his expression before making his way to the stands, feeling lighter than he had in months.

The feeling didn’t last. The bad feeling returned when Fleur and Krum were pulled from the maze. Then Cedric wandered out after them and stood talking to a group of teachers. Draco saw Cedric shaking his head and trying to explain something with his hands. Confused whispers took up the stands as there was still no sign of Harry.

Beside him, Pansy turned to him. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

Draco had had a bad feeling about this for months.

Then, all at once, the cup and Harry reappear right in front of all of them. The crowd started cheering, not noticing the blood on Harry’s arm or the tears on his face. The teachers rushed forward, and Draco can just make out Harry’s cries.

“He’s back. Voldemort’s back.”

*

He didn’t see Potter for three days after the end of the Triwizard Tournament. By that point, all of the Durmstrang and Boubatons students had left, leaving the halls strangely quiet. Every whisper and confused conversation seemed amplified down the echoing corridors.

Classes were proceeding as normal, except Defense Against the Dark Arts was cancelled. No one had seen Moody.

Perhaps it was because he was pondering this that Draco didn’t notice Potter until his wand was at his throat.

“Did you know?” Potter hissed.

“What?” Draco asked.

“Did you know that he needed my blood to come back? Is that why you told me I had to win?”

Draco quickly looked up and down the corridor. It was blissfully empty, dinner in full swing in the Great Hall. Feeling safe--Draco had no desire to advertise his newfound interest in divination--he turned back to Harry.

“Potter, I have no idea what happened in that maze, or what you think happened—"

“I know what happened! The cup was a portkey, and your dad was there along with all the other death eaters! Don’t even try to deny it.”

“I not trying to deny anything!”

“You knew.”

“I did not,” Draco hissed back.

“That’s why you offered to help in the first place—”

“You came to me for help!”

“—You wanted to lure me into the trap. And with all that made up bullshit about the air and the elements—" Potter waved his wand around carelessly as he spoke. Draco took a step back. Potter didn’t notice Draco’s slow retreat. “I can’t believe I ever trusted you.”

Draco seethed as Potter burned with fiery anger. How Gryffindor of him.

Potter pointed his wand right at Draco. “Stay away from me,” he spit. Then he turned on his heel and stomped off.

Chapter Text

After the Triwizard Tournament, Draco vowed to never help Potter again. He would have given up on Divination altogether if it wasn’t for Dolores fucking Umbridge and her plan to ruin his life, specifically. No Quidditch. No clubs. No talking to teachers outside of class material. Even with her going easier on all of the Slytherins, the atmosphere was brutal.

Though he wasn’t forced to join her inquisitorial squad, per se, he didn’t have much choice. Believe it or not, wandering the school looking for students to punish for trivial matters bored him. Maybe two years prior he would have relished the power, but now, with more important matter to deal with, it only wasted everyone’s time.

Draco started using his free time to research Divination. Despite what Potter might say about Divination, his new skill was not a scheme and it was not a fluke. He didn't know what it was. The library was not helpful at all. Nothing explained what Divination actually was and how it worked. (“How does a crystal ball work?” and “What the hell is a Wrackspurt?” became regular questions the Hogwarts library failed to answer.)

He felt like Granger, looking for muggle answers to magical problems, but it wasn’t like there were magical answers for him to find. All of the books on Divination were purposefully vague and confusing.

The greatest and worst thing that Umbridge ever did was sack Trelawny. Since she was no longer a teacher, she no longer had to abide by Umbridge’s rule forbidding meetings outside of class time with students. As such, Draco took to having afternoon tea with her in her tower.

“Draco,” she said to him on one of these days, “the spirits are trying to reach out to you.”

Draco snorted. “Are they spirits now? Not some mystical energy or invisible creatures?”

“I don’t see why it can’t be both,” Trelawny said. She was a lot more tolerable when she wasn’t being purposefully vague. She was still dramatic, but she was less ridiculous with just him as an audience. (Draco swore that she was more dramatic than him.) “You’re so caught up in the why that you’ve started ignoring them.”

“If they sent me a clear sign, then they wouldn’t be so easy to ignore,” Draco snapped.

Trelawny raised an eyebrow at him and took a long, slow sip of her tea. Then, he held out her hand. “Let me see your bag.”

“Why?” Draco said, already handing it over to her. Really, it was ridiculous how much he’d come to trust this woman.

She didn’t answer as she rummaged through his bag and pulled out his history of magic notes. She slipped it open and pointed at the various doodles in the margins.

“It’s not my fault Binns is a crap teacher,” Draco scoffed.

“Draco. Look.”

The page was circled by sketches of ink dogs and doorways. It’s not that Draco hadn’t noticed his new doodle obsession, it was that he didn’t want to.

Trelawny flipped the page in his leather-bound notebook. More dogs, more archways, and just there in the top corner was a too familiar lightning bolt.

“Draco, if you wish to find answers to unasked questions, you must listen to the answers that you are given first.”

Draco snatched his notebook back. “I liked you better when you talked in riddles and death omens.”

Trelawny laughed. “Everyone does. Most of the school just wants someone to make fun of. The kooky, new age professor fits the bill. Did you know my great aunt had the gift as well? Far more than me. She liked to flaunt her gift, especially to nobility. She was killed after predicting a nobleman would lose his wife and his fortune. If I recall correctly, he lost both when he went to jail for my aunt’s murder.” She gave him a wicked grin. “It’s far more fun messing with teenagers than getting murdered, don’t you think?”

Draco shivered at the reminder. “I thought you wanted me to listen to the spirits or whatever. Now you’re trying to scare me away.”

Trelawny only shrugged with one shoulder. It made her necklaces jangle. He’d seen his mother do the same expression. It did wonders at making Trelawny look dignified, even sitting in a tower attic in baggy clothes and too much jewelry.

Draco glanced back at his notebook. The same doodles really did cover every page. “Fine. What do you think it is?”

Her bug-eyes blinked at him. “I think that you already know that.”

Draco groaned, because he did know. He just hated to admit it. He braced himself and gripped his own teacup before muttering, “It’s another message for Potter.”

Trelawny didn’t even look surprised. “The fates sure do love that boy. Is the dog the grim yet?”

Draco snorted. “No.”

“Figures.”

“I think the door is the death omen, actually. I’ve seen the dog with regards to Potter before, and it’s not died yet.”

Trelawny’s head tilted at him. “Yet?”

Draco pursed his lip and considered. Yet, his brain repeated. It felt right. He nodded. “Yet.”

Trelawny took a moment before nodding. “All that’s left to do is tell Harry then.”

*

The problem with finding Potter was Potter refused to be found. Sure, he still showed up to meals and in classes and everywhere he was supposed to be, but Draco could hardly talk to him there. Just talking to Potter was social suicide right now, between Umbridge’s and The Prophet’s attitude. Draco tried to follow Potter down the halls, but he traveled in packs of Gryffindors. He was rarely alone, and disappeared quickly when he was.

Draco eventually got so annoyed that hunting Potter had taken up so much of his time that he switched methods. On a fresh parchment, he did the best drawing of the dog and the gate he could and wrote the words look familiar? underneath. Then he enchanted the paper into a paper crane and simply had it fly over to Potter in the middle of Transfiguration.

Draco watched Potter unfold the crane and read it. His face turned pale, then an angry red. His gaze tore over to Draco and Potter tried to murder him with his eyes.

For a plan Draco had no idea would work, it proved a raging success. When the bell rang, Potter grabbed Draco by his sleeve and physically dragged him to a secluded alcove. 

“Who told you about him?” Potter demanded.

“Why hello Potter. Lovely to see you too. Nice weather we’re having.”

Potter waved the paper in front of his face. “What is the meaning of this? Did your father put you up to this?”

O-kay. What was his father’s connection to any of this? He didn’t even like dogs.

“No. It’s a message.”

“From Voldemort?? Does he know about Sirius?”

Draco shivered in fear at the mention of the Dark Lord’s name and his murderous cousin. He should have been more scared, but he mostly felt a headache coming on.

“What the fuck does this have to do with Sirius Black?”

Potter waved the paper at his face as if his dog doodles explained anything.

Merlin, he hated Potter. And Divination.

“Look, Potter, it’s not from anyone. I’m just the messenger.”

“What message!? It’s just a drawing.”

“I don’t know, okay? All I know is that I keep drawing that dog and that doorway and I have been for months. I don’t know what this has to do with my father or the Dark Lord or my cousin, but I thought telling you would make it stop.”

Potter’s anger started to drain out of him as confusion took its place. He took a long look at the drawings, looking as confused as Draco felt. “So, like, the dog should go outside more?”

Draco buried his face in his hands. He wanted to scream I don’t know! at Potter and then leave to take a headache potion…

But that felt wrong. What Potter said felt wrong.

“No,” Draco said. Again, he had no idea where he got that answer from. He spoke slowly, measuring every word. “The dog shouldn’t go outside. It shouldn’t go through the gate at all.”

“You mean the door?”

Draco lifted his head from his hands. “It’s a gate. The door is a gate, and the dog shouldn’t go through it.” Draco blinked at him. Then he said, as if reciting a nursery rhyme, “Don’t let the dog go through the gate.”

Potter blinked at him. “So, what you’re saying is, the dog should stay inside?”

Draco let out a breath. “Inside, outside, who cares? All I know is the dog shouldn’t go through the gate. Happy?”

Potter gaped at him for a full minute before he spoke. “That makes no fucking sense.”

Draco sighed. “I know.” He knew he would regret what he said next. “If you want, I can try and check my crystal ball to get some clarification.”

Potter scoffed at him. “No thanks, Malfoy.” He made it sound like an insult.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Excuse me for trying to be civil.” He pushed a hand through his hair and stood up from where he was leaning. Without another word, he walked away from Potter, hoping that the powers that be would leave him alone now that the message was passed on.

*

Draco quit the Inquisitorial squad the next chance he got. He hated it and it gave him a bad feeling, and he was starting to listen to those. He gave his resignation to Umbridge and told her that he had to focus on his OWLs. She hired on Theo Nott to replace him. Theo was happy with that. Win-win.

Sirius Black died three months later. Draco shouldn’t have heard about it at all, but his mother wrote to let him know. He had no idea who told her, perhaps her sister. In the same letter, his mother let him know of his father’s arrest. He’ll be sitting in Azkaban as you read this, she wrote.

Draco never found out if Potter’s dog was alright.

Chapter Text

The walk up the drive of the manor should have been a relief. He was home. His horrid fifth year with Umbridge was finally over. But a darkness hung in the air. He could feel it pressing on him, heavier and heavier the closer he got to the front door.

“Remember to never insult our guests,” him mother said. Guests was how she described it in her letters to him. “Be polite. Don’t deny them any hospitality.”

Narcissa only reminded her family to be polite when it was dangerous not to.

Just how many death eaters were in their home?

“What if they want me to join them?”

Narcissa shook her head. “You’re too young.”

Yet she worried her lip on the long walk. She’d never do something so uncouth in front of company. Perhaps that was why they apparated to the front gate instead of flooing inside, so she would have this chance to let her nervous ticks out safely.

 He took her hand. She squeezed it tighter than she ever had in public, even when he was little.

*

Draco woke to the grandfather clock in the study chiming midnight.

He felt like he’d just woken up from a nightmare, though he wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t remember any dream. One second he’d been asleep, and now he was awake.

He’d been having lots of nightmares lately, ever since he came home to the Dark Lord living in his house. It didn’t help that he’d thrown himself into divination study to try to distract himself, only to find countless books on dream divining. A stack of divination books sat on his bedside table. So far, all of his dreams had seemed just that.

He pushed himself up after the twelfth ring. Ignoring those, he went to the window. A crescent moon hung over the garden. Even here, even now in his own bedroom, he couldn’t feel safe. He shivered in the summer air, running his hands over his arms.

Mother was just down the hall. He knew that. He could go to her. She’d let him crawl into her bed and hold him as if he were still a boy. But they wouldn’t speak. Someone might hear them, and the only words he wanted to say were too dangerous to. After all, there was a monster just down the hall in the other direction.

Draco jerked out of his thoughts at the sound of footsteps. He grabbed his pocket watch to confirm. 12:15. He’d been standing there for a while.

The footsteps stopped outside his door and knocked. Draco barely turned around before the door swung open. Mulciber, Greyback, and McNab stood in the door.

They ordered him to dress, and he did. They didn’t even turn away until he was ready and then they beckoned him to follow them.

Draco didn’t know what to do except follow. He couldn’t not. Any order to him from a death eater was as good as an order from the Dark Lord himself. Yet with every step he took, he felt it, the wrongness of it all. Fear crept up his lungs and closed his throat as he stepped after them.

They passed his mother’s room as they herded him towards the ballroom. The rest of the death eaters stood around the Dark Lord at one end of the room. The space was too big for them all. Draco followed the men across the space, feeling each step as he got closer.

Knowing he had no other choice, Draco knealt before the Dark Lord. “My Lord.”

“Young Draco Malfoy,” the Dark Lord said. Behind him, Nagini hissed. “Freshly sixteen and full of so much potential. Truly, you represent the best of the purebloods: noble lineage, intelligence, and loyalty.”

Draco thought he was supposed to be flattered. Mostly he felt scared. He tried not to let it show.

“Up until now, your loyalty has been to your father. Lucius has been a great servant to me up until recently.” Draco shivered. The room was silent, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for the Dark Lord to continue. “But, despite your father’s failures, we do not hold the child responsible for the sins of the father.”

The Dark Lord paused, and Draco realised he had to respond. “Thank you, my lord.

“Our ranks have grown old,” the Dark Lord said to the room. “It is time for a new generation to begin to take up our cause. For too long have our enemies tried to turn our children against us.”

Murmurs of agreement and nods came from the death eaters. Draco couldn’t see any of their faces behind their masks and the shadows of the room.

“We must prepare the world so that it is ready to hand off to our children. We must purge it of its impurities so that our children can flourish without interference. Draco Malfoy,” the Dark Lord looked directly at him. “Show me your arm.”

Again, Draco couldn’t feel his body. He watched himself raise his arm, pull back the sleeve, and extend it to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord grasped his arm with spindly fingers, and placed his wand on the exposed flesh. He started to say a spell and Draco felt the power grow around him and then pain and—

*

Draco woke to the grandfather clock in the study chiming midnight.

He gasped awake, jerking up in bed. He searched the room. He was alone. The moon was still a crescent over the garden. His divination books sat just where he left them on his nightstand. His hands shook as he reached for his wand and cast a quick lumos. Even with the light, the wrong feeling of the dream stayed.

He had to leave. He had to get out. He reached over for his pocket watch. It was midnight now, he knew. The final ring of the grandfather clock faded. It was twelve-fifteen when the death eaters fetched him to—

Draco nearly dropped his wand to pull back the sleeve on his left arm. Nothing. It was bare, even though he could still feel the phantom pain of the Dark Lord’s spell.

It wasn’t just a dream. Draco knew it. There were too many details. Even hiding in his room for the past two weeks, he’d never imagined that they’d make him take the dark mark.

Draco flicked his wand. Screw the ban on underage magic. His trunk flew out of the corner and opened on his bed. Clothes and books and his things all flew into it. He couldn’t pack everything. He pointed his wand at his bedside table and only his most detailed dream interpreting books followed into the trunk. The rest would have to stay.

Most importantly, he packed his crystal ball. The box it originally came in was now bent and worn, but the crystal itself was pristine.

Barely five minutes had passed by the time he was done. He slipped on his shoes and crept to the door. So far, the hall was empty. He made his way quietly down the hall to his mother’s room and knocked, then performed a quick alohamora. He let himself in.

He put a hand on his mother’s shoulder and she snapped awake. Her hand was already around her wand before she realised it was him. “Draco,” she murmured, relaxing.

“We have to go,” Draco said.

She did not hesitate. She stood and wrapped herself in a dressing gown and summoned a suitcase. Hers was already packed. “Do you have a plan?”

“We have to get off the property so we can apparate,” Draco said.

“The ministry can track apparations,” his mother said. That meant the Dark Lord could as well. Even without the total control he’d been hoping for in June, he still had known agents in various departments.

Either through quick thinking or divination, the answer came to him. “Brooms.”

His mother closed her eyes with a pained look. “Of course,” she said. She hated flying.

As much as Draco would have liked to summon their broomsticks from the broom shed, he had no idea how many death eaters were patrolling the grounds. He pulled his mother over to the French doors and onto her balcony. He levitated his trunk and climbed down the ivy. He looked back up once he reached the ground. His mother stood there, grey in the moonlight looking down at him. She lifted one leg over the railing and climbed down after him. Then they made their way across the garden.

His pocket watch read twelve-twenty by the time they made it to the broom shed. They were almost out of time. They would have noticed he was missing by now. Draco pointed his wand at the lock and it exploded. The door swung open. Neither was quiet. His mother jumped at the sudden noise.

“We have to go now,” he ordered. If no one heard that, they’d come looking for him at any moment.

His mother took an old comet and Draco his Nimbus. His mother also reenchanted his luggage so it flew behind them by her magic instead of his. As soon as they were off the property, since he was underage, they’d be able to track his magic. They spared one last look at each other and a nod before they kicked off.

*

The pair flew for hours, not knowing how far their head start would get them. They’d only picked a direction—southwest—and nothing else. They hoped that the dark lord would assume that they would head toward London where Narcissa could take refuge at the old Black house.

“Should we be avoiding towns or trying to hide in one?” his mother asked. His mother was the one who told people what to do. If she was asking instead of ordering, they were really lost.

Draco didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t even ask his crystal ball with it all packed away. “Let’s just land ahead and figure out where we are.” That was reasonable, right?

Soon enough, muggle lights shined ahead. They slowed down and flew lower, hopefully hidden in the darkness. They were about to land when Narcissa grabbed Draco’s arm. He stopped. A lone figure wandered about under the streetlights, dress in ratty pajamas and wrapped in a blanket. It turned and Draco spied wild hair and a pair of thick glasses reflected in the light.

A breath left Draco. Some sort of fate had led them here. With a big grin on his face, he landed. “Professor Trelawney!” he said.

She looked up. “Young Draco!” Professor Trelawney wrapped her arms around him. He was a smidge taller than her now. She drew back and looked at him. Up close, he could see the dark bags under her eyes. His probably didn’t look much better.

His mother landed next to them, keeping her distance. Draco realised how much Professor Trelawney looked like a mad woman in this light. Yet her tone was polite, if tired. “Your professor, you say? You must introduce us.”

Draco stepped away and straightened up. “Mother, this is Professor Trelawney, Hogwarts’ divination teacher. Professor Trelawney, my mother, Narcissa.”

“Pleasure,” she said simply.

Draco saw Professor Trelawny snap into her kooky professor role. “Oh, I just knew that a vacation to Dorset was what I needed this summer. Albus was confused at me leaving the castle, but I told him I needed some sea air. Now I see why. Come with me! I have a rental down the way. You simply must stay for a cuppa.”

Professor Trelawny started walking and Draco followed easily. Narcissa let out a sigh and followed.

“I was unaware you took divination, Draco,” Narcissa said, quietly.

Trelawny was the one that answered. “Oh, he didn’t. He’s still one of my best students.”

Narcissa smiled and nodded through her obvious distress.

By the time they made it to the cottage, with its cracked walls and overgrown ivy, Draco could feel the frustration rolling off Narcissa in waves. The sky was starting to lighten as Trelawny ushered them in.

Once the door shut, Trelawny’s kooky professor act dropped. Her face became very serious. “What happened? Are you safe?”

“No,” Draco said. “I think we just avoided a very bad future.” His right hand went to his left arm. Trelawny noticed. She looked up with her big eyes and nodded at him.

“It was a very good thing to do, coming here. This is a muggle neighbourhood and no one knows I am here either.”

“Draco, had you planned this?” Narcissa asked, her eyebrows pinched.

“Who needs to rely on plans when you can rely on coincidence?” Trelawny laughed. “Sometimes, you have to trust that the universe knows what it’s doing.”

Narcissa, who chose her friends by usefulness and her wardrobe with precision, gapped in horror.

Draco cleared his throat. “I believe you said something about tea?”

*

“Ah, shite,” Draco said, staring into his tea leaves.

“Language,” Narcissa chimed. The trio had squeezed themselves around the tiny table in the cottage, leaving the chair with its back to the door empty. Their gazes all flitted to it between sips.

She yawned. By that point, the sky had brightened and, so far, no death eaters had found them. And yet…

Draco looked at Trelawny. “It’s the grim,” he said. “Again.”

“Let me see that,” Trelawny said, already reaching out. He handed her his cup. Her eyes narrowed behind her thick glasses. She turned the flowered teacup this way and that.

Narcissa’s attention was back. “Why do you not seem surprised to be seeing death omens?”

Draco shrugged and yawned himself. “I see them all the time. Usually, it has to do with Potter. He has a dog, I think.”

Trelawny tilted her head back in forth inspecting the cup. “Well, that is a black dog, but I don’t think it’s the grim.”

“Oh, good. Can we go to bed now?” Narcissa muttered. Draco may have inherited the Black family snark, but his mother must have really been tired if she was letting it show.

Trelawny ignored her in favour of the not-grim.

“Is it about Potter again?” Draco whined. “They’re my tea leaves…”

“It only appears to be the grim,” Trelawny said. “Honestly, it doesn’t have any grim energy at all.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It only appears to be the grim? Is it only appearing to be a dog too?” he snarked.

Trelawny frowned like the leaves had personally disappointed her. Beside them, Narcissa straightened.

“Like an Animagus?” she whispered.

Both Trelawny and Draco looked at her.

“Something that looks like a dog but isn’t,” she explained. Trelawny’s expression became thoughtful as she stared at the cup.

“Wait, so what I predicted Harry’s dog- and the gate-” Draco didn’t know how to finish that thought. Who did Potter know that was an Animagus?

Narcissa stared at him. He saw the moment she figured it out. Her eyes widened. “Peter Pettigrew is an Animagus. I’d always wondered how he’d managed to accomplish it. He was always terrible at transfiguration. But Sirius and James, on the other hand…” She paused. “Sirius had tattoos of pawprints. My god, how didn’t I see it before? Could that be how he escaped?”

Draco still didn’t get it. “What does that have to do with a gate? I kept seeing a dog and a gate or a large archway. Don’t let the dog go through the gate.”

Narcissa set down her teacup. Her hands were shaking. She looked at Draco with wide eyes. “Sirius died in the Department of Mysteries. He fell through the Veil.”

Draco, like every wizarding child, had heard of the Veil. As much as the Department of Mysteries was supposed to be a secret, the Veil was so ancient it was legendary. No one knew its true origins. Some said that the Department of Mysteries was built around the Veil. There were several wizard tales that included whispering arches, trying to lure wizards with the voices of their deceased loved ones.

That was how Sirius had died, Draco realised. Worse, that’s what he’d predicted, and then it happened anyway.

Don’t let the dog go through the gate.

No one said anything for a moment. The room was silent except for the beginning of bird chirps outside and the gentle sounds of Trelawny turning the cup in her hands.

“That makes sense,” Trelawny murmured at the cup.

Narcissa’s gaze was icy. “Excuse me?”

Trelawny turned her own gaze to Narcissa, matching it. “I may not know the intricacies of practical magics like transfiguration and charms, but I know divination. If the cup says that Sirius Black is involved in your son’s future, he will be. Directly or indirectly.”

“He’s dead,” Narcissa spit, voice heavy with grief.

“I also know mystery novels,” Trelawny said simply, “and, in those, no one is truly dead unless there is a body.”

“But the Veil… the Unspeakables…” Draco said.

“Ha! They know nothing. They’re like you were last year, actually, researching and researching when the answers are right in front of their eyes.”

Narcissa gapped. “What are you saying?”

Trelawny shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I say. It’s your son’s future. What does he think it means?”

She handed him back the cup.

He cradled it in his hands and really looked at it.

There was the dog. Sirius, he knew now. (Duh. He was literally named after the dog star. How obvious can you get?) Trelawny was right in that it didn’t feel like a grim at all. It was laying down, perhaps with its paws crossed.

There was a crack in the china. He hadn’t paid it any mind until now, but now that he noticed it, he couldn’t stop noticing it. It reached from the edge of the cup right down and across the dog’s neck. Like a leash, he thought.

There were other shapes in the cup too. Little flecks that might have been stars or music notes. A smudge that really could have been anything, but kind of looped back on itself. And a cross.

He didn’t know what the other things meant yet, but he knew the cross. Trials and suffering, echoed in his mind from his textbook.

“He’s trapped,” Draco said. He was sure that was right. He didn’t get any of the wrong feeling he noticed when he tried to ignore or justify. It just felt like the truth bared before him in a teacup, calm and written plainly.

“Where?” Trelawny asked, taking a sip of her own cup.

He thought about the crack in the cup, how he would usually just read the leaves—things that were once alive and now helping to sustain him—but this time he was reading the cup too, like a whole different plane of being.

“A different plane. Not the land of the living.” He turned the cup. No matter how many times he looked at it, the dog was not the grim. “Not death.”

“What else does the cup say?” Trelawny asked.

“Trials and suffering,” Draco supplied right away, eyeing the cross. That was the easy part, of course. His gaze moved onto the smudge and the speckles. On second glance, the speckles had some sort of pattern to them. Music? He’d thought they were music notes earlier, but why? What did that mean? What did music have to do with—

No, he stopped himself. He was looking for the answers that were given to him now, not questioning why they were given. That would come later.

Back to the speckles. It wasn’t just a pattern, he saw. They repeated, though not exactly. There were two dots in the middle, then up, the one below, followed by two dots in the middle (though these were bigger), then one up (higher than before), then one really little one below. A crescendo? Then a decrescendo?

He stared at the pattern for minutes longer before he got frustrated and turned back to the smudge. It was a like someone took their finger and drew an oval in the tea leaves, looping back on itself—

A loop! Something was repeating.

Going back to the speckles, he could see now the point of the pattern wasn’t that it repeated, but that it became distorted. After all, why have the speckles and the loop both mean a repeating pattern? No, it was the corruption of the pattern that was important, like a symphony played badly the second time, or test answers that don’t quite match the textbook, or… or… or…

Or something that was remembered wrongly.

“Memory,” Draco said, finally looking up from his teacup. He blinked a few times. His mother was no longer at the table and instead sleeping over on the couch. Light streamed in through the window curtains, far brighter than what he remembered what seemed like minutes ago. He must have been sitting there for hours. Trelawny still sat beside him, but now she held a book.

“Hmm?” she said looking up. “Are you done?”

“Sirius Black isn’t dead,” he said. “The arch isn’t death. It’s memory.”

Chapter Text

Despite his confidence that Sirius Black was not dead, he had no idea what being trapped in memory meant.

“So, you think the Veil is actually a pensieve?” Narcissa asked him, skepticism clear on her face. He sat surrounded by a collection of books they’d bought in disguise, some muggle, some magical.

“Something like that,” Draco said. “It can’t be a pensieve like we know it. As far as I know, no one is putting memories in it, but there are plenty of reports of people hearing the voices of loved ones calling from it.”

“Only their dead loved ones,” Narcissa reminded him.

“I’m not sure why yet,” Draco said. He tossed aside the book he had on muggle psychology—truly fascinating stuff, he hadn’t given the muggles enough credit—and picked up the next book in the pile: A History of Crimes Solved and Complicated by Memory and its Modifications.

The teacup said that something was being distorted by the Veil. He was sure finding out what it was would help him solve the mystery of what had happened to Sirius, and if it was possible to bring him back.

“My Dragon, while I think your work ethic is admirable, I am worried about you.”

“I’m fine,” Draco said, flipping through indexes.

“You’re working awfully hard to save a man you’ve never met,” his mother observed.

“Of course I am,” Draco said.

“Why?” his mother asked. Draco opened his mouth to argue with her, but she cut him off. “Don’t confuse my intentions, Draco. I am not questioning your nobility. I care for my cousin deeply, but I will always care for you more. You are my son.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “And I don’t understand where this is coming from.”

Draco looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

“What happened to Sirius is not your fault. If this is some sort of misplaced guilt—"

“No!” Draco said. “That’s not—” He paused to collect his thoughts. Why did he care so much?

Maybe it was because he found out Sirius Black was innocent. Wormtail had told him one night in a drunken stupor. Maybe he wanted proof of a relative that didn’t join the death eaters (though he supposed they could always reach out to Aunt Andromeda and Cousin Nymphadora).

Maybe it was the way Potter had wandered the halls looking so dejected at the end of last term. At the end of the day, was that still all he really wanted? To please Potter? (What was he, eleven?)

Maybe it was because the tealeaves had told him to do it. Then he wouldn’t have to make any real decisions about real life. He could read his muggle psychology and dive into the intricacies of niche magic and blame fate for all of his problems. He could live with no responsibilities until the problem was solved (though he still wasn’t sure it could be solved).

Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t think anyone else could. No one else even knew that Sirius Black was alive, probably. No one else was going to save him. And Draco had a month and a half to kill before the next term started. Potter and his friends had faced the impossible before, with far bigger stakes, so why couldn’t he?

Or maybe it was because if he started thinking of how there were death eaters looking for them right now, and how his father was still in prison at the dark lord’s mercy, how they were stuck in a rental cottage in Dorset with no protection—

“I just really need to do this, Mum,” Draco promised. “It’s important to me.”

Narcissa searched his gaze. She must have found something worthwhile in it, because she nodded. “Alright.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss on his forehead. “I’m going to put off contacting Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix until you’re done this.”

“What?” Draco said. “Why?”

“Very little escapes Dumbledore’s notice,” his mother said, mouth pinched. “I have no doubt that he would either try to stop you, steal your ideas, or take credit for your success.”

“That,” said Trelawny, entering the room with more tea, “and he’d find a way to make it twice as dangerous as it needed to be.”

Narcissa nodded. “And that.”

“But what about Father?” Draco asked. “Dumbledore is probably the only one who can get him to safety.”

“The Dark Lord doesn’t have complete control over Azkaban yet,” his mother reassured. “Otherwise, the rest of his followers would be free. Azkaban may be the safest place for your father, for the time being.”

*

Draco’s research moved quickly. When he wasn’t reading about memory, he was drawing diagrams on how the door might work, or exchanging letters with a master pensieve crafter in France, or flipping through an encyclopedia of obscure ancient ruins. He eventually realized that the Veil must actually take whoever enters it somewhere, so he added texts on floo travel and a technical guide to disapparation.

He didn’t stop for meals, only eating whatever his mother put in front of him three times a day. Trelawney plied him with tea. He’d give her back the cups, which she would hmm over before leaving him to it.

His goal was to figure out how the Veil worked so he could recreate it. His other option was to sneak into the Department of Mysteries himself. If he did that, either he’d be arrested or the Dark Lord would find him first, so recreating an ancient artifact older than the ministry itself it was!

And he only had six weeks before he had to return to Hogwarts. Great.

His working theory was this:

The Veil was an early version of a pensieve. Regular pensieves were designed to deposit memories that the viewer could stick their head in and revisit without drawing them in. Somehow, the Veil didn’t need a basin (which meant that it was a gate or perhaps a stationary portkey). Draco still wasn’t sure if the Veil led to another plane or an actual place. Either way, no one had been able to find their way back.

Unlike a pensieve, the Veil drew people in, haunting them with voices of loved ones passed. Draco also assumed there was no way to stick just one body part in the Veil and pull it back, unlike how pensieves worked.

Based on all of that, Draco knew he had to both treat the Veil like a pensieve and not like a pensieve.

Draco didn’t think the Unspeakables were entirely wrong thinking that the Veil was connected with death. After all, people only heard their deceased loved ones calling to them, not anyone still alive. Plus, unlike a pensieve, people didn’t deposit memories in the Veil (unless you counted all the people trapped there, and even then the Veil ‘knew’ the listener’s deceased loved ones before entrapping the listener).

Draco found what he thought might be the answer in a reference. The ancient Egyptians believed that everyone had multiple deaths: once when the person takes their last breath, and once when their name is spoken for the last time, and once when the last person who remembers you dies.

No one really knew the Veil’s origin. As far as anyone knew, the Veil was at least as old as ancient Egypt. It was possible it was made based on ancient Egyptian beliefs… or that ancient Egyptian beliefs were based on it.

That meant that the Veil was really a gateway to what Draco could only describe as a ‘holding plane’. Draco called it the Realm of Remaining Memories, which was a mouthful but also felt the most accurate. The ancient Egyptians would call it second death (or maybe third? Draco didn’t know.).

If Draco was right, the listener was able to hear the voices of deceased loved ones precisely because they remembered their deceased loved ones.

It was a book on enchanted wizarding portraiture that Trelawny just happened to have laying around that gave Draco his answer. Wizarding portraits were done traditionally with paint and canvas and only enchanted to ‘life’ after the subject or those close to the subject copied their memories into it. So, there was a precedent. Inanimate objects could be enchanted to imitate the living’s (or the dead’s) voice, mannerisms, and personality.

Draco copied the spell for enchanting portraits and adapted it to include what Draco learned of pensieves, then adapted that spell so the modified pensieve did not draw memories from a basin but the collective consciousness of the human race, which meant it shouldn’t need a basin…

The theory was a mess. The arithmetic was surprisingly simple.

By mid-August, he had a theoretical model that he thought would work.

*

It felt remiss to not tell Potter.

Draco decided to write him a letter. Or, he tried to.

Harry, Potter, Scarhead,

I am sorry to hear about your dog. I did not know him but I was related to him so I too am sad.

We had peacocks animals at the manor and I really hope that they are being fed. This, of course, does not compare to the loss of your godfather dogfather pet.

Turns out, everyone in the Department of Mysteries is an idiot and my teacup told me that it thinks I can outsmart them and save your only remaining family from eternal torment-

He tore up the paper and threw the scrapes in the corner.

How exactly was he supposed to explain that Sirius Black wasn’t dead and instead stuck in some sort of memory realm?

What he settled on was this:

Lightninghead,

I’m sorry about your dog. I’m working on it. Don’t ask questions and don’t tell any adults in positions of power (especially the dumb ones).

Sincerely, your favourite prat

That was sufficiently vague, Draco decided before sending it. He’d told Potter his intentions. He told Potter he was working on it such that no one would be able to figure out what he was doing. AND he’d told Potter not to involve adults, specifically Dumbledore. Brilliant.

*

Draco was ready.

Trelawny had let him use a doorway that had been bricked up. Draco had chiseled a modified version of the ruins he’d need around the frame. He was pretty sure that the portal would disappear if the ruins were destroyed. He hoped so, at least.  

He had his mother enchant two of Trelawny’s jade necklaces. The beads were loud and jangled around his neck and in his pocket. He also had her enchant a skein of yarn to stretch to an infinite length. In theory, the jade necklaces would allow him to cross the Veil unharmed and the yarn should allow him to find the door again if he got lost. Together, they should allow him to make his way back.

Draco had no idea how he was supposed to find Sirius Black once he was inside. He would consider it a success if he managed to come back out at all.

Now he needed someone to open the portal. He was still underage, despite feeling like he’d aged ten years in two months. The trace was still active on his wand. If he cast any spell, the ministry would come running.

“Mother,” he said, “I need you to cast this spell.”

His mother took the paper in his hand. Her eyebrows raised. The spell was long enough it stretch over two pieces of paper.

“You’re sure this is safe?” she asked.

“Sure enough.”

Narcissa scoffed. “Some Slytherin you are.” Yet, she must have trusted him. She started reading the spell out loud, gliding her wand around the doorframe.

Trelawny sat back and watched. There was an entire pot of tea beside her, but it hadn’t been touched in hours. She’d been watching them all day.

“Have you tried to see how this would go?” Draco asked.

Trelawny nodded. “About twenty times, and I got about a hundred different answers. I don’t know if it’s the spirits talking or my own fears.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say to that. They both watched his mother finish the spell. They could feel the moment the magic started working. The temperature in the room started to drop.

With a gush of wind, the brick in the doorframe vanished, replaced by nothing. It was as if the brick wall was replaced by grey, rippling wall of grey fabric. It swayed, as if moved by an invisible breeze.

Draco sat mesmerized. They waited. Did it work?

Then, the whispering started. Murmurings, indistinct, filled the air. Draco was sure he recognised the voices, but he couldn’t place them. He wanted to get closer, to investigate. He found himself already standing when he felt Trelawny’s hand on his wrist.

“It worked,” she said.

Her words seemed to jog Narcissa out of a trance as well. She stumbled back, away from the Veil. Now that Draco was no longer looking directly at it, it felt quieter. He could almost forget it if he didn’t allow his mind to drift. She walked away from the Veil and made it to the table on the other side of the room with them.

Draco gripped the jade necklaces left on the table. “Since the spell worked, it means my theory is sound. The yarn and the necklaces should definitely work.”

His mother looked green. “You don’t have to do this,” she said again.

“Yes, I do,” Draco repeated. He was glad when she didn’t ask him why. He still couldn’t explain.

The wrinkle in her brow she hated was deep and present as she chewed her lips. She reached forward and wrapped her arms around Draco. Draco hugged her back, squeezing as hard as he dared. “I love you. Come back safely.”

Draco nodded. “I will. I promise.”

They let go, and to his surprise Trelawny swept forward and gave him a hug too. “This is nowhere close to being goodbye,” she said.

Draco laughed. “I know,” he lied. He was almost certain that his calculations were right. Almost. He let go and tried to focus on the fact that he would be back—hopefully with Sirius Black—within the hour.  

Trelawny let go of Draco. Draco reach over to the jade necklaces and put one around his neck and the other in his pocket. He grasped the piece of yarn in one hand and his wand in the other.

He approached the doorway. The whispers and murmurs got louder. He’d call what he was about to do bullheaded and downright Gryffindor if he hadn’t spent most of the Summer running calculations. He would be fine. He could feel it. Even if his brain was still a little scared.

“Wish me luck,” he said to Trelawny and his mother. Then he turned back to the swirling archway and walked in.

Chapter Text

The realm of remaining memories was like walking inside his crystal ball. There was light and smoke, but not walls, no ceiling, no floors. Draco turned around to check the door was still there. It was, but it stood farther away than it should have been, since Draco had only taken two steps.

Draco held onto the yarn, hoping that the spell would hold. So long as his mother held the other end, he should be able to find his way back. He tested it, giving it two tugs. After a moment, he felt two tugs back. He was alright. His mother and Trelawny were alright. The yarn pulled easily, leading him back to the door.

Draco tied the yarn around his wrist and checked that it had plenty of slack. He checked he still had both jade necklaces. Neck and pocket. Good. Time to walk.

He took only a few steps and turned around. The doorway was no longer visible. The yarn disappeared into the fog not far from his feet.

He had to keep walking. He put one foot in front of the other. Left foot, right foot, left foot… He tried to keep his breathing even. He hadn’t been this scared since he fled the manor, and before that it was--

The smoke around him changed. Suddenly, Draco was walking through the grounds of the Quidditch world cup.

Huh, Draco thought. He hadn’t expected that. He walked through the defunct ground knowing it was torn down after the World Cup ended. Still, it existed here exactly how he remembered it that night. He looked up. The Dark Mark sat high in the sky, staring down at him.

Unlike that night, everything was empty. He walked past the smattering of tents and food stalls, but no one was there. Everything was empty, as if abandoned.

Draco stopped walking. This was the realm of remaining memories. Where were the people?

Draco watched around him as the Quidditch world cup campground turn back to mist.

For the first time, Draco realised he didn’t actually know that many people who had died. The war ended when he was a baby. Even in second year, when the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, nobody died. The only ‘person’ he could remember dying around him was his grandpa and Hagrid’s damned hippogriff.

He really hoped that Buckbeak wasn’t here, holding a grudge. 

Draco closed his eyes and tried to think of a place that didn’t exist anymore. His mind drifted to a chocolaterie in Paris his family used to go to as a child. When he opened his eyes, he saw the mist solidify and… he was there.

“There’s my little dragon,” said a voice.

Draco turned. Standing in front of him, just as happy to see him as Draco remembered, was Grandpa Cygnus.

“Grandpa!” Draco cried. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around him for a hug. Instead, Draco’s arms went right through him as he turned back to mist. Draco recoiled. The mist solidified and until his Grandpa was whole and in front of him again.

“My little dragon,” Grandpa Cygus said. There was no sign that he was mist until a moment ago. Cygnus looked exactly as Draco remembered before the dragon pox took him, exactly how Draco wanted to remember him. He had on his old embroidered house coat and the slippers that he usually wore around the house. Draco and his mother picked them out and gave them to him at Yule.

Grandpa Cygnus grinned at him. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you, too,” Draco confessed, lump in his throat. Cygnus had died when he was twelve. Draco hadn’t cried at the funeral because he thought he wasn’t supposed to. Merlin, how he regretted that.

“What do you say we get some ice cream, hmm? We don’t have to tell your mother.”

Draco laughed, even as his heart ached. He was exactly like he remembered. “I can’t, grandpa. I’m looking for Sirius.”

“Sirius?” His grandfather’s face froze. The edges of his mouth turned downward, the way they had a thousand times before. “That bloodtraitor? You shouldn’t be anywhere near him. Did you know my brother Alphard left him the family fortune as a teenager? I’d never seen Walburga so mad.”

Draco did know this. It was common conversation when his grandpa was still alive. It scared him then, how someone could go from family to blood traitor. It still made him shiver now. “Have you seen him?” Draco asked, ignoring his uneasiness.

Cygnus froze then. Draco watched his face twist into an expression so angry that Draco was sure he’d never seen it before. Then, the memory of Cygnus smiled again. “How about some chocolate? We don’t have to tell your mother.”

Draco pressed. “I need to know about Sirius. Have you seen him?”

Cygnus’ face jumped to a sad expression. “Don’t be like Sirius, My Dragon. If he’d only told us about being a spy for the Dark Lord… but he was never like Regulus…” Then Cygnus’ expression turned somewhat wistful.

Some of those were definitely not Draco’s memories. “Where is Sirius?”

A third voice said, “You’re looking for Sirius.”

Draco whirled around.

There stood a boy not much older than he was. Draco knew this was Regulus Black just by the resemblance between them. They were the same height and similar builds, on the gangly side, though Regulus had filled out more. They even had the same grey eyes that were usually narrowed in suspicion. Draco was shocked to notice that they even had the same haircut, though Draco’s hair was a light blond and Regulus’ black. 

There was a flatness about Regulus. Draco couldn’t shake the feeling he was looking at an optical illusion.

“I have no memory of you,” Draco said.

Regulus nodded. “We never met.”

Draco nodded back, uncertain. Up until this point, Draco thought the only people he could see here were people he remembered himself. That must have been wrong. Regulus had died before Draco was even born.

Even the way they stood was the same. They mirrored each other. The family resemblance was strong between them.

Draco studied the dead boy before him. “If you’re not here because I remember you, how are you here?”

There was only one answer Draco could think of. It had to be Sirius.

Regulus didn’t answer.

Draco sighed. “Right. You’re not real.”

“I have to tell you something.”

Draco sighed. This would be complicated. “You’re a memory, not a person. You have no motivations and no actual thoughts. You only know what people who are still alive knew that you knew, and you only act the way they remembered you acting.” Draco shook his head. “Just standing here explaining this to you is a waste of time.”

“I need you to tell my brother something.”

“You can’t tell me any secrets that died with you.”

“They didn’t die with me. I told Kreacher.”

Draco froze. That would make sense, actually. “This… creature… is still alive?” Even though he asked, he realised there was no use.

Regulus didn’t answer.

Draco sighed. Regulus wouldn’t know if this creature was alive. But the fact that Regulus still knew this secret meant that this creature-thing had to be. “What is this secret?”

“I need you to check with Kreacher and ask him if he did it.”

Draco wrinkled his brow. “Did what?”

“I asked him to destroy the horcrux before I died. I need you to make sure that Kreacher destroyed it.”

Draco had no idea what that was. He really did not need nor want to know more about obscure magic, but he could mention it to someone who did. “Fine, whatever. I’ll pass it on. Anything else?”

“Tell Sirius that I’m sorry. I wish I was a better brother.”

Can’t you tell him yourself? Draco wondered, but nodded anyway.

He couldn’t rely on anything Regulus said to be reliable. Still, he could pass on a message. He didn’t see the harm in asking them to check for… the thing.

With that taken care of, Draco mentally returned to why he was there. “Where is Sirius?” he asked.

Regulus was still, as if studying Draco, except he couldn’t be. Draco was ready to give up, return to the regular world and start a new plan. But then, to his surprise, Regulus turned and started walking.

In a few steps, they stood in front of a cottage. Draco knew this wasn’t one of his memories. He looked around. The streetlights were muggle. The garden was in bloom.

“Where are we?” Draco asked.

Regulus either didn’t know the answer or couldn’t answer. He walked up the path and knocked on the front door. The door swung open on its own. Draco did a double take. Regulus didn’t react except to walk inside.

Draco followed him.

They entered into a hallway that opened up into a living room. There was a veritable crowd of people there, leaning on walls, holding drinks, laughing. It was a party. Draco tried to listen to what they were saying. Everyone was talking, and it was loud, but no actual words were said. The harder he tried to listen, the more he realised it was all gibberish. They were like extras in a play, pantomiming a party.

And standing in the middle of it all was Sirius Black.

Sirius was scruffy. His hair was long and bedraggled and it looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. He didn’t look ungroomed though. For reasons beyond Draco’s understanding, it looked like an intentional choice. Draco was glad to see it didn’t look like he was starving. Somehow, the magic of this realm didn’t work that way. Despite his appearance, Sirius looked overjoyed. Next to him stood a man who looked exactly like Harry Potter, but slightly older. James Potter, it had to be. Draco realised he probably looked as he had just before he died. Sirius threw back his head and laughed, a huge grin spread across his face.

Draco looked around. A large decorative mirror hung on the wall. He managed to catch Sirius’ reflection in it. In it, Sirius was reflected back as he probably was as a teenager. Young, carefree, with smooth skin and artfully tousled hair.

He’d found him.

“Sirius!” Draco called.

Sirius looked up. A few of the people in the crowd looked up too, before returning to their conversations. “Oh, hey, Narcissa’s kid. You’re dead, too?”

Draco recoiled. “What? No. Sirius, I’m not dead. You’re not dead either.”

Sirius scoffed. “I fell through the Veil. I died. I’m hanging out with all my dead friends.” Sirius waved an arm around. “I’m dead. It’s cool. Sucks you’re here too, though.”

Draco’s gaze cast around the very full room in dawning horror.. He really should have thought of this. He should have known Sirius would just assume he was dead.

James Potter nodded at him. “Hello hello. Welcome to the party, kid. Don’t worry if you don’t know anyone. Everyone’s friendly. Maybe don’t tell them if you’re a Slytherin, though.” James Potter made a face. Sirius burst out laughing.

Draco felt a chill down his spine. He knew James Potter was dead, but Sirius’ memories were so… detailed. Clear. He could see the exact shade of brown James’ Potters eyes were behind his glasses.

“Whose house is this?” Draco asked, trying to distract himself.

“Mine!” James Potter said.

“We just bought it,” a pretty redhead said, popping out of nowhere. Draco started, sure she was a Weasley until she wrapped James’ arm around her shoulder. Oh. Lily Potter.

“My parents helped,” James said. He turned around and shouted. “Thanks, Dad!”

Draco followed his gaze and saw an older couple sitting at an island. Harry’s grandparents. They leaned back in their chairs and waved.

“We’re really excited,” Lily continued. She looked younger, like Sirius was remembering her from a few years earlier. Her hair was shorter than a minute ago. “There’s a nice muggle school just down the road. We’ve got three bedrooms now, but the neighbours say it’s really easy to get a permit for a magical expansion.”

James kissed Lily’s cheek. Lily blushed.

Lily gave Draco a shrewd look. “Who’s the new kid, Siri?”

“This is ‘Cissa’s kid.”

“He’s a Malfoy?” James said.

“Yep.”

“Death eater?” James asked.

“Draco, you’re not a death eater, are you?”

“Um, no.”

“Huh, nice to meet ya, kid,” said James. He held out his hand to shake.

Draco had to remind himself that these weren’t actually the ghosts of Harry’s parents, just how Sirius remembered Harry’s parents. “You too,” he forced out. He kept his hands to himself. James dropped his.  

“How is Harry?” Lily asked.

Draco’s mouth dropped open. “Ummmm…”

Sirius’ face went dark. For a second, the room seemed to flicker. Everything disappeared. The room went dark, the people were gone, there was no more music. Sirius stared straight ahead as Draco looked around. There was something laying in the entryway. Draco took a step towards it-

Suddenly, the party was back.

“Hey, Padfoot!” James Potter said. “Do you remember third year? When we got stuck in the secret tunnel?”

Sirius’ mouth dropped open as he gasped. His grin had grown manic. “I do! Do you think the dungbombs are still there? It’s a good thing Moony found us.”

Draco was still reeling from the memory of the Potter’s murder. “Sirius, can I talk to you? In private?”

Sirius turned and yelled across the room. “Hey, Marls, turn up the music.”

“You got it!” A pretty blonde called. The song changed as ‘Marls’ turned the music up.

“I love this song!” Lily said, starting to sing along.

Draco had no idea how to handle this. “Sirius, I really need to talk to you.”

“Can it wait? It’s the Stones!”

“No! It can’t wait!” Draco grabbed Sirius’ hand before Sirius could turn away.

Sirius flinched and tried to pull away. Draco wouldn’t let him. Sirius looked at him in confusion. “What-?”

“Sirius, hate to break it to you, but you’re not dead!”

“Look, Draco, I don’t know how you did that, but you need to stop.” Sirius glared at him. “I had a hard time accepting it too, but you’re dead. Get used to it. Crying about it won’t fix anything.”

“But—”

“It’s not all bad. I can remember things so much better here. I haven’t been this clear headed since the dementors.” A dark look crossed over Sirius’ face. For the first time, he looked like his wanted poster. Draco took a step back. “And you’ll get to see everyone again. May take a bit of time for them to get here, though.”

Holy fucking hell. Draco did not sign up for this. He was here to save Sirius, not convince Sirius he needed saving. “Don’t you want to leave?”

Sirius shrugged. “I mean, yeah, I miss Harry and Moony—” Who the hell was Moony? “—but they have their own lives. It’s not like I’ll never see them again.”

Draco gapped at him. He was more horrified by the minute. “Sirius, listen to me. You can’t stay here. None of this is real. Watch.” Draco held out a hand and watched it go straight through Lily Potter. He turned to Sirius. Sirius…was not looking at him. He said something to James Potter next to him and they both laughed and laughed and laughed.

Draco watch on, helpless. “Sirius! Listen to me!”

“Sirius,” another voice said. The music cut out with it. Draco and Sirius turned. Memory-Regulus stood in the middle of the party goers. All the party goers stopped talking.

Sirius’ smile dropped. “Reggie, I thought I told you to leave,” he said. His happy expression was gone, replaced with something tired and wary. “We’re all mudbloods and traitors, remember?”

Sirius’ memory of Regulus transformed in front of them. His face contorted into something sinister. His clothes changed into his school uniform. “Sirius! Listen to me!”

Sirius gripped his head. “Shut up shut up shut up!”

Draco reached out and grabbed Sirius by the shoulders. Sirius started. “What-?”

Draco didn’t have time to argue. He needed an answer. “Do you want to live?”

“I—"

“Do you want to see Harry again? And Moony?”

Sirius answered uncertainly, “They’re better without—”

Draco wouldn’t let him finish. “Don’t you want to get revenge on Peter Pettigrew for what he did? What he took away?”

Sirius’ eyes darted away from him. Draco turned his head and saw the crowd of people standing behind him; Regulus and Lily and James and the Potters and all the other people who Draco didn’t even know the names of.

Sirius stood shaking, staring at the crowd of dead friends around him.

Draco turned back to Sirius. “Do you want to kill Voldemort with your own two hands or not?”

Sirius stared at him with wide eyes. “Yes,” he breathed.

Draco pulled the jade necklace from his pocket and put it around Sirius’ neck. Then, he grabbed his hand and pulled. Sirius let him.

The cottage around them turned to vapour. Draco held on tight to Sirius’ hand and started running. In his other hand, the yarn was still tied around his wrist. He followed it through the mist.

In no time at all, Draco saw the doorframe ahead.

Draco tightened his grip. He wouldn’t let Sirius have second thoughts now. He pulled and ran and saw his grandpa wave him goodbye like he’d seen a hundred times—

Then Draco and Sirius tumbled onto the floor of Trelawny’s living room.

Chapter Text

Draco barely sat up before his mother wrapped her arms around him.

“Never scare me like that again. Never.” She squeezed him hard enough his shoulders ached.

“Ow, mum.” Draco blinked in the room. Everything was so bright here. Real colours washed over everything. Draco squinted. He hadn’t noticed the faded, almost greyscale quality of the memory realm until the real one was staring him in the face.

Draco turned back to the door. He could hear the murmuring from the Veil, much clearer than before. James and Lily Potter and Regulus and—

Trelawny slammed the door and pulled a dagger from the folds of her skirt. She slashed the dagger through the runes Draco had carefully drawn around the frame. Then, as if for good measure, she set the door on fire. The whispering died.

Draco let himself finally relax and look around the room. He noticed two things right away.

First, the table where his research sat was now nothing but a pile of ash. All his books, all of his papers, and the table itself had burned. Smoke stained the ceiling above it.

Second, two people in Auror’s uniforms stood near the entrance, wands drawn and gapping at them. One of them was a tall, black man, the other a shorter woman with short, purple hair.

“Cissa?” Sirius Black said blearily. He coughed and looked around the room as best he could. “Tonks? Kingsley? I don’t remember this.”

Draco turned back to the Aurors. “Tonks? As in cousin Nymphadora?”

Tonks and Kingsley looked sufficiently freaked out. The gave each other cautious looks. Both had their wands out.

Draco tried to stand up. Tonks waved her wand. “Do not move!” she called.

Kingsley explained, “We were sent to investigate a suspiciously high level of magic.”

“Dumbledore’s on his way,” Tonks said. She looked like she didn’t know who was the most shocking to look at: Draco and Narcissa, Sirius (who was back from the dead), or Trelawny (who always attracted looks with her bangles and layered style).

Narcissa cracked a smile. “It’s like a Black family reunion.”

Oh no, Draco thought. She must be really stressed if she was cracking jokes. She only did that when she was terrified.

Trelawny rolled her eyes. “No, don’t ask me. Let’s just invite the whole town.”

Sirius sat on the floor, staring at the room around him. He ran his hand over the rough carpet. “But I was dead,” he said, looking between them all.

Draco did not want to correct him in front of Dumbledore’s lackeys.  He reached out and clapped a hand on Sirius’ shoulder, awkwardly. Thankfully, Narcissa made her way over and wrapped her arms around Sirius. “I’m glad you’re not,” she said.

It took a moment, but Sirius’ arms wrapped around her too. He hugged her back. The next thing Draco knew, Sirius was sobbing. He buried his face into Narcissa’s shoulder and his fingers dug into her shirt and he sobbed loudly.

Draco felt his day get even longer. Tea wouldn’t cut it. He needed coffee. Two coffees.

“How long was I gone?” Draco asked.

“Hours,” his mother whispered, still holding Sirius. “You’re safe now. It’s okay.”

Trelawny turned to the Aurors. “Can I make tea while we wait for Dumbledore?”

Draco cut in. “Coffee. If I see any more dogs in my tea leaves, I swear—”

The Aurors looked too confused to argue as Trelawny made her way to the kitchen. Kingsley followed her with his wand drawn. Tonks said, “I’d take some coffee as well, please.”

Narcissa and Trelawny, despite their many differences, both believed that there wasn’t a problem that a cuppa couldn’t help.

*

Draco had never seen Dumbledore so shocked as when he walked through the door of Trelawny’s little cottage to find his divination professor, two Aurors, Draco and his mother, and a man who was supposed to be dead standing around drinking tea and coffee.

The closest Draco had ever seen to Dumbledore’s reaction was when Harry’s name came out of the Goblet of fire. Dumbledore gapped at them all.

Seemingly deciding who was the least threatening, Dumbledore fixed his gaze on Trelawny. “Sybil, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“That’s because you haven’t opened your inner eye. It was really very plain to see.”

“How’s your vacation going?”

“As expected,” she sang.

Dumbledore’s eye twitched. He nodded and turned away, clearly done with that conversation.

Dumbledore fixed a steely gaze on Sirius. “This cannot be real.”

“It’s real,” Draco said.

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t believe it either,” Sirius said. It was the first thing he said since he stopped crying. He still looked fairly grey. He wrapped his hands around his coffee. He hadn’t drunk any of it, but he would close his eyes and breathe in the scent. He’d mostly stared at the room around them until Dumbledore started showing up asking stupid questions. 

“Yes, very convincing.” Dumbledore muttered and nodded. His eyes were fascinated behind his wire rim glasses. He stepped forward, casually drawing his wand from his side. He long sleeve flared and knocked over a string of knickknacks lined up on a shelf.

Trelawny spoke up. “Dumbledore, I would really appreciate it if we moved this conversation elsewhere. This is a rental.”

That was rich coming from someone who set a door on fire less than an hour ago.

Dumbledore, to his credit, looked sheepishly at the knickknacks now on the floor. “Right. I have just the place. Give me a moment to make sure it’s secured.”

Sirius looked up from his cup just to squint at Dumbledore. His voice was slow and hoarse as he spoke. “Wait—Grimmauld? Are you inviting me to my own house?”

Dumbledore stared at Sirius. He breathed, “How do you know that?”

Sirius sat up. “’Cause it’s my house!” he yelled. His cheeks flushed with colour for the first time.

“Holy shit,” whispered Tonks.

“You thought I was dead and you were still using it? Like some sort of squatter?” Sirius yelled while Dumbledore cast some sort of light spell. A patronus, Draco thought. He watched the light shoot off.

Sirius stopped yelling, but now was muttering. He didn’t look at any of them as he spoke. “Now you have to warn everyone before you bring me, which I admit, secret order stuff needs to be secret, or whatever, but you could just ask me! Hey, Sirius, do you remember that meeting we had where we said you couldn’t leave? Why, yes, I do. Or how about those missions you sent James and me on as teenagers that no one knows about but you? Or how about—”

Another patronus flew into the room, this one a wolf, and announced that the location was secure.

“Or how about I do this!” Sirius put down his coffee mug and stood up from his chair. Draco watched Sirius disappear only to be replaced by a big black dog.

Tonks gasped. “Oh my god, Sirius!” She dropped to her knees. Sirius—the dog—immediately ran over to her. She wrapped her arms around him and into his fur. He licked her face and his tail started wagging. Tonks’ hair changed from bright purple to black to match Sirius’ fur.

Narcissa blinked. “Huh. He is an Animagus,” she muttered.

Draco looked on and cringed at Tonk’s face getting covered in dog slobber. Sirius turned to him. “Don’t even think about it!” Draco said.

Dumbledore coughed to get everyone’s attention. “Right. Sirius, since you think you know where we’re going, could you lead the way?”

Sirius turned back into a human and held out his hand. Kingley sighed and handed his wand (confiscated just minutes before) back to him. “Sure, let’s all apparate to Grimmauld Street.”

*

Kingsley went back to the Ministry to explain away the high magic levels and Tonks’ sudden absence. Tonks side-alonged with Sirius.

Draco and Narcissa side-alonged with Dumbledore. Draco watched Dumbledore’s eyebrows get higher and higher as Sirius revealed he knew the location. Dumbledore was secret keeper, so he whispered the address to Trelawny, Draco, and Narcissa, and a large townhouse appeared before them.

“I haven’t been here since I was a little girl,” Narcissa whispered as they went in. “I never thought I’d come back like this.”

The place… Draco was being kind when he said it was a dump. Based on the amount of dirt and grime, it looked like there were no elves to clean it. The portraits were covered in heavy curtains (the disrespect!). He knew people were upstairs not just from the sound of their footsteps but from the sound of the floor creaking. Draco stepped closer to his mother. “This place looks on the verge of collapse,” he muttered.

He must not have been very quiet, because Sirius laughed in front of him. He sounded ten years younger.

“Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix,” said Tonks. “Good to have ya.”

Ah, yes, Dumbledore’s secret club of do-gooders.

He followed the group into what would have once been the parlour room and floo entrance. They had a matching set of furniture at Malfoy Manor. These couches had been terribly mistreated. The brilliant greens had faded into a sickly colour. The gold and silver accents hadn’t been polished in years, by the look of the tarnish. Draco didn’t want any of it touching him.

Sirius has no such compunctions. He flopped down onto the antique furniture. “So, I know where my house is. I am still an Animagus. I know things only the real Sirius would know. That enough proof for you, or do you want me to cast a patronus, too?”

Trelawny sat down on the settee and kicked her slippers off, making herself at home. Draco sat on the other side of Narcissa from her.

The crowd turned as they heard footsteps from the hall. Draco turned and saw… his old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, of all people. It took a moment to recognise him. It had been years since Draco had seen Professor Lupin. His clothes were just as threadbare as ever, but he looked so much older. There were new wrinkles around his face and dark circles under his eyes. Those eyes were fixed on Sirius.

“Padfoot?” Lupin said, staring.

Sirius swallowed, his gaze also fixed on Lupin. “Hey, Moony,” he said weakly.

Wait, they know each other? Draco’s head whipped between them.

“Stay back,” said Dumbledore, holding out a hand to Lupin. “He could be a threat.”

Lupin stayed in the doorway. “When we were sixteen, on the astronomy tower, before exams, you made me a promise. What was it?”

Sirius took a breath. “I promised I’d never leave you. And it was after exams because you wouldn’t let me distract you, bloody swot.”

Remus made a noise and the next thing Draco knew, Remus and Sirius had their arms wrapped around each other.

Stomping came down the stairs. Harry Potter ran into the room just to stop in the door. Sirius sniffled and let go of Lupin. He looked at Harry, tears in his eyes, and said, “Prongslet!” 

(Seriously, did none of these people use their actual names? Draco thought as he watched them embrace.)

Draco did his best to ignore all the sobbing and apologising and I missed you’s happening five feet away from him. He was not ready for this much emotion. He needed more coffee. Or sleep. Maybe he could spend the rest of the week until school started unconscious. That would be nice.

“How are you here?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know. Ask this one,” Sirius said and pointed to Draco.

All eyes turned to Draco. Ah, shit. How does he even start to explain any of this?

Feeling awkward, Draco just shrugged.

Unfortunately, Tonks was a narc. “We found the four of them in a rental cottage. They’d turned a doorway into a Veil. Draco and Sirius came out of it.”

“You what?” Harry shouted.

“What do you mean, a Veil?” Lupin asked.

“It looked like a regular door that they drew runes around that made it like the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. It whispered and everything. Malfoy and Sirius came out of it, then Trelawny destroyed it.”

Trelawny looked up with her eyes wide behind her glasses. She spoke in her classic bullshitting voice. “Oh? Should I not have done that?”

Everyone gapped at her. Draco tried not to snicker. Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose.

Lupin recovered first and turned back to Sirius. “What happened? Are you alright?”

Sirius nodded. Then, he paused and shook his head. “I was dead. I saw Lily and James, Reggie, Dorcas and Marlene, Euphie and Monty. Everyone.” He took a steadying breath. “I thought he was dead too when he turned up.”

Draco flushed as the room turned to him again.

“But how-?” Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know, chosen one.”

Harry snarled. Oh, how Draco missed antagonizing Potter. The normalcy of it all.

“So, you were in the afterlife,” Tonks reasoned. “What was it like?”

Draco kept his mouth shut as Sirius described it. Instead, he looked at Dumbledore. Dumbledore watched him back with far too much calculation in his eyes.

Draco broke eye contact. He had a bad feeling.

“I talked to everyone I could,” Sirius finished before his face darkened. “Except Reggie. I couldn’t face him.”

Now was as good a time as any.

“I spoke to Regulus,” Draco admitted. He hadn’t really talked to Regulus, but explaining the distinction between real-Regulus and memory-Regulus right now would take too long. Later, he promised himself. He looked to Sirius. “He said to tell you he’s sorry and he wished he was a better brother.”

Sirius’ face shifted as his lip started quivering. He sucked in a steadying breath, trying to stay composed. His eyes filled with tears. Beside him, Lupin put a hand on his shoulder.

Draco continued. “He also asked me to talk to some creature he knew and ask if he destroyed a thing. Whatever that means.”

Narcissa’s gaze darted to Sirius’. “He’s alive?” she gasped.

Draco thought she meant Regulus. He was about to correct her and explain properly when Sirius wiped his eyes and cut in. “The damn elf won’t die. Kreacher!”

An elf popped into the room. He was older than any elf Draco had seen, with skin like worn leather and a permanent frown. Kreacher’s eyes widened, going from Sirius to Draco and Narcissa. “Master Sirius lives, and he’s brought back the good Blacks.”

This… was Kreacher? An elf?

“Hello, Kreacher,” Narcissa greeted.

Kreacher looked on her with awe. He was the oldest elf Draco had ever seen, centuries old. “Mistress Narcissa.” He bowed.

“Hello, Kreacher. We have a question,” Narcissa said.

“Anything! Anything for the good Blacks.”

The room turned to Draco.

“Kreacher,” Draco said. How to explain this to a house elf? “I have a question I need to ask you.”

Kreacher bowed. “Kreacher is honoured to serve the good Master Draco.”

Draco took a deep breath. “It’s about Regulus. Did he ask you to do something before he died? To destroy something?”

Kreacher froze. His face turned grey. His shoulders shook as he sucked in air. “Master Regulus… Kreacher…” The elf’s wrung his hands as he shook, looking terrified.

Sirius leaned forward in his chair. “What did you do?” he spit. Kreacher just shook. “Tell us!”

Kreacher gasped. The elf magic forced words from his mouth. “Kreacher was ordered not to tell! Master Regulus ordered Kreacher!”

“Tell us what?” Narcissa said. Kreacher’s eyes darted to Narcissa. He did not look back at Sirius, instead facing Narcissa’s feet. “Speak, Kreacher. You may tell us. Do not be afraid. You will not be punished.”

Kreacher still shook, but he started to speak. “The locket.”

Everyone waited for him to continue.

“The Master’s Master asked to borrow Kreacher. Kreacher was to help him. The Dark Lord used Kreacher to hide the locket, then he left Kreacher for dead. Kreacher would have died, if it wasn’t for Master Regulus.”

Kreacher then told them a tale of the Dark Lord taking him to a cave, an island full of inferi, and only returning to Regulus because “Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back.”

“Master Regulus found out the locket was evil. Master Regulus took Kreacher back to the cave to switch the locket and told Kreacher to destroy the real one.” Kreacher broke out into huge tears. His leathery skin contorted as he wailed. “Kreacher couldn’t destroy the evil thing! Kreacher tried! Kreacher tried!”

“Where is it?” Dumbledore asked, suddenly part of the conversation again.

“What happened to Regulus?” Sirius said.

Kreacher answered Sirius. “Kreacher saw the Inferi grab Master Regulus.” He didn’t say anymore after that. He couldn’t get any more words out between the sobbing and hitting himself.

“Stop!” Harry said, trying to grab Kreacher’s hands.

Despite Harry not being Kreacher’s master, Kreacher stopped. “Master Regulus,” Kreacher moaned.

Draco felt deeply disturbed. He really couldn’t deal with anymore Black Family Tragedies. This whole day just wouldn’t stop. “Kreacher, where is the locket?”

“Kreacher has it,” he said.

“Bring it here,” Draco said without thinking.

Kreacher popped away, only for a moment before he returned. Draco and Trelawny physically recoiled. Kreacher had called the locket ‘the evil thing’. Draco couldn’t argue. Everything about it just screamed wrong. Whatever it was, it was an abomination. Draco felt himself grow physically ill. The longer he looked at it, the worse he felt. He wanted to throw up.

“Oh no,” Dumbledore said, leaning forward. His eyes were fixed on the locket.

Trelawny stood up. Her necklaces jangled with her movements, but Draco could tell she was shaking too. Her glasses magnified her terrified expression. “Dumbledore, um, the spirits… they are calling, and the inner eye says…. I have to go.”

“Sybil—” Dumbledore started.

“No!” she shouted, dropping any pretense. The rest of the room started. Even Dumbledore jumped. “Dumbledore, I have no idea what that is, but clearly you do! I don’t know what it is, but it’s evil. Everything is screaming that it’s evil. I want nothing to do with it.” Trelawny picked up her shawl and put her slippers back on. “I don’t need the spirits telling me not to go near that with a five-hundred-foot pole. I’m done. Good bye, Draco. Lovely to meet you, Narcissa. Sirius. May your spirits be blessed.”

And with that, Trelawny marched out of the room. The front door slammed behind her.

Dumbledore composed himself first. “Kreacher, could you put that back where you’ve hidden it. We will help you destroy it later.”

Even through his nausea, Draco saw Kreacher glance over to Sirius—his actual master—and wait for him to nod before following Dumbledore’s orders. Kreacher popped out of the room. Draco collapsed into the couch behind him. He sucked in a big breath, nausea leaving in an instant. His whole body relaxed the moment that… thing left the room.

“So, what was that?” Harry asked, somehow completely unbothered. Draco gapped at him just for that alone.

Dumbledore’s eyes darted to Draco, then to everyone else in the room. “We will talk about it later. For now, the room is not secure.”

“Good,” said Draco, “because I don’t want to know.”

*

After Kreacher took the evil thing away, there was nothing to do but sit around and wait.

“It’s been over an hour, Dumbledore,” Sirius said. He looked completely exhausted. The bags under his eyes were a deep grey. He sat on the couch with Harry and Lupin both pressed into his side. Both Sirius and Lupin looked like they could sleep for days. “If I were polyjuiced, it would have worn off by now.”

All eyes turned to Dumbledore. He looked honestly shocked. He looked away from Sirius. Draco could see the calculations in his eyes as he tried to puzzle this together. He couldn’t. “I am wise enough to know when to admit I’m wrong. It seems, based on all the evidence, that this is the real Sirius.”

“Damn right,” Sirius nodded as Remus hugged him. Harry joined him on his other side.

Tonks gave a whoop. “Black is back!”

“Sirius Black, back from the dead. It’s nothing short of a miracle,” Dumbledore said in shocked awe.

Then, he turned to Draco. “How did you do it?”

Draco met his eyes. He felt Dumbledore probing at his mind. Draco put up his occlumency shields so fast. The audacity!

Dumbledore stared at him, expectantly.

“I’m not telling you,” Draco sneered.

Dumbledore blinked, eyes wide behind his gold framed glasses. “Draco, I don’t think you understand the importance of your discovery.”

“No, fuck that. I don’t trust you. You don’t get to know how I did it.”

“Draco,” his mother admonished. Then, quieter, “Draco, this could be our only chance to join the Order.”

“I brought one of their members back from the dead. They should be thanking me,” Draco spit.

Dumbledore remained patient. “Draco, what you’ve discovered is an incredibly powerful tool. You’ve conquered death itself, something no one has ever managed to do before. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how interested Voldemort would be in this knowledge, to use it against us. We are the only people who can keep you safe from him.”

Right, the Order. The only people who could protect them from Voldemort.

Dumbledore continued, “But to do that, we need to understand what you managed, the risks and the limits and its uses.”

All he’d have to do was… tell Dumbledore how he brought Sirius Black back from the dead.

Shit, Draco realised. He couldn’t.

He couldn’t tell Dumbledore how to bring someone back from the dead, because he didn’t know. And he couldn’t tell Dumbledore about the Realm of Remaining Memories, because he didn’t trust him with it.

Draco thought back to his tea leaves. When he gazed into its depths, it could take hours to figure out what it actually meant. Sometimes, a dog was a grim. Sometimes, a dog was a dog. Sometimes, a dog was a man trapped in another dimension. And sometimes, it was just a smudge on a cup.

But Draco had his instincts. Draco could sit and knew when something felt wrong. He wasn’t always good at it, but he usually knew when to stop and when to keep going. Divination only provided information. It was up to the diviner to sort through it and come to the right conclusion.

The Realm was similar. Knowing how to access it was the magical breakthrough of the century.  It held a wealth of knowledge. Anyone with access to it had a huge advantage. Dead soldiers could speak freely about battle plans that they didn’t live to see.

But it was a tainted wealth of knowledge. Memories were fallible and the dead…were dead.  Its beings weren’t sentient themselves, just projections repeating information that someone else thinks they know. It was impossible to tell what in that Realm was based on reality or just perception. People could get trapped there like Sirius had, or worse.

The only reason that Draco had been able to bring Sirius back at all was because… Sirius wasn’t really dead. But, Draco couldn’t tell them that. Not anymore. Not ever.

And if that meant letting everyone dig in the wrong direction, thinking that Draco was some sort of necromancer able to bring back the dead, Draco would let them.

Draco cast his gaze back to the room. “Mum, I can’t.”

Because as much as Draco feared the Dark Lord, Draco feared the price of Dumbledore’s help too. He couldn’t tell Dumbledore about the Realm of Remaining Memories.

Dumbledore tilted his head out of the corner of his eye.

His mother looked around the room at the expectant faces. She leaned forward and whispered, “Draco, we may not get another chance.”

“I can’t,” Draco shook his head. “I don’t trust them. Please.”

His mother searched his eyes. She knew enough about Draco’s research that she could tell him herself, if she wanted, at least enough to send Dumbledore down the right path, if he did try to investigate.

But his mother was also a Slytherin. She was the one to teach him how important trust was. And he knew for a fact that she didn’t trust Dumbledore either.

Finally, she nodded. “Alright.” Even with the promise of sanctuary from the dark lord, Draco knew she wouldn’t tell Dumbledore anything. Narcissa turned back to the room. “I’m sorry, Dumbledore. It appears we won’t be joining your Order after all.”

Dumbledore’s eyebrows sat high above his glasses. “You remember that there are death eaters looking for you as we speak?”

“I am well aware,” Narcissa said.

Dumbledore nodded sadly, but Draco could see how his hand squeezed the arm of the chair he sat on. “Very well, then. I suppose I can’t force you to join us.”

Draco was sure he only said that because the room was full of witnesses.

“However, this is a secure location. Unless you are willing to make a vow of secrecy, you will have to leave.”

Sirius sat forward. The dangerous look was back in his eye. “Dumbledore, this is my house. You can’t just go kicking people out of it. Draco just saved my life. He can stay.”

“We cannot discuss delicate information around people who hold no loyalty to us.”

Draco leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “You mean like the evil thing that I just told you about?”

Dumbledore continued. “We will have to make many preparations for the future. There is a war coming, I have no doubt. We need to be smart and use every advantage we can get. The location of our headquarters, our knowledge of the locket, the fact that Sirius is alive, that information cannot leave this room.”

Sirius stilled. His voice was cold but controlled. “What.”

“The fact that you’re alive may be the greatest surprise we have against Voldemort. Voldemort has always been obsessed with immortality. The moment he finds out you’re alive, he will want to know how you did it.”

Sirius sat in shocked tension. “You are not telling me that I have to stay hidden inside again.”

Dumbledore kept going. “You being alive changes the entire game. You are related to many death eaters, Sirius. They will not think to ward their houses against a dead man.”

“Tell me you did not just say what I think you just said,” Sirius growled.

“To what end?” Tonks asked.

“I just got him back! I’m not going to let you take him from me again!” Harry said.

Lupin spoke up then. “Dumbledore, you know that I’ve always supported your decisions, but let’s talk about this,” Lupin said calmly.

“YEAH, let’s TALK about this!” Sirius yelled, not calmly.

“Bloody merlin, I missed you,” Lupin muttered.

Tonks cut in. “Look, we’re all tired. Why don’t we talk about this later? Draco and Narcissa can stay here until the end of the Summer—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Narcissa said. “We can tell when we’re unwanted.”

“Fuck that. Maybe I want you here,” Sirius said.  “Cissa, it’s my house. I say you can stay.”

“That’s alright, Sirius, we have a plan,” Narcissa said. They didn’t. “And we can’t stay with people we don’t trust.” She narrowed her eyes at Dumbledore.

“Aunt Narcissa,” Tonks said. “You know that you’re always welcome at mum’s.”

Narcissa met her eyes and nodded. “Thank you. We’ll go to her if we need to.”

Then, Narcissa stood. Draco followed her. They walked out with their heads held high. As soon as they were out of sight, they heard arguing begin behind them. They didn’t let that stop them.

Draco had no idea where they would go, but they weren’t going to be discussing it anywhere near them.

They’d only made it to the front door when Harry ran after them. “Malfoy, wait!”

Draco stopped. Narcissa faltered when she realised he wasn’t following and stopped, too.

Harry stopped in front of Draco. “Thank you,” he said, “for bringing Sirius back. I… I can never repay you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter, you can’t just go saying things like that to a Slytherin.” Draco let out a huff. “You’re welcome, though.”

Harry huffed out a laugh. His gaze searched him. “How did you do it?”

Draco met his gaze. Even with Harry’s gratitude, Draco couldn’t trust him not to run straight to Dumbledore with the information.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he said, then he turned to his mother. They both left and let the door swing shut behind them.

Chapter Text

With Draco returning to school in just a few days, Draco and his mother decided they couldn’t put off going to Gringotts any longer.

Everyone knew Gringotts was being watched, but Draco needed money to replace all of his school things, and they could no longer mooch off of Trelawny. They would go, pick up some galleons and the key to their private summer home, then do whatever shopping they had to in disguises.

Narcissa glamoured their hair to an inoffensive brown. Narcissa also wore a shawl borrowed from Trelawny and made a point to walk with a slouch.

Draco’s cheeks were made to appear rounder and Narcissa told him to make a point of smiling. Draco scowled at that, but forced a bland smile on his face while they walked down Diagon Alley into Gringotts.

Despite their disguises, Draco kept an eye open for anyone who might recognise him. He almost froze when he saw Cedric Diggory. He must have gotten a job there since he graduated. He stood behind a desk under the watchful eye of a goblin. Neither of them noticed Draco. Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He stood with his mother under it was their turn at a teller.

With just a few words from Narcissa, the goblins whisked them away to a private room. It took only minutes to confirm their identities. They were able to withdraw their funds and pick up the keys.

*

They spent the day before the start of term at their lawyer’s office, going over options and legal routes to get his father out of Azkaban.

Their lawyer, Theodore Fiddlewood, had been working with the Malfoy family for years. He knew more Malfoy secrets than their house elves did.

Lucius lived in fear of the day when Mr. Fiddlewood finally retired. He even offered to pay for Mr. Fiddlewood’s son to go to law school, but he decided to become a mediwizard instead. Mr. Fiddlewood had to comfort Lucius when that happened with a very expensive bottle of red wine. “He wouldn’t have been a good lawyer, anyway. He’s too soft, like his mother. I need a successor who doesn’t feel the need to veil himself with goodness.”

“Any time you decide to pick a successor, anyone, no matter who, I will pay to have them trained,” Lucius told him, only slightly tipsy. “I mean it. I’ll tell you again when I’m sober.”

Mr. Fiddlewood was that good.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much even Mr. Fiddlewood could do for them in this case. Lucius was already in Azkaban for a life sentence. Wizarding law had never been simple nor straightforward, with sections of law changing depending on the current minister, and Rufus Scrimgeour had only been Minister for two months.

Mr. Fiddlewood flipped through his notepad and explained.

“If Fudge were still Minister, I’d recommend contacting Bones about a breach in procedure, but that would cast doubt on all the arrests that day. Fudge always responded more to public pressure than anything else. But Scrimgeour was Head Auror. His whole platform is safety. He’s going to fight to keep any supposed ‘criminal’ locked away, no matter the cost.”

Narcissa gripped the arm of her chair. “I don’t care if every criminal in Azkaban walks free so long as my husband is among them,” she declared.

Mr. Fiddlewood was unfazed. “In one of your previous letters, you had mentioned that Dumbledore might be able to help us…?”

Narcissa shook her head. “Unfortunately, no. Our interests did not align the way I thought it might. We’ll need a different approach.”

Mr. Fiddlewood looked unsurprised. “I’ll keep looking for more options, but the legal route isn’t likely to work unless the politics change. Perhaps I can find some sort of loophole.”

Narcissa let out a breath and rested her head on her hand. “I suppose that we could always try to break him out ourselves,” Narcissa mused. “Cousin Sirius managed it. Barty Junior did it. It can’t be that hard.”

For the first time, Draco understood where he inherited his audacity from.

Mr. Fiddlewood barely reacted to Narcissa’s new plan. He flipped through his papers. “If you are serious about that, please let me know in advance so I can set up your defense. For now, we have to wait. The political landscape simply won’t allow it.”

Narcissa closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. “Right. I understand. Thank you for your help, Mr. Fiddlewood. Please update me if anything changes.”

“We will go forward with the appeal for the transfer decision. I’ll have my interns looking for loopholes.”

Draco sat up. “Transfer? When was this?” he asked.

Mr. Fiddlewood explained. “We got the French to agree that they would take on Lucius in one of their nicer prisons if the Ministry agreed. It would allow him visiting rights and the ability to serve as family head, since you are underage. The Ministry denied it.”

Narcissa darted her eyes to him. “You were busy,” she said simply.

Draco’s eyes widened. He’d missed more than he thought. He vaguely remembered Narcissa writing letters when they were staying with Trelawny, and he never gave it a second thought. He wasn’t the only one who had been working all Summer, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“The damned Ministry is too power hungry to see sense,” Mr. Fiddlewood said.

“They’re always power hungry,” Narcissa said.

“Moreso than usual,” he clarified. “They’ve gone nuts arresting people. You know the Shunpikes? They arrested the young one because of a rumour.”

“What rumour?” Narcissa said, clearly upset. (Whether she was upset about being behind on gossip, or because she was distantly related to the Shunpikes, Draco didn’t know.)

“He was overheard in a bar laughing, claiming to know secrets about the death eaters. Now he’s in Azkaban.”

“Him? Of course not!” Narcissa scoffed. “He’s a bus attendant, for Merlin’s sake. No one actually believes he’s a death eater.”

“Regardless, he’s been tried and found guilty because he ‘confessed’.” Fiddlewood scowled.

Narcissa shook her head. “That poor boy.”

The room fell into silence. There wasn’t anything more to say. Not for the first time, Draco’s thoughts drifted back to his father. It had been almost three months now since his arrest. Draco remembered what the dementors felt like in third year, with them just patrolling outside. The entire school felt cold. He couldn’t imagine what it was like in Azkaban, with the dementors up close.

Not only that, but Azkaban didn’t allow prisoners any contact with the outside, so Draco couldn’t even send his father a letter. They couldn’t tell him that they were thinking of him or that they were fighting for him. As far as he knew, they might have forgotten about him. As flawed as Draco knew his father way, he was still his father. Everything he did was what he thought was in his family’s best interest, and Draco missed him terribly.

Narcissa and Draco gathered their things to leave.

Mr. Fiddlewood stopped him on the way out. “Young Mr. Malfoy, please remember that I am bound by magical confidentiality. As your lawyer, I highly recommend you consult me before pursuing any… novel projects or questionable magicks.”

Draco flushed. He mentally added one to the number of people who knew what he’d accomplished. He nodded and shook Mr. Fiddlewood’s hand.

Mr. Fiddlewood picked his wand off the desk and waved it, removing the privacy spell on his office. Draco and Narcissa left.

*

They went home to Malfoy cottage that night in somber moods. Draco packed everything—new clothes, new bag, new books—and sat on his bed.

There was so much he didn’t know. He knew the dark lord was angry at them, but not if he was actively looking for them. He didn’t know what the Order was doing or if they would be willing to protect them (probably not). His father was still in prison. His mother would be alone as soon as he went back to school.

Draco pulled out his crystal ball and stared at it. He hadn’t used it since before leaving the manor. He hadn’t done any type of divination since the tea reading where he found out Sirius was still alive.

Now, the thought of staring into his crystal ball filled him with dread.

(Was it because he was still haunted by the memory of that thing, the locket that Regulus asked Kreacher to destroy? He’d wanted to run from that, too. Trelawny had run from it.)

It didn’t make sense. A vision had saved him from joining the death eaters. A tealeaf reading helped him bring Sirius back to the land of the living. He’d predicted the fourth task for the Triwizard tournament. He was good at divination! He liked it.

All of the questions that he didn’t get answered in fifth year came back with a vengeance. How could staring at a crystal ball actually predict anything? Or leaves in a teacup? He knew it worked, but why?

He thought back to the Realm of Remaining Memories. Nothing there was trustworthy. They looked real and acted real, but they weren’t real. They were just figments. Draco couldn’t take anything he heard there at face value.

How was that different than divination? Could he really trust answers he didn’t understand?

Draco’s life was more uncertain than ever. He should be gazing into the crystal ball for answers. He should be looking for clues to help his mother and free his father.

But every time he looked at it, the bad feeling came back.

If Draco had learned one thing over the past few years, it was to listen to his bad feelings.

Draco put his crystal ball back in its packaging. All he could do was wait.

What Draco really wanted was certainty, not comfort, and that was something divination couldn’t offer.

*

They were shocked to arrive at the Platform on September first and find it abuzz. Seemingly everyone had a copy of The Prophet in hand. Instead of tearful goodbyes to their children, parents ignored their children in favour of gossiping.

Draco blinked around in confusion. What happened? From the front page, Draco saw a familiar face. He felt stomach sink in dread. Sirius Black’s mugshot stared off the page, madly.

“Oh no,” said Draco. “What has he done?”

A woman walked by with her head swinging this way and that, calling for her son. She had a copy of the Prophet in her hand. Narcissa snatched it away from her without her even noticing as she continued looking for her child. Narcissa glanced at the cover. Her eyebrows raised as she skimmed whatever it said.

Narcissa’s eyes lit up. She looked around the platform. “Draco, I think we can use this.” Draco didn’t have time to ask what the article was. She kissed his cheeks. “I love you. Take care. Keep your head down. I’m only an owl away.” Then, she ran off in the direction of a group of old ladies gossiping. Draco thought he saw old Mrs. Shunpike among them.

Knowing better than to interfere in his mother’s schemes, Draco picked up his trunk and headed toward the train.

As soon as he was on the train, he enchanted his luggage to float after him. He moved down the corridor past the crowds as they chattered. The first years looked even younger than Draco remembered. He pushed past a group of literal children that literally gawked at his floating luggage. They would learn that spell in just a few months.

Ahead, with the door to their compartment wide open, he saw Crabbe and Goyle. They stood half in the hallway talking to someone in the compartment. Draco sat with them every train ride since first year, when they were the only ones he knew. This time, they made eye contact. Draco didn’t know if they joined the Dark Lord, he didn’t even know whether or not they agreed with their fathers, but he saw them turn away. They broke eye contact with him and pretended he wasn’t there except to step forward so he could squeeze himself behind them. Draco didn’t let his disappointment show on his face as he walked by and made his way to the next car.

The pair had hardly spoken to him since he quit the inquisitorial squad last year. Now, whatever friendship they had was gone.  They had chosen a side, and Draco wasn’t part of it.

Thankfully, he still had some neutral friends. He found Pansy and Blaise in a compartment to themselves. “Draco!” Pansy called, jumping up to hug him.

Blaise gave him a look. “I didn’t expect you to be hanging out with us this year,” he said.

Draco set his bag in the rack and took a seat. “Neither did I, to be honest.”

“I half wondered if you’d be sitting with Potter and his friends,” Blaise commented.

Draco scoffed. “As if we wouldn’t end up murdering each other.”

Pansy waved them off. “We’ve established that Draco still has a brain. I’m moving on to more important things. Draco, tell us everything you know about Sirius Black.”

Draco tried not to freeze. He kept his shoulders relaxed and tried to shrug. “He’s my cousin…?”

“Everybody knows that. Tell us everything.”

Draco tried to look confused. It wasn’t hard. He was confused. He tried to puzzle out what they knew. Whatever Pansy was on about, Blaise didn’t know either. He looked just as confused. “Tell you what?”

“I need the inside scoop! I know you know!”

“Er…”

Pansy gawked at him. She turned to Blaise, only to find him looking just as confused. “Both of you? Honestly!”

Then, Pansy produced a copy of that day’s Prophet.

Sirius Black’s face stood on the cover, as well as other photos of him. Almost every time Black was mentioned, they used his mugshot. Now, while the mugshot was still there, it was accompanied by other, less incriminating photos.

The title read: Sirius Black Alive! Eyewitnesses and evidence confirm his return from the dead, by Rita Skeeter.

“It’s all anyone’s talking about,” Pansy explained. Then, she started to read.

“Yesterday, I was one of many bankgoers at Gringotts at about three o-clock. We stood in line and waited for our turn at the teller. Suddenly, a man barged inside loudly and demanded to access to his vault. In the face of the loud and possibly deranged man, we stood back and watched him approach the head teller’s desk, not attempting to keep his voice down.”

“The man claimed to be escaped convict Sirius Black and loudly demanded access to the Black family accounts. The other bank-goers and I feared for our lives just standing in line,” Pansy read from the Prophet. “We all knew that this couldn’t be Sirius Black because he had been reported dead months prior. I confirmed it myself, also months prior, by checking the McMillan family tree (Sirius’ paternal grandmother was Melania McMillan). The family magic identified him as deceased.”

“He’s a McMillan?” Blaise said. “Ernie never mentioned it.”

Draco winced. “Probably didn’t want to be associated with a mass murderer.”

Pansy continued. “The goblins, perhaps in an attempt to humour him until the Aurors arrived, proceeded to test his wand, only to return confused. They continued to test him, until eventually they relented and LET HIM WITHDRAW FROM THE ACCOUNT!!!” Pansy screeched.

Blaise choked on air. “What?!”

Pansy had that look on her face that she only got from the best gossip. She grinned maniacally. “The goblins let him access the account.”

“It has to be fake,” Blaise said.

“How do you fake a goblin wand reading?”

“You can’t,” Draco said simply.

“Exactly!” Pansy said. “Goblins don’t fuck around. No one would keep their money in Gringotts if it wasn’t secure.”

She grabbed the paper and read on. “After withdrawing his funds, the Aurors arrived to arrest him. Black drew his wand, and we unsuspecting bank-goers had to hide as spells flew. Black yelled at all of them that they could not arrest him AS HE HAD NEVER BEEN TRIED.” Pansy gasped.

Even Draco was shocked at that. “That can’t be true!”

“I thought he confessed at trial,” Blaise said, confused.

“I think he’s saying that they skipped the trial because he confessed,” Pansy said.

Draco gapped. “You still need a trial. He’s a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight and they sent him to Azkaban for life without a trial?!” Even his father, who had been caught in the act in the Department of Mysteries, had been given something. The trial was expedient, but he’d been allowed Mr. Fiddlewood to defend him, even if Mr. Fiddlewood could only do so much under the circumstances.

Blaise and Pansy sat with their mouths open. “Yeah, someone fucked up,” Blaise said.

“Or not,” Draco said in dawning horror. “Maybe it was intentional.”

Pansy laughed bitterly. “Who knows? Not us, because there was never a trial!”

“Pansy, read the damn article or give it here and I’ll read it,” Blaise snapped.

Pansy rolled her eyes. She continued in her best Rita Skeeter impression, “We bank-goers huddled in shock as Black evaded Auror capture and ran outside. I bravely ran after him, only to see him meet two other men outside. One was later identified through witness reports as Remus Lupin, known werewolf and associate of Black. The other was Harry Potter himself.” Pansy paused long enough to gasp before diving back in. “Witnesses saw Black kiss Lupin on the Gringotts steps, before shouting obscenities that cannot be repeated in a family newspaper. The three got onto brooms and a flying motorbike and flew off.”

Draco thought back to every story his mother had told him about Sirius growing up and laughed. “Yep, that sounds like Sirius Black.”

Pansy continued reading, her eyes darting back and forth across the paper. “Skeeter confirms that he was never tried. She says she looked for the records after giving her statement to the Aurors but couldn’t find any. The clerk confirmed that it never happened. Wait wait wait, here: I also returned to the McMillan home to look at their family tree, again, only to see it listed him as alive. Marilyn McMillan confirmed that it had read deceased up until a few days prior, though she is uncertain of an exact date.”

Blaise shook his head. “Okay, putting aside the craziness and the lack of trial and the whole gay thing, how is he not dead? He was dead. Family trees don’t lie. If it said he was dead, he was dead.”

“I would say Polyjuice—” Pansy said.

“—but the goblins—”

“Exactly!”

The pair turned to Draco. Draco could only shrug. “Long lost twin?”

“So, Sirius Black is back from the dead?” Blaise gapped.

“Seems like it,” Draco said.

Pansy skimmed the article and looked up at them. “All I can say is it’s a good thing he’s on the run, because otherwise the Department of Mysteries would’ve kept him locked up forever.”

*

Chapter Text

Draco walked into the Slytherin dorm after the welcome back feast.

Around him, conversation stopped. The sudden silence in the room made Draco stop too. Half the eyes in the room looked right at him, then quickly looked away.

Draco felt his face flush and cursed his paleness. He took an even breath, trying to keep calm. At one point, his classmates would have gazed on him in fear. Now, fear had given way to wariness. Despite what he told Pansy and Blaise about being neutral, the fact that he wasn’t walking around with a dark mark on his arm right now spoke volumes. Without meaning to, Draco had made himself a political statement. Shit.

As whispers picked up around him, Draco tried to walk through the crowd and head right back to his dorm. He walked by a seventh year he had never spoken to before, having to step over his feet from where he laid sprawled off a couch.

“Coward,” the older boy hissed.

Draco kept his eyes ahead as he walked past him and out of the common room.

Draco walked past the doors for the younger years, passing the fifth years’ dorm until he stood in front of the sixth years’ room. He walked in. The room was bigger than last year’s had been. Still the same number of beds, though. A bigger window, too. Last year, they just had a porthole and a small window in the ceiling to see the lake. This year, they had a large window seat and the entire ceiling was glass, casting the whole room in a ghostly, green glow. He was the first one there.

All of their luggage was piled at the front of the room. Draco grabbed his trunk and dragged it to a bed near the window. He had no idea where Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, Davis, or Nott would pick. He couldn’t avoid them here. There was no way to avoid someone when you were living in the same room as them. They’d have to cross paths eventually.

Draco moved his items around his trunk, organizing. He caught sight of his crystal ball. Once again, the bad feeling made its way into his stomach. He brushed it to the side of his trunk and threw some clothes on top of it.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Draco heard Crabbe’s laughter down the hall. He didn’t have time to prepare himself before the rest of his dormmates arrived. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Davis entered. Goyle stopped talking when he came in the room, meeting Draco’s eyes. He quickly looked away, and Crabbe picked up the conversation.

“If Snape’s teaching DADA, we’ll finally learn something useful,” Crabbe said.

“Yeah, but at what cost? Can this Slughorn guy even teach potions?” Davis said.

“Who cares? Duelling’s more important,” Crabbe shot back.

They ignored Draco. They went about grabbing their trunks and picking beds, all while pretending he wasn’t there. They didn’t acknowledge him at all. It was both better and worse than he expected.

Draco sat on his bed and pretended to read while the people he used to call friends bickered around him.

As they argued, the door opened again and Blaise arrived. The rest of the boys greeted him normally. Whatever pariah status Draco had for outright rejecting the dark lord didn’t apply to Blaise’s neutrality. His luggage was the only luggage still at the front of the room. “Hey guys. What’s up?”

Davis snorted. “Not much. Long train ride. The wizarding world is on the brink of war. The usual. How are you, Blaise?”

“Been better,” Blaise said with a nod. “You’d think Dumbledore would be too old for speeches that long. Give us a break.”

“Did you see his hand?” Davis asked. “It was all cursed and shriveled.”

“Really? Sounds like dark magic,” Goyle said. “What d’you think did it?”

Crabbe scoffed. “Isn’t it obvious? He brought Sirius Black back from the dead.”

The room fell silent.

Draco closed his curtains and tried not to listen.

“How?” Goyle asked, not quietly.

“How should I know?” Crabbe asked. Blaise and Nott both stayed quiet.

“You reckon it’s a trick?” Davis asked in hushed tones.

“Dumbledore was friends with Nicolas Flammel,” Goyle said with a shrug. “It’s on his chocolate frog card.”

“If Dumbledore can bring people back from the dead, why Sirius Black? He could bring back anyone,” Davis asked.

“Maybe he knows secrets from all that time in Azkaban,” Goyle speculated.

Davis just shrugged. “Could be he wants to revive all the people who died fighting for him. Revive his army.”

“No way,” Goyle said with wide eyes.

Crabbe laughed at his expression. “It would make it easier to recruit people. Even the cowards,” he said, raising his voice so Draco could hear it easily through the curtains.

“Don’t be a bitch,” Blaise snapped. Draco knew from years of friendship that Crabbe was rolling his eyes.

“I don’t want to die fighting multiple times,” Goyle said in horror.

“Really? I would. You could actually give your all,” Crabbe said. “This could change the way wars are fought. It’s a… whadduyacallit?”

“Paradigm shift?” Nott said, finally joining the conversation.

Crabbe pointed at Nott and snapped his fingers. “That thing!”

“Sorry, Crabbe, not everyone is as willing to die for their country as you are,” Davis said.

“I’m Italian, so don’t look at me. I’m neutral,” said Blaise.

Nott scoffed. “People are only neutral until it’s obvious who’s gonna win.”

The other boys grew quiet at that.

“Whatever. As soon as I turn seventeen, I’m outta here,” Crabbe said.

Nott scoffed. “Say it louder, why don’t you?”

Draco could hear Crabbe’s sneer in his tone. “Oh, I’m sorry, is the baby jealous?”

“Shut up!” Nott snapped. “I’m not that much younger than you!”

“The wittle August baby is sad!” Crabbe continued.

Draco cast a silencing charm on his curtains, not wanting to hear any more.

*

Draco only knew Professor Slughorn from his father’s complaints about his own Potions lessons.

“How bad was he?” Draco asked once when Severus and his father were at the manor during Summer, complaining about Hogwarts. The topic turned to how things Used to Be, both the nostalgia and the old complaints.

Lucius would wax poetic about how wizarding society would be better and the changes in the Wizengamot and how none of this would have been a problem if only the Dark Lord had won, while Severus listened.

Severus was much more vocal complaining about their old Potions classes. He looked at Draco across the table. “Slughorn would teach us from the textbook.”

“That’s not—”

“Even the upper years.”

“Say no more,” Draco said.

And then Lucius would ask when Severus was writing his own potions textbook, and Severus would say that no one wanted any spell or potion he’d come up with. “Anyone who wants better potions can figure it out themselves,” he’d drawl bitterly. Then the conversation would switch to Lucius finding Severus a girlfriend and Draco would flee the room.

The usual.

All this was confirmed during Draco’s first potions class. Slughorn wasn’t nearly as good as Snape had been. He practically taught them straight from the textbook. Draco could have learned the same thing with a cauldron at home. (Not that he could go home, mind you, but the point still stood.)

It also meant that they had to go at the slowest pace possible, as Slughorn read aloud. His voice gave Draco a headache. He wondered if his ears were bleeding.

Draco was used to Snape, who expected them to read the textbook before class and come prepared so he could help students at their own pace. Not anymore.

Potter, of course, thrived on this slow pace, while everyone else around him struggled.

He didn’t even like potions! Now he had the best potion in their first class back. He was the only one whose potion turned out as described in the recipe. Slughorn looked ready to get out his autograph book as he praised Potter and handed him the prize: a vial of Felix Felicius.

Draco would have been more upset about losing the prize if he hadn’t been desperately trying to figure out why his own potion was sub-par. He’d done everything right!

Draco seethed over his cauldron. He wasn’t the only one.

*

“Yes, yes, I can see it all now!”

Draco heard Trelawny’s voice float down from the top of the ladder. He knew her monologue voice by heart. In another life, she would have been an actor. He snickered at whatever bullshit Trelawny was telling the poor sod.

“I see great suffering in your future. You should avoid the colour orange at all costs!”

“Trelawny.” Draco recognised the second voice. Dumbledore. What was he doing here? And why did he sound so tired? “For how long should I avoid orange? You must recall from the staff meeting that we just scheduled our pumpkin carving.”

“And what a disastrous day it will be!” Trelawny said. “Knives and oversized vegetables? I will give you some lavender to ward off the spirits.”

“That will be fine, Sybil. I should really be going.”

Draco heard footsteps above. It took him a moment to realise Dumbledore was leaving. Too late, Draco couldn’t hide. The trap door opened above him. He looked up and made eye contact with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore’s eyes were tired, but they lit up and regained their usual twinkle when his gaze fell on Draco. “Young Mr. Malfoy. What a surprise seeing you here.”

“It is only surprising to those who do not possess the gift,” Trelawny monologued behind him.

Dumbledore’s eye twitched. He did not look at her. Instead, he smiled at Draco. “What brings you to this section of the castle?”

Draco wanted to tell him it was none of his business. Anger bubbled up. The audacity. This man refused to help them and his father remained in prison because of it. And he dared to act casual with him?

In a stroke of inspiration, an answer came to him. Draco looked Dumbledore right in the eye, occlumency walls high, and said, “I wanted to ask Professor Trelawny about my father. He’s still in Azkaban.”

A lesser man would have flinched. Dumbledore did not. “Of course. Professor Trelawny, perhaps you can help this young man… unless it surpasses your capabilities?”

Draco could have growled at him. Trelawny rolled with the insult. “Nonsense! The spirits are for everyone! Come on up, Draco.”

Dumbledore did not move to leave. With no choice but to play out this façade, Draco climbed the ladder.

Draco followed Dumbledore and sat around the low table on the floor. They were all pretending. Draco was pretending to not know Trelawny very well, Trelawny was pretending to be her usual, kooky self, and Dumbledore was doing his harmless old man act.

Dumbledore moved first. “I must say, I was surprised to see you together over the Summer. I didn’t know you were so close.”

“Space is only an illusion, Dumbledore, meant to keep us apart,” Trelawny said. She lit more incense before sitting to join them at the table. “So, Draco, tell me about your father,” Trelawny said.

Draco saw his chance. “My father is a wonderful man. Kind, caring, devoted, talented. He taught me everything I know.”

“Surely your teachers taught you something,” Dumbledore interrupted.

“Not that I recall,” Draco said.

“Would you like a palm reading, a tea reading, or the crystal ball?” Trelawny asked. Her fingers moved spider-like above the table, as if eager to know what to reach for.

“Palm,” Draco said. He didn’t want to have to wait for his tea to cool to get away from Dumbledore. He held out his hand.

Dumbledore watched Trelawny take his hand. She made all the appropriate oohs and ahs.

“I see you working with many allies this year,” she told him. Draco’s palm was sweaty. She traced one of the lines on his palm. “The path to your goals will be long and winding. I see struggle.”

“Mine or my father’s?” Draco asked.

“Both,” Trelawny answered. Draco couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. “The path to freedom is rarely easy.”

“Speaking of your father, there is something I wanted to ask you,” Dumbledore said, much to Draco’s surprise. “Several years ago, your father misplaced an old, leather-bound notebook that had been gifted to him. It wound up in Ginny Weasley’s possession.”

Draco blinked at him. “Okay?”

“Do you know anything about it?” Dumbledore asked. “Your father never mentioned anything else he might have? Or anyone that might have had something similar?”

Draco had no idea what information Dumbledore thought he was fishing for, but he didn’t have any to give. He answered honestly. “I’ve no idea.”

He wasn’t sure he believed him. Dumbledore searched him. Draco didn’t even bother averting his eyes, trusting his mental shields to hide anything he didn’t want Dumbledore to see. Thankfully, Trelawny cut them off.

“You both seem to be very stressed this year. I’ll get you both some more lavender sprigs. It will help.” Trelawny waved her wand and the dried herbs floated over to them. She handed them each a bundle.

Dumbledore looked down at his sprig with his head tilted. “I must admit that I don’t understand your talents, Sybil. Divination has always been beyond me.”

“Yes, that is why it is called the great beyond.”

“Your talents could be quite useful in more practical endeavors,” Dumbledore continued. “I can only imagine what someone like yourself would be able to accomplish with the right help.”

“Dumbledore, the answer is no,” Trelawny said in a normal voice. “The spirits are quite clear that I must stay away from whatever scheme you are cooking.”

“I assume there is nothing I can do to persuade you,” Dumbledore said.

“Afraid not,” Trelawny shook her head. “I already have everything I could want up in this tower. I have no need for material things and no want for power.”

“You could help a lot of people.”

Trelawny stared Dumbledore dead in the eyes. “I lived through the first war. I know what ‘helping’ entails, and I will not have that on my conscious.”

Dumbledore sighed. “In that case, I must be off.” He pushed himself off the low cushion, struggling a bit. Draco had known Dumbledore was old, but seeing him struggle to get up was a stark reminder. Trelawny moved forward to help him. She picked up the lavender sprig from where he left it on the table and forced it into his hand.

She walked him to the trapdoor. It swung open with a wave of her hand. Dumbledore turned and started lowering himself, pausing halfway down.

“I know you’re not one to leave the castle often, but in light of the past Summer, please, be careful,” Dumbledore warned her.

Trelawny blinked at him from behind her glasses. “Dumbledore, I teach the most dangerous class in this school. I’m always careful.”

Dumbfounded, he opened his mouth just to close it again. Even Draco couldn’t tell if Trelawny was being serious or not.

Trelawny turned away from him. “What type of tea would you like, Draco?”

“Green, please,” Draco said, also turning away from Dumbledore. He moved towards their usual table. Dumbledore did not start to leave until Draco was comfortably sat. Once his head was out of the way, Trelawny waved her wand so the trap door swung shut.

“Thank goodness he’s gone,” Trelawny muttered. “I should’ve known he’d visit.”

“Did you have a vision?” Draco asked.

Trelawny snorted. “No. He just likes knowing more than other people, and we caught him off-guard last month. Now, tell me what’s got you visiting me today. Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

Draco sat down as Trelawny got out her favourite tea set.

“I’ve come to tell you I’m quitting divination,” Draco announced.

“Are you?” Trelawny said, not looking up.

Draco could hear the doubt in her tone. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she said. She handed him his cup. “Can I ask what led to this decision?”

Draco shrugged. The tea was still too hot to drink. He blew on it. “It seems logical. I only ever did readings for Potter, anyway, and I don’t really care to know about my future. I don’t really need it. I already brought Sirius Black back. Where do I go from there? I’ve peaked.”

Trelawny laughed. “So, you thought you’d end on a high note?”

“Exactly.”

“No other reason?” Trelawny asked.

Draco pursed his lips and stared into his tea, watching it steep. “It's more of a feeling, really. I can’t explain it. It’s just… I don’t want to. Yes, my life is uncertain right now, but I don’t think reading more into it is going to help.”

Trelawny smiled and shrugged. “Alright.”

Draco squinted his eyes and looked at her. “You’re not going to try to change my mind?”

Trelawny shook her head. “Heavens, no. Divination is a dangerous game. I encourage you to quit. You’ll still come and have tea with me, right?”

“Of course!”

“Then why would I be upset? Frankly, it’s better to quit while you’re ahead, before anyone finds out about your gift.”

Draco found himself nodding along with her. “Right!”

Trelawny downed some more tea. “I think you’re very wise. Take it from me: knowing the future is overrated. It’s not reliable. Everyone thinks you’re weird.”

“You make sure everyone thinks you’re weird.”

“My point stands,” she sniffed. “Most people would be much better off focusing on their present. If God or the universe tells you something in the moment, great! Otherwise, you probably don’t need to know.”

Draco nodded as he let the relief wash over him. “Thank you. I was so worried about telling you. I just don’t need my life to be more complicated than it already is.”

Trelawny took his teacup back. She pulled it just out of his sight. “You’re sure you don’t want to know what it says?”

Draco laughed and shook his head.

Trelawny gave a fake pout and gave it a dramatic glance, followed up with an over the top gasp. “My word! The tealeaves! They are speaking!” She clutched her necklaces with her free hand.

“If it’s not the grim, I don’t care,” said Draco.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Trelawny smirked, then loudly started oohing and ahhing over his cup, the way she did in her classes.

Draco just laughed and threw his knitted coaster at her.

*

Chapter Text

The rumours only worsened.

Sirius Black became the most photographed person in Wizarding Britain, yet managed to evade the Aurors. After he was spotted shopping in Camden Market, Draco overheard Ernie McMillan talking to some Hufflepuffs.

“D’you know he’s dating Professor Lupin? The werewolf?” Ernie McMillan said. “That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Professor Lupin was always so nice, though,” another girl said. She hadn’t even been part of the conversation before jumping in.

“Yeah, that was before he lost his job and was basically exiled from wizarding society.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Well, then where has he been since third year?”

Then, a few days later in the common room, Draco overheard the younger Slytherins talking late near the fireplace.

“Sirius Black trained the dementors to work for him instead of the Ministry,” a second year said. “That’s why he didn’t go mad. He’s the one behind all the attacks recently.”

“Be careful who you say that to,” her friend said, much quieter. “Lots of people here whose parents work at the ministry…”

The worst rumours were the ones no one spoke when Potter was near. Draco heard them when he was standing in the corridor. He wouldn’t be paying attention until the hallway went quiet. He looked up just in time to see Harry Potter walk by, eyes on his back as he went, Granger and Weasley flanking him. He wouldn’t be out of earshot by the time the whispers started.

“Do you think he did it?”

“Black is his godfather.”

“No one knows how he survived the killing curse,” someone would inevitably point out.

The only saving grace was that no one mentioned Draco’s name.

*

Rita Skeeter, to her credit as a journalist, did not forget that Sirius had never been tried. She started digging. She interviewed people. She referenced articles from years ago. She even found another case of a man who had never been tried who died in Azkaban.

If a student didn’t already have a subscription to The Prophet, they begged their friends to borrow their copies when they were done.

By mid-September, Rufus Scrimgeour had to put out a statement that the Ministry would be investigating these claims, to “make sure due diligence was taken in the wake of the end of the war.” He emphasized that the Ministry would do everything in its power to keep those who were innocent safe. He also said that Sirius Black was still an escaped convict and urged him to turn himself in for questioning.

Draco had no idea how Sirius managed. Rufus Scrimgeour would not back down. The Aurors were after him, the death eaters were after him, the journalists were after him, and every witch and wizard in England was desperate for a glance of him.

This all culminated in late September. The Prophet arrived: not with Sirius Black’s face on the cover, but Stan Shunpike’s.

Knightbus Conductor Wrongfully Imprisoned! Night at the Bar Gone Wrong! by Rita Skeeter.

Stan Shunpike is a face that many in the wizarding world know. At twenty-one, Shunpike was the conductor of the Knightbus and a model employee, according to his boss.

However, one night of drinking and some drunken bragging was all it took for young Stanley to get thrown into Azkaban.

“It was a joke. Everyone knew it was a joke,” said one of Stanley’s friends, who wished to remain anonymous. “One of our other friends was getting a bit wild, saying he had insider knowledge of the Ministry since he worked next door. Stan said he had insider knowledge of the deatheaters, since the Knightbus went everywhere. We were all a bit drunk, so it seemed funny at the time. We all laughed.”

This joke led to a raid of Stanley’s home in Clapham and his now imprisonment in Azkaban. “No one believed for a second it was true. Not even the Aurors who arrested him. They apologised as they cuffed him.”

With the expedient trial policy set up by new head of magical law enforcement, Pius Thickness, Stanley was sitting in Azkaban within four days of his arrest.

Viola Shunpike, Stanley’s grandmother, spoke to me in her private home in Clapham.

“We all just want Stanley home,” she said, through tears.

Mrs. Shunpike’s lawyer was also present for the conversation, and outlined the breach in justice. “The trial my client has received was a complete mockery of justice,” Mr. Theodore Fiddlewood said. “To be condemned based on one drunken statement and suspicions does not qualify as beyond reasonable doubt.”

The article continued on, going into legal details. It ended with Mrs. Shunpike crying, “I don’t know why we have Azkaban at all, if we’re just using it to threaten the innocent.”

Draco had to keep himself from smirking over his morning paper. It helped that Stan had such a public facing job. Sure, Draco and other rich purebloods had never met him, but a lot of wizards rode the Knight Bus. A large proportion of wizarding society personally knew a man who had been unjustly imprisoned by Scrimgeour himself.

He flipped over to the letter to the editor’s section and found a letter there under one of his mother’s pseudonyms (an old family trick when it came to dealing with the press). The letter outlined the long track record of Azkaban’s Wizarding Rights Violations and called for the abolishment of Azkaban altogether.

Now, by combining Sirius’ lack of trial, Stan Shunpike’s Azkaban sentence based on nothing but ‘suspicions’, and the expedient trials of the death eaters taken in the Department of Mysteries, public opinion was turning. Scrimgeour’s platform of safety was being replaced with one of an overzealous and dictatorial Ministry. Mrs. Shunpike’s pleas were held up as proof.

The very morality of having a wizarding prison guarded by dementors was being brought into question.

Good job, mum, Draco thought, folding his paper.

 Up at the head table, Dumbledore glanced impassively at the morning paper. Draco knew faking indifference when he saw it. Dumbledore was pissed.

“They’re doing it again,” Pansy said.

Draco started, but she wasn’t looking up at the head table. He turned in his seat. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were both staring at him. They stooped over the Gryffindor table, glaring at him and whispering. Beside them, Ronald Weasley sat with his head in his hands, ignoring the plate of food in front of him.

“Again?” Draco asked. He honestly hadn’t noticed anything. Now he refused to take his eyes off them.

“They’ve been doing that since we got back,” Pansy complained. “I mean, if Potter were staring at me, I wouldn’t mind. But both of them is just weird.”

“Pans, ew,” Draco said, not looking away from the pair. They were locked in a staring contest now, and he wouldn’t lose.

“What do they want? It’s not like you even did anything this time.”

“They think I’m up to something,” Draco said, still staring. Hermione finally looked away to start flipping pages in some book. Her hair was wilder than usual. Potter finally broke eye contact when she shoved the book in his face. Ha. Draco won.

“Make them go away,” said Blaise.

“I am,” said Draco, already reaching into his bag for parchment and quill.

To my adoring fans, he wrote. Then, he signed his name in the most swirling, unnecessary cursive he could manage. For an added touch, he kissed the paper with a big smack before folding it. He enchanted it and watched it fly over to the Gryffindor table before landing in the middle of the trio.

Hermione was the first to grab it, beating Potter. She tore it open, with her eyebrows pinched in confusion. She scowled and shoved the paper at Potter, who read it and turned bright red.

“You’ve got to shame it out of them, Blaise,” Draco said. They watched Hermione get up from the table and storm off with a stack of books higher than her nose. Potter, meanwhile, no longer raised his eyes above his plate. At least Weasley seemed to have a good laugh.

Pansy cackled. “Brilliant. Creative solutions, right Draco?”

Draco finished his plate and looked back to the Gryffindor table. Potter was glaring at him again. Draco stood and, with a little wave, walked out of the great hall with his head held high.

*

Someone was following him.

Draco stopped on his way to Trelawny’s tower. He could hear some first years giggling down one of the halls, the fire of the torches, and a second set of footsteps that stopped with his. Even last year, he wouldn’t have cared. Now, with the dark lord and his followers after him and his mother? He couldn’t be too careful. Too many students had parents that were involved.

No one knew about his friendship with Trelawny. He’d never taken her class, and no one had seen him come and go from her room. He couldn’t put her in danger. Thinking quickly, he turned down a different corridor. After a moment, the other set of footsteps followed, quieter.

Draco waited until there were no alcoves or statues to hide behind and then whirled around. No one was there.

…which gave him his answer. “Potter!” he hissed. “I know you’re there! Take off that stupid invisibility cloak.”

He heard fabric rustling, then he saw Potter’s floating head in the middle of the hallway. “How’d you know?” he asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “You’re not exactly sneaky. What do you want?”

Potter blushed. “I wanted to thank you. For bringing Sirius back.”

Draco panicked. His eyes darted to check the hall was still empty. Thankfully, it was. He grabbed Potter’s wrist and dragged him into the nearest classroom.

“Have you gone mad?” Draco asked, spelling the door closed and locked. He added several layers of privacy charms on top of it. Finally, he turned back to Potter. “My mother and I are fugitives. A good portion of this castle knows it. It’s one thing to be neutral and another for people to think I’ve thrown in my lot with you.”

 “No one saw me. I wore the cloak.” Potter held up said cloak. Draco continued to glare. Potter ran a hand through his hair nervously. “Sorry.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Potter?”

Harry cleared his throat. “I wanted to thank you, for bringing Sirius back.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably. He shrugged. He had his reasons, too many reasons. He couldn’t even put it into words at the time. He didn’t think he could explain why, even now.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Draco said, unsure how much he was lying.

“I don’t care why you did it. I’m just glad you did.” Potter said. He continued, much more casually. “You know Hermione can’t figure out how you did it. She’s been going mad. She’s been reading all these weird books on necromancy—"

“You think I’m a necromancer?” Draco asked. Necromancy was dark magic. A necromancer didn’t bring people back to life, they used corpses as puppets. As far as Draco knew, the last necromancer died two hundred years ago. Even Draco, with his limited knowledge of what it was, knew that there was no mistaking that Sirius was alive.

“What else are we supposed to think?” Harry said.

Draco snapped. “You’re not supposed to think of it. You’re supposed to accept it as the blessing it is—you’re welcome, by the way—and then never think of it again.”

Potter gapped at him. “Never think of it? Draco, I thought Sirius was dead. He was the only family I had left and I thought I’d gotten him killed.” Potter looked like he could start crying any moment. Oh no. Draco froze in panic.

Thankfully, Potter pulled himself together. “And now, because of you—” Draco flinched. “—I have him back. So, thank you.”

Harry wiped his eyes and Draco pretended not to notice.

Harry continued talking. “And now your mum is trying to get better care in Azkaban…”

“Potter,” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “My father is currently in Azkaban. I don’t think she’s doing it for you.”

“Of course not! But it’s still the right thing to do.”

Draco had no idea what the point of this was. He didn’t want to stand around and be an audience to Potter crying.

“Is that it?” Draco asked. He wouldn’t do anything as undignified as shuffling. He held himself perfectly still and hoped he’d get to leave this conversation. “Can I go now?”

Potter looked awkward. “You’ve done more than enough. I shouldn’t be asking anything of you, but I don’t know who else to ask.” Potter took a breath and braced himself. He bit his lip. “I just need to know, when you brought him back… You didn’t bring him back… wrong, did you?”

What? Draco stared at Potter. Potter stared back. “Um, no…”

“It’s just, Hermione’s been reading all these books on necromancy, looking for answers—”

“She won’t find anything,” Draco told him outright.

Potter looked frustrated. “Tell her that!”

“What’s wrong with Black, Potter?” Draco finally snapped.

Harry stopped his rambling and started describing.

“It’s like he goes from caring too much about everything to completely apathetic. He’ll spend hours grooming Buckbeak, or he’ll sit in a room and just stare at the walls. But then he’ll be really impulsive or really angry. I didn’t see much of it, but Kreacher told me.”

“The house elf?” Draco said wrinkling his nose.

Harry nodded. “He’s a lot nicer now. Remus said Sirius always had issues. I can’t blame him, after Azkaban and growing up in Grimmauld.” Draco suppressed a shudder, remembering what little he’d seen of the house.

Harry continued. “But he won’t talk about how he died or what happened after. Ron made a joke about Sirius seeing hell—which wasn’t even funny but Hermione nearly bit his head off—and I’m not ever sure if wizards believe in hell. Hermione found some old fairy tales about death, but she doesn’t know either. Not having Dumbledore and the rest of the Order around helps, and he’s getting out more, but he doesn’t have very many people to talk to. He refuses to see a therapist because, and I quote, If magic can’t fix me, no muggle talk-doctor can.”

Draco scoffed, remembering all the psychology research he did just months ago. “Of course magic can’t fix him. Mood altering potions aren’t made for long term use. All it would do would be to alter his personality, and his personality isn’t the problem. Well.” Draco paused and made a so-so gesture. “Seeing a therapist would be more helpful for him long term. Besides, isn’t Sirius the muggle-lover? He shouldn’t just be dismissing them.”

Draco looked up at Harry then to find Harry’s eyebrows had disappeared behind his fringe. Draco blinked at him. “What?”

“I don’t get you!” Potter burst out. “You say you’re neutral, but then you help me. You talk about mudbloods and how muggles are inferior, but you know about psychology, apparently…”

“Muggles are inferior,” Draco clarified, cutting Harry off. “They’re incredible in their own right, but also a scourge on wizarding society.”

“Still, you didn’t join the death eaters. You could’ve been the Prince of the purebloods, but you didn’t! You did the right thing and gave up everything to do it.”

Draco muttered, “I don’t know if it was the right thing, but it was a thing.”

Harry ignored him, checking off points on his fingers. “You pretend you don’t care about other people, but then you go and, I don’t know, help me with all my tasks, and bring Sirius back from the dead, and plan a whole media campaign to try and fix up Azkaban.”

“Again, my father is in Azkaban—”

Harry wasn’t listening. Then, because Potter was an absolute clueless fool, he said, “You’re a good person, Malfoy, and it ticks me off. I think you do want to help people, and that you do it however you can so that no one notices. I think you pretend to be aloof so no one notices how much you care.”

What a fool, Draco thought. Draco wasn’t a good person. That was completely absurd! He was a future Wizengamot member, and everyone knew that leaders weren’t good people. Good people wear their heart on their sleeve and then get the shirt stolen off their back. That was the way of the world. Any sign of generosity is an open invitation to beggars.

From any pureblood, Draco would take what Potter said as an insult.

But… Potter just said these truths? So casually? Like how he felt and where he stood on every issue. As if blatant honesty wouldn’t tell everyone exactly how to manipulate you?

Draco could feel a headache coming on. How did Potter always wear his heart on his sleeve? Didn’t he know the world was full of snakes, reared and ready to strike? Wizarding children—especially those from important families—had to be careful. There were con artists, thieves, politicians, and muggles to worry about. And instead of taking caution, Harry threw his lot in with them. He flocked straight to Dumbledore the moment he arrived at Hogwarts.

Didn’t anyone teach him? He understood to avoid Fudge well enough when he was Minister. He didn’t trust the press. So why was Dumbledore different?

Draco may have helped him a few times, but that didn’t mean they were friends! Trusting too easily would get him killed! He was Harry fucking Potter for Merlin’s sake! He couldn’t just trust anyone, let alone him!

Draco could feel the chasm between them, and wondered where it came from. They were supposed to be the same, the last heirs of ancient, important families. Not for the first time, Draco’s mind flashed back to first year, before they were even sorted. Potter wouldn’t even shake his hand! Why wouldn’t he take it? What happened?

When Draco didn’t say anything, Potter sighed and said, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have gone off like that. It’s just, I know I can never repay you. And I know that I have no right to ask you for help with anything, but can you just talk to Sirius? Tell him… I don’t know. Maybe you can get through to him.”

“Why should I help you?” Draco asked, crossing his arms to match. “What do I get out of it?”

Potter only rolled his eyes and looked at Draco as if he was the stupid one. “Malfoy, you’re not nearly as selfish as you pretend to be.”

All of a sudden, Draco was tired. He didn’t want to fight. He just wanted to go back to his room, shut his curtains, and pretend that he wasn’t getting the quiet treatment from all his dormmates except Blaise.

Potter wouldn’t leave him alone until he had a decision, and Draco was in no mental state to decide.

“I’ll think about it,” Draco said.

Potter just nodded. Draco knew it wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “Alright. Thank you. Just… let me know?”

Draco sighed. “I’ll let you know.” Then he took the privacy spell off the door and left.

*

Chapter Text

Harry and Draco’s conversation haunted Draco far longer than it should have.

Harry Potter, of all people, thought Draco Malfoy was secretly a good person. No one thought Draco Malfoy was a good person. He was not raised to be good, he was raised to be efficient.

And now, because Draco had a bleeding heart and a soft spot for a boy with green eyes and bad luck, Draco had a stalker. Harry started popping up in the school hallways, and Draco barely managed to escape each time. Even the hallways where Potter had no reason to be, there he was! Draco even had Blaise check him for tracing charms, he was so sure Potter was stalking him. How could Potter know where he was all the time?

He’d somehow misled this poor sod into thinking that he was his ally. No good deed goes unpunished, indeed.

It bothered Draco too much for him to find a way to use this. Harry Potter was exactly the type of ally his father would encourage him to keep close. He was brave when Draco was cowardly. He was caring when Draco was suspicious. And he saw the best in people. Draco could betray him at any moment and Potter would never see it coming. Gullible fools make great friends.

He had to get rid of Potter before anyone noticed.

The solution could be easy. All Draco had to do was say the words mudblood and Hermione Granger in the same sentence. Poof! Problem solved! Potter would remember just who he was talking to, and Draco would be free to hate those interloping mudbloods in peace. Maybe then Granger would stop glaring at him from across the great hall.

Except… then people would start to question why he hadn’t joined Voldemort when he got the chance. Was he a liar? Was he a spy? He did not need people talking about him.

Draco didn’t know what to do.

The problem came to a head when other people started noticing.

“Draco,” Blaise whispered to him in the library. “He’s back.” Blaise didn’t have to specify who.

He didn’t dare turn around to see green eyes watching him. Draco slowly breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. Screaming in frustration would only draw more attention. He very pointedly picked up his quill and kept writing. “What do you want me to do, Blaise?”

Blaise leaned forward over their potions essay and whispered, “On the train, you told us you were neutral this year.”

“I am.”

“This doesn’t look neutral.” Blaise glanced around to see who in the library could be listening. “Need I remind you that we share a room with Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, and Davis.”

“Nott and Davis are neutral,” Draco said automatically. Though Nott had been hanging out with Crabbe and Goyle an awful lot lately, and Tracey Davis had family members on both sides.

“Are they?” Blaise asked. “For how long?”

Draco held his pen still above his essay. He chewed his lip.

Draco finally turned around to look at Potter. Potter gave him a small smile and a little wave.

Beside him, Granger sat surrounded by books about Necromantic Theory. Most students had already given up on solving the mystery of Sirius Black, but not Hermione Granger apparently.

Neither of them knew a thing about subtlety.

Draco huffed. “I’ll handle it.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow at him, nodded, and turned back to his book.

*

Draco wrote to Sirius suggesting they meet up the next Hogsmeade weekend. He waited, but no response came. Whelp, he could tell Potter he tried. Hopefully that would be good enough for Potter to leave him alone.

Instead, he invited his mother for lunch that day. She promptly sent her own letter and declined.

Dear Draco, she wrote.

I wish I was writing with good news, but instead, I am writing with a warning. I’m sure you have seen The Prophet by now. Cousin Sirius is still on the run. Word at the Ministry is that Scrimgeour wants him back in his cell as soon as possible, or possibly in the Department of Mysteries.

I’ve no idea how He Who Must Not Be Named reacted to the news of Sirius’ miraculous return, but he must know by now. Some of your father’s old friends have been asking around, eager for rumours. They say The Department of Mysteries has increased their staff on the Veil. This is all speculation, of course.

The Abolition movement is not going to go anywhere, as popular as the idea is with the old crowd. The Ministry is more focused on capturing Sirius for experiments than justice, and public pressure is waning as time passes. People have more important things in their lives.

No one feels safe, but the dementor attacks of last summer have stopped, so people are putting up with it. They are upset, but not enough to force the Ministry’s hand. Nothing at the Ministry changes without outside pressure. Too many people would lose their jobs if the status quo was challenged. It’s a wonder your father managed there so long.

I cannot visit you as I am visiting your father that day. I have petitioned the Ministry to allow his family to visit. As far as they are concerned, you and I will be visiting Azkaban on that Saturday. However, I will be taking Rita Skeeter instead, as a last-ditch effort to sway the public. Please return this letter with a lock of your hair. As for why I am not taking you, neither Lucius nor I want you to see him like that.

In happier news, Mr. Fiddlewood and Mrs. Shunpike are getting on well. I think Mr. Fiddlewood is sweet on Mrs. Shunpike. If nothing else, at least something good came out of my meddling.

Much love,

Your mother

*

So, Draco was left to shop alone.

Hogsmeade was a lovely opportunity for Draco to get out of the castle, away from the crazies (cough cough, Potter, cough cough), and just relax.

He went to Honeydukes and bought some imported chocolate. He meandered through Scrivenshaft’s and picked out a new quill (eagle feather). He even spent an hour in the bookshop browsing. He left with a new book on divination, despite the fact he had quit. He just couldn’t help himself. He wandered down High Street, munching on chocolate and humming to himself.

Draco stopped his happy little shopping spree when his eyes landed on a stray dog.

This dog was black and shaggy and very familiar. It sat at the corner by The Three Broomsticks looking sadder than any dog had a right to. Its ears were pinned back, its paws crossed under its head, and it laid looking at the path from the castle. It was the most destitute dog Draco had ever seen in his life.

Draco wanted to kick it so badly.

Draco stomped towards it, and pushed it with his expensive shoes. The dog looked up at him. “You stupid dog. What made you think this was a good idea?”

Draco saw a passerby drop their mouth in horror at him. Sirius looked up at him with big brown eyes and his tail started wagging.

Was it… was he waiting for him?

Draco rolled his eyes. “You could have returned my owl! Stand up!”

Sirius did, scrambling to his feet, all four of them.

“I hope your wolf boyfriend isn’t wondering where you are. Honestly.” If Sirius was offended, he didn’t show it. Now that he was on his feet, Sirius trotted ahead. Draco stomped behind him, watching Sirius’ tail wag. He led him up a path into the mountains beyond Hogsmeade. Oh, great, now Draco’s shoes were going to get ruined by mud.

Sirius led him easily to a cave. Clearly, Sirius had been here many times before. Sirius turned and transformed back into his regular self. “Cousin!”

Then, so fast that Draco couldn’t stop him, Sirius hugged him. A hug.

Draco’s brain stopped.

“How are you? What’s happening at school? How’s Harry doing?” Sirius asked.

Draco stared at him. “Um, I’m good, I guess. Harry’s fine? I don’t know.”

“Aren’t you and Harry friends?” Sirius asked, tilting his head.

Draco scoffed and spluttered. “Did Dumbledore send you?” he asked.

Sirius guffawed. “Dumbledore can go die in a hole.”

Draco wholeheartedly agreed.

“Before you ask, I’m doing great!” Sirius said, smiling. His eyes were strained, though. “Moony and I are dating again. I’m helping him with the fulls. Harry and I are talking all the time. We had to find new mirrors, but we finally managed. He talks about you.” Draco did not have time to process any of that before Sirius plowed on.

“We’re redoing the house. Kreacher is even helping. Honestly, I feel like I’m finally living again.” Sirius said it with a smile and with his eyes wide. His bright grey eyes stared directly at him. Draco was reminded of a dog, eager to please.

Draco stared right back. “Seriously? Why are you even here if you’re just going to lie?”

Sirius froze. “What do you mean?” He started fiddling with his hands, going for the chain around his neck. Ah, Draco recognised it. It was the necklace that he gave him in the Realm of Remaining Memories, the one Draco enchanted so that they could leave again.

He was still wearing it.

Potter was right. Sirius wasn’t well.

Draco looked at him. “You love living so much you decided to pretend to be a dog and just wait for me on the off chance I showed up? Really? You’re enjoying life so much that you’re too busy to respond to a letter?”

“Well—”

“Harry already talked to me,” Draco said. Sirius shut his mouth. “I know you’re not well.”

Sirius got quiet then. Draco had no idea what was going through his mind. He sat down on the cave floor (ew) and waited. Around them, the cave walls dripped from the recent rain.

“I still think about it,” Sirius said finally, sitting down with him. “When I was there, it was the first time in twenty years that my life made sense. James and Lily and Monty and Effie… I missed them. And I was finally with them again.

“But now I’m back, and everything’s great. Better than great. I’ve got my life back.” Sirius got quiet. “But all I can think about is how I’m supposed to be with them.

Draco swallowed. “With your dead friends?”

Sirius took a moment before he nodded. “Moony’s been great. Honestly, he and Harry are the best things in my life. But… it feels wrong. How am I supposed to explain it to him? He grieved me. He thinks that me being back is a miracle. I don’t know how to tell him that I don’t think I’m supposed to be here anymore. He thinks he gets it, but he doesn’t. I’m supposed to be dead. I can’t just forget what I saw.”

“Sirius…” Draco said.

“Draco, please, just tell me how you did it. I just need to know. Whatever dark ritual you did, I’m not going to do it to anyone else, I swear. I just need to know for my peace of mind.” Sirius swallowed. “You didn’t do anything… bad, right?”

Draco sat frozen on the cave floor.

Draco hadn’t thought much about the Realm of Remaining Memories since he pulled Sirius out of it. There was simply too much going on. He’d solved the mystery of the Veil and he saved an innocent man’s life. That was good enough for him. With his father in Azkaban and school starting, he’d barely given the Realm or Sirius another thought.

Sirius had been paying for his dismissiveness. The last heir of the House of Black looked little better than a ghost before him.

Despite the weeks he’d spent diving into magical theory, Egyptian mythology, and memory to figure out how it was possible (because he knew it was possible), Draco still only understood the arithmetic. There was still so much he didn’t know. He’d only managed as much as he had because his divination gave him an advantage. The Veil was nothing like anyone thought it was. It wasn’t death. At best, it represented second death.

There was no guarantee that any information it could give was accurate. It ran on memories. Memories weren’t accepted in court. They were too unreliable and too easily altered.

Draco remembered the sitting room of Grimmauld Place and being so sure that Dumbledore could not find out about it. The man was not wise, nor benevolent, not like he pretended. He would find a way to use it as a weapon. Dumbledore had tried to use legilimency on him in front of half a dozen witnesses. He would not hesitate to try and use the Realm as a way to access everyone’s secrets. No one’s mind would be safe.

And even then, Draco doubted that Dumbledore would ever stop his quest for power to understand the Realm’s limits. The Realm had magical potential that Draco couldn’t fully comprehend.

Any living witness was a liability.

And what was Sirius but a living witness?

But… at this rate, Sirius would destroy himself.

Sirius looked at him with big, scared eyes.

“I can’t tell you,” Draco eventually said.

“Draco…”

“It’s not unnatural or anything, I promise,” Draco said, sounding unconvincing to his own ears.

“Please,” Sirius begged. Though his hair was groomed and his clothes were fine, his eyes were desperate. He looked every inch the madman people claimed he was. Draco knew desperation when he saw it.

How else was Sirius supposed to find closure? The man was dead, by the looks of it. He’d spoken to all his dead loved ones.

He had to tell him. Sirius’ life was being ruined by the lie.

Fuck it.

Draco leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I’m going to tell you something, but you can’t tell anyone else. Ever. I mean it. Not Harry. Not Lupin. Definitely not Dumbledore.”

One side of Sirius’ mouth quirked up. His eyes didn’t move. The rest of his face sat tired and deadpan. “You don’t trust me?”

“No,” Draco spit. “I’m not telling you because I trust you. I’m telling you because you deserve to know.” Draco swallowed. “You’re probably the only person who would believe me about how dangerous it is.”

Sirius’ eyebrows pinched in.

Draco took a breath. “The truth is: you were never dead.”

“Bullshit,” Sirius said.

“It’s true. I’m not some gifted necromancer like Dumbledore seems to think I am. If you were actually dead, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything. Going through the Veil doesn’t kill people. It’s a gate.”

Draco took a breath. “I’ve been calling it the Realm of Remaining Memories.”

Draco took his wand and used it to draw an archway in the dirt.

“My working theory is that when someone dies, other people’s memories make a… culmination? An amalgamation? It takes everyone’s memories of a person and makes an apparition of them based on their memories.

“That’s why all your friends were exactly as you remembered them, because you remembered them. It used those memories to create the world you saw there.

“My theory is that the more people are alive to remember them, the clearer the image should be. For example, I saw my grandpa. He could tell me things that I knew about him, or that Mum knew about him, or that he told my father, but he couldn’t tell me things that Grandma knew about him because she’s dead, too.

“Every person you’ve ever interacted with, you’ve known them differently than, say, their mother knew them, or their friends knew them, or their teachers knew them, or their neighbour knew them. Right after someone dies, their memory-image would be the clearest. But it’s not them, because the memory doesn’t know things that only that person would have known.”

“But… I saw them,” Sirius said. “I saw their ghosts.”

Draco shook his head. “Those weren’t ghosts. At best, they were figments. Think of it like a portrait. It can talk and act like someone who was alive, but it isn’t.”

“But I talked to James…” Sirius said. “We had conversations. It was James.”

Draco shook his head. “That version of James could have told you about anything that you remembered, or that maybe Dumbledore or someone who knew him remembered about him. But if you asked it to tell you a secret James never told anyone, he wouldn’t be able to, because if he hadn’t told anyone, no one would remember the answer. At best, maybe it could guess? But I’m not entirely sure anything in that realm has any consciousness.

“When I first entered, it showed me the grounds for the Quidditch World Cup. It was beautiful and detailed because there are a lot of people who were there and they all remembered what it was like. But none of it was real,” Draco explained. “No thing, no place, no person you saw there was real.”

Sirius sat on the floor of the cave. He turned away from Draco and looked off into the distance. Draco fiddled with his tie for something to do with his hands.

“I wasn’t dead?” Sirius asked. “I was just… trapped? Like in prison?”

Draco nodded.

“I didn’t abandon anyone?” Sirius said. “Not James or Lils? Not Moony?”

“You didn’t have any choice,” Draco said softly.

“But I didn’t want to come back,” Sirius argued. “I don’t deserve any of this!”

Which was such a Gryffindor argument, Draco could have rolled his eyes. “Don’t deserve what? A chance to live? Money? People who care about you? A house that is rightfully yours? I’ll take it, if you don’t want it!” Draco offered. “You keep going on about Moony and how he deserves better. Does he even know where you are?”

“Er…”

Draco reached over and flicked Sirius’ forehead. “Ow!”

“Get your head out of your ass before you ruin your life. And this time, it’ll be your own fault!”

“This is not what I expected of this conversation,” Sirius muttered, rubbing where Draco flicked him.

Draco gapped at him. “Did you think I would be nice?”

Sirius didn’t have an answer to that.

(This was Draco being nice. He was telling Sirius about his faults instead of just saying good luck with that and moving on.)

“If you want sympathy, go cry to someone else. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t have gotten yourself out of there on your own. You have nothing to feel sorry for.”

Draco stood up in the little cave and avoided hitting his head on the ceiling. “You are the last of the House of Black and you have been wronged. Have some pride! Stop grovelling on the street like a stray dog and do something!” Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out some parchment and a quill. “Here’s the contact info for a good lawyer. He can keep the press from you. Now, get out of this damn cave and go sue the Ministry for all its worth!”

Sirius sat there staring at Draco. Draco wondered if he heard anything that he said in the last ten minutes. Finally, Sirius nodded. “Thank you.”

Sirius stood up. Draco stood and stopped him. “And don’t tell anyone about the Realm. Got it?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“I mean it. It’s dangerous. The less people know about it, the better.”

“Fine, I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’ll let them all think you’re a necromancer and involved with dark magic.”

Draco nodded. “Perfect.”

Sirius shot him a look. “You’re a weird kid.” Then, Sirius clapped Draco on the back before pulling him into a hug. “Thank you. Really.”

Draco could only roll his eyes.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Sirius asked. “Even if I wasn’t dead, you still saved my life.”

Draco stopped. Favours in pureblood circles were more valuable than gold. He’d be foolish to walk away from an offer from the current Black heir…

“Other than promising not to tell anyone about the Realm?” Draco thought about it. He suddenly remembered his mother’s letter. He wondered if she was in Azkaban with his father right now. “Can you help my mother get my father free?”

Sirius’s face fell. His lips pinched like he tasted something sour. “Umm…”

“Sirius, please. He’s my father,” Draco said, only to realise his mistake. Sirius famously hated his father. Draco could see Sirius’ eyes harden just as the mention of fathers. Then, because Draco played dirty, he said, “What if it was Monty Potter?”

Draco watched Sirius and saw his expression shift from determined to defeated. “Shite,” Sirius breathed. Draco won. “Fine! I’ll, I don’t know, put in a good word for Narcissa or something. Sheesh.”

Draco kept himself from grinning too broadly. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sirius said, annoyed. “It’s the least I can do, I guess.”

*

After his conversation with Sirius, Draco was tired. He was not prepared to run into Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, and Davis all together on the path back to Hogwarts. Despite taking up the entire path, they weren’t walking on it. Nott laughed as Goyle tried to piggyback Crabbe, and then Davis tried to jump on both their backs.

“No! You’ll break my back!” Goyle called, trying to dislodge Crabbe.

“Make me float!” Davis said back.

Nott was laughing too hard to do much of anything.

So far, they hadn’t noticed Draco. The only way to the castle was around them. With a sigh, Draco kept his head forward and stepped onto the grass to go around.

He’d made it about halfway before Crabbe called his name and there was a loud thump. Draco couldn’t help but turn to see Goyle sprawled on the ground, while Davis laughed. Crabbe ran up to him. Nott trailed behind.

“Malfoy, hey,” Crabbe said.

“Hey,” Draco said to Crabbe. He nodded to Nott, who stood back with his arms crossed.

Draco didn’t know how to react. This was the first time Crabbe had spoken to him since ignoring him on the train. Now, Crabbe came up and said hello like they were friendly? Like this was two years ago when they were all still close, before Draco quit the Inquisitorial Squad and they became closer without him.

A small part of Draco hoped that something had changed. That they could be friends again.

Crabbe spoke to him with these hopeful eyes and open expression. “Have you talked to your mum recently?”

Huh? Draco was too confused to hide his reaction. What? Why?

Draco searched his brain. For a moment, Draco’s mind flashed back to third year. Crabbe had met Narcissa at many sleepovers. At one point, Goyle had told Draco that Crabbe had a crush on her. Was that it?

“About what?” Draco asked.

Goyle looked awkward. He was never one for tact. He preferred bluntness. Usually, Draco found it refreshing. Right now, Crabbe announced in front of everyone, “About getting our dads out. The Abolitionists.”

For a moment, Draco panicked. His mother hadn’t been officially seen for months. She was laying low, staying out of the public eye while Mrs. Shunpike was the sympathetic face of the Abolitionist movement. Publicly, his mother had no connection.

Draco shook his head. “That’s the Shunpikes. That has nothing to do with us.”

“Everyone knows that Fiddlewood is your family’s lawyer,” Nott said. “You bragged about it enough.”

Draco mentally cursed his younger self and his big mouth.

“Look, we know it’s your family. We just want to know how likely it is to pass,” Goyle said.

Ah, that’s what they wanted. Draco’s role in this conversation clicked into place. Over the past five years, whenever something political happened, Draco was the only one in their dorm room who cared. He remembered ranting in circles, demanding the other boys listen to him. In second year, it was about the heir of Slytherin and the dangers of muggleborns. In third year, it was regulations on magical creatures, and then what went into organizing the Quidditch World Cup. In fourth year, Draco was banned from talking any more about sports or tournaments, and he finally learned to be quiet.

Draco’s shoulders relaxed. They weren’t there to harass him.

Still, he kept his explanation brief.

“I don’t know what’ll happen with the Abolitionists. Right now, it’s just some public outcry. People complain about things all the time, but that doesn’t mean anything will come of it. The Wizengamot has to vote to make any changes, and no one’s brought a motion to them yet.”

“How long is that gonna take?” Crabbe demanded, the friendly façade gone.

Draco cringed. He thought back to his mother’s letter and their year of friendship and found himself telling the truth. “Maybe never. As much as it’s a big news story, it can’t stay the top news story forever. Scrimgeour hasn’t done anything because he’s trying to wait them out. The Ministry might release Stan Shunpike just to shut up the crowds, but c’mon, shut down Azkaban? We’re trying, but I don’t know.”

Goyle and Crabbe’s mouths dropped open. Crabbe looked angry. Goyle looked more resigned.

Behind them, Nott let out a sigh. Unlike Crabbe and Goyle, he looked relieved. “We already knew it was unlikely,” Nott said.

Davis, the only one of them without a father in Azkaban, stayed quiet in the background.

“The Dark Lord would have gotten him out,” Crabbe muttered, only to get shushed by Goyle. Behind them, Davis shuffled on his feet, looking uncomfortable.

Draco pressed his lips together. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Saying anything was a mistake when they were angry. “You’re not the only one with family in Azkaban, Malfoy,” Crabbe snapped.

“Screw this,” Nott said. “My father can rot in prison. Good riddance.”

“Sorry that some of us actually like our parents,” Goyle said to Nott. “Your dad sucks, but you don’t have to be an ass about it.”

Crabbe turned to Draco. “Yeah, Malfoy, you love your dad. Don’t you care about him? My father this and my father that, but what are you doing?”

Draco realised the conversation was over, unless he wanted to stay here and be the proverbial punching bag. He turned and headed toward the castle.

“See, I told you he was a coward,” Davis said.

Draco tried not to flinch. He had hardly talked to Davis. He wasn’t mean to him, but they were never friends. Still, the way he said it, with complete dismissal and derision, stung.

Draco, to his shame, proved him right by walking away. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and Nott’s agreement behind him as he walked to the castle.

*

Draco went back to his room and checked on Sirius’ future.

Yes, he swore he gave up divination at the beginning of the year, but he felt responsible for the man. If his conversation didn’t work, he wanted to know now.

Just this one time, Draco promised himself.

He pulled out his crystal ball, and he saw Sirius Black as an Animagus once again. The familiar black dog bounded outside happily, gently snapping at small children’s ankles. A lot of small children. There was at least a dozen. The kids looked delighted. So did the dog.

That wasn’t the image of the head of the Black family that Draco had hoped for. At least he looked happy.

He’s the head of a noble house and he still acts like a dog, Draco thought with disdain. Draco had no idea who all the kids were. He didn’t recognise any of them. Maybe Potter’s future brood? Or future Weasleys?

Whatever, Draco decided putting the crystal back away. Regardless of what the vision showed, Black was happy when he left.

*

Chapter Text

SIRIUS BLACK SUES THE MINISTRY FOR FALSE IMPRISONMENT! FORMER CONVICT SPEAKS OUT ON TREATMENT IN AZKABAN! By Rita Skeeter.

Draco read the headline of the Prophet for that week. Beside him, Pansy’s eyes bugged out of her head as she read the latest. Draco tried not to do the same.

Logically, Draco knew this article was a good thing. Azkaban would stay in the wizarding public consciousness. The Abolitionists would get more attention and pressure the Ministry to do something. Mr Fiddlewood was surely just waiting for the right moment to push another appeal through.

But the details….

…they were awful.

“We got fed once a day. I don’t know what was in that gruel, but it was as grey as the walls and had no texture,” Sirius told me in our shocking interview. “Our blankets had no warming charms. The walls dripped in the winter. The rooms were charmed to stay warm enough not to freeze, but the moisture would creep in anyway.”

At one point, Rita asked him about leaving his cell. “There was a courtyard we were allowed in for an hour each day. When we were herded there, I could hear screams echoing down the halls,” Sirius said with a haunted expression in his grey eyes. “It was physically impossible to be happy. If you thought of something joyful, the dementors would close in on you.”

Sirius Black also alleged that he saw a few unsanctioned dementor’s kisses. “I’m sure they told their families that they died of natural causes. I wish I could give you names, but all I remember was feeling absolute horror and praying I wasn’t next.”

When asked how he didn’t go mad, Sirius Black had a simple answer. “I knew I was innocent. It wasn’t a happy memory, so they couldn’t take it from me. I dreamed of revenge. It brought me no joy, but it kept my mind occupied.”

Black said that he managed to train his mind not to think. “It was a fugue state. The less I thought, the more I was allowed to retain. A lot of prisoners took to exercising to limit how much they thought.” Black shrugged. “It’s something I still struggle with now.”

Sirius Black did not have a trial due to what he calls, “a confession made in grief and guilt” immediately after the death of Lily and James Potter.

These revelations come hot on the heels of The Prophet’s expos é about the expedient trials of many members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight after being found in the Department of Mysteries in June. The supposed Death Eaters were all convicted and rushed into Azkaban within the week, with no public oversight. 

Draco couldn’t finish the article. The whole time he read it, Draco desperately tried not to think of his father.

“This was published last night in a special evening edition,” Pansy said, reading the fine print at the end of the article. “This is a republished copy. Looks like Pius Thicknesse is supporting the Abolitionists.”

“Thicknesse is?” Blaise said in shock. “The head of Magical Law Enforcement? He only has his job because Bones was killed!”

Pansy shrugged. “He can say whatever he wants. Nothing happens until the Wizengamot votes on it.”

Blaise shook his head. “What a hypocrite. Someone dies and he gets a promotion. Now he says he wants to release all the prisoners. Unbelievable.”

Draco sat there in shock, thinking of last week when he told his roommates it would never happen.

“Sirius is innocent, though,” Pansy said.

“That doesn’t mean everyone is,” Blaise countered. “If the Ministry is smart, they’ll forget the vote and just settle.”

“Do you know how expensive that would be?” Draco cut in. “Twelve years in prison, plus interest. AND as the last male heir of the Black Family, Sirius should have had a voting seat on the Wizengamot since his father died, so there would be loss associated with that. And you know how much the Wizengamot pays.”

“They’ll probably settle,” Blaise said, “even if it’s stupidly expensive. Throwing money at a problem is easier than rewriting ten years of Wizengamot decisions.”

“Twelve,” Draco corrected.

“That poor man,” Pansy mourned.

“Not for much longer,” Blaise said.

Pansy got up from the table. “I have to tell Millie. She and a few Ravenclaws are trying to organize a petition.”

Draco mentally went through a list of Ravenclaws in his head. “What Ravenclaws have relatives in Azkaban?”

Pansy looked at his sideways. “They don’t. They just think it’s the right thing to do. Or they want to bolster their resumes. Either or.” Pansy quickly finished her coffee. “I can borrow this, right Draco? Thanks!” And then Pansy ran off with the newspaper.

Draco muttered. “Thanks, Pansy. I wasn’t planning on reading that anyway.”

He was distracted by shouting down the table. Heads turned to see Montague gripping his newspaper and snarling at Davis. Davis had his hands up and Crabbe was sneering. Goyle jumped in and shushed them all. Nott sat down at the table ignoring all of them, reading his copy of The Prophet.

“Everyone’s gone mad,” Blaise muttered.

Draco sighed. “At least we have each other. We’re still sane.”

Draco took a sip of his coffee. Blaise fell silent.

“Draco,” Blaise said. His tone made Draco look up. Blaise was frowning softly. Draco set down his cup. “I’m not coming back after Christmas break. I’m transferring to Beauxbatons.”

Draco felt like all the wind was knocked out of him. “What?”

“Mum’s filed all the paperwork. I’m leaving England.”

It clicked for Draco. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Because of…?” Draco waved his hand around the great hall. They could hear Crabbe and Montague’s argument getting loud again. Snape strode past Blaise and Draco on his way to break it up. “Because of the war?”

“Who even knows if there’ll be a war,” Blaise said. “I don’t know the future. But right now, do you see how bad things are getting?” Blaise grimaced and met Draco’s eyes. He spoke lowly. “I don’t know how you sleep in the same room with them. I don’t feel safe, and they like me. France doesn’t have this bullshit.”

“But you’re a pureblood, which,” Draco said when Blaise opened his mouth to argue, “I know that doesn’t make it alright, but no one is after you. Everyone loves you. You’re one of the most popular people in our year.”

Blaise’s shoulders slumped in. He pressed his lips together. He looked around the room, again checking to be sure no one was listening. Blaise cast a privacy spell over them.

“I’m not a pureblood,” Blaise finally said.

Draco’s mind flashed back to his genealogy lessons. He knew Blaise’s ancestry for five generations. His African mother and his Italian lord father. Draco had seen pictures. Blaise resembled him, in mannerisms and build if not skin tone. “But—”

“He’s a bastard,” Blaise said. “Born out of wedlock between my grandfather and a muggle woman. Yes, he’s my father, but my grandmother isn’t my grandmother. He’s a half-blood so I’m a quarter muggle.”

Draco processed the information.

“Mum was ticked when she found out,” Blaise said. “Said it ruined my marriage prospects and that being mixed was more dangerous for me. She doesn’t believe in blood supremacy, but she hates being at a disadvantage.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. Blaise had been in manners classes with him since they were toddlers. He knew the ins and outs of pureblood society like the best of them. He wasn’t some mudblood in the first week of school.

“And you think they might find out and tell their fathers?” Draco asked. He didn’t have to specify who.

Blaise shrugged. “I don’t know, but you’ve heard them talk. They want glory. They’ll do anything for it. Right now, they think I’m one of the ‘good ones’. I sleep next to them. I just… I can’t. I’m so tired, Draco.”

Draco had never seen Blaise look so exhausted. He had deep bags under his eyes. His face was lined from the stress. Everything about him was tense.

Draco leaned forward. “Okay, but why are you telling me this? It’s a secret, right?”

Blaise shrugged. “You ran too.”

So he had.

Unlike Draco, Blaise could make a clean break. He could disappear to the Mediterranean on good terms with all his old friends before they turned on him.

If Draco wasn’t so disappointed, he’d be jealous. He’d ran from the dark lord, but he couldn’t leave England, not without his father. Draco had ran, and now he had to live with the consequences every day, when he avoided his old friends, not to mention every night, when he cast protection charms on his curtains.

Yet, he couldn’t blame Blaise. Blaise was the only one of his roommates where Draco knew where he stood. They trusted each other, enough for Blaise to tell Draco what was probably his greatest secret. As much as Draco felt like he was being abandoned again, Draco wasn’t sure what he would do in the same situation.

Finally, Draco reached out and put a hand on Blaise’s arm. Not his shoulder or anywhere too close. They were Slytherins, after all.

And because they were friends for so long, Draco knew exactly what Blaise would need to hear. “You’re not a coward. You’ve just spent too long being brave. This is a strategic retreat.”

Blaise put his hand over Draco’s and squeezed. Then, they removed their hands before anyone could see. Blaise cleared his throat. “Promise you’ll write.”

“Of course,” Draco said. They made direct eye contact. Neither had to remind the other to be careful what they put in letters.

With a nod, Blaise lowered his privacy charm and cleared his throat. “Do you think the weather will hold for the next Quidditch match…?”

*

When Draco showed up to Trelawny’s classroom, she had a chessboard out. She sat in front of it, staring at the pieces. The game hadn’t even begun and the pieces were still arguing with each other.

“What’s this?” he asked, already approaching the seat opposite her. There was no tea set either. Just the chessboard.

“A lesson,” she said. “It’s about time I started teaching you.”

“I quit, remember?” Draco said, sitting down.

“I know. That doesn’t mean you have to stop learning.” Draco opened his mouth to argue, but Trelawny held up a hand. “We won’t be doing any divination. Today is about knowledge.”

Draco chuckled. “Did the spirits tell you that I needed to know?”

“The spirits are the topic of today’s conversation, but no. You just seem like a very dangerous person to leave in ignorance.”

Draco didn’t know what that meant. Instead of asking, he focused on the chessboard. “Are we playing?”

“No,” Trelawny said. He looked up to check if she was being sarcastic, but she was serious. “How long have you been learning about Divination, Draco?”

Draco thought. “Near the beginning of third year, when you gave me my crystal ball.”

“Do you remember when I told you about my aunt?”

“The one who was murdered?”

“Yes, her. She gave a prediction a nobleman didn’t like and was murdered for it,” Trelawny explained.

Draco gripped the edge of his seat cushion at the reminder of danger. “Right, because people are dangerous.”

Trelawny shook her head. “No, because Divination is dangerous. Like I told Dumbledore, Divination is the most dangerous subject taught in this school. That’s why I teach so few.”

“You teach multiple classes,” Draco pointed out.

Trelawny scoffed. “I don’t teach a damn thing and you know it.” Draco laughed. “I’m not kidding. A prediction can ruin your life, and you won’t even realise it until years later.”

Draco didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded.

She motioned at the chess board, where the pieces argued silently with each other, miming threats. “Every single one of us is like a chess piece. Most of us are pawns. A few of us may be a rook or a knight, but most of us are pawns. The most we can do is move one step at a time. We are, largely, unimportant.”

 “Not me,” Draco murmured, only for Trelawny to snort.

“I appreciate your confidence,” Trelawny said with a smirk. She turned back to the board. “In chess, pawns don’t do much, and in the beginning, who cares if you lose a few? But in the later stages of a game, every single piece matters. You’ll get to the end of a game and wonder why you sacrificed your pawn so easily. A single move left or right with a single pawn can change the entire outcome.

“My point is: pawns are important. Every person is important. No person does not impact the people around them. Every single one of us, by simply being ourselves, can change the entire game.”

Draco nodded to avoid rolling his eyes. “I think I get it. Everyone’s important, no matter how small a role you may think they play, so we need to be careful with what we do and what we predict to people.”

Trelawny smiled. “Yes, but no.”

“No?” Draco asked.

“You still missed the point.” Trelawny leaned forward. “Draco, if we are the pawns, who are the players?”

Trelawny stared at him expectantly. Draco sat still. “Um… the people reading the tea leaves? Or the crystal ball? The diviners?”

Trelawny smiled and shook her head.

“Dumbledore and the Dark Lord?”

“They’re pieces too.”

Draco blinked at her. “Really?”

“Well, they’re probably not pawns, maybe a king or a bishop, but yes. They are just pieces.”

Draco sat back. So, who is playing everyone? Who was powerful enough to play Dumbledore, the dark lord, and literally everyone without them knowing?

Draco finally shook his head. “I don’t know,” he confessed.

Trelawny took off her glasses. Her eyes lost the bulbous look to them. She looked less like a bug and more like an old woman.  She leaned forward. “The spirits are the players.”

The spirits. Trelawny had mentioned the spirits many times, and Draco had mostly brushed it off. Calling on the spirits was one of her favourite go-tos when bullshitting. The spirits were mentioned in every single book on divination that Draco had read, but they were always vaguely defined. However, they all agreed that all answers were guided by the spirits or a spirit.

For the first time, Draco realised he had no idea what the spirits even were.

“What are the spirits?” He asked.

Trelawny started moving the pieces. She didn’t seem to have any sort of strategy. She swapped pawns and moved pieces from both sides, ignoring the actual rules. “Some people call them demons, but that is a bit too simple. I’ve heard the spirits compared to the fae before, which also isn’t quite right. Some are helpful, some are not. Most of them won’t outright lie to you, but they’ll tell you the truth in a way to manipulate you. They will use you just as much as you are trying to use them.”

Trelawny moved the king a few tiles. “Some feed off of emotions, good or bad, and their goal is to get a reaction from you.” She then switched the bishop and the queen. “Others have their own agendas, and they will use any willing person they can.”

She kept playing with the pieces, making the board messier and messier.

So, if we get our predictions from the spirits, and the spirits are ‘the players’, how do we know we can trust our predictions? Draco wanted to ask but struggled to find the words.

“But… they’re the ones that we get all the answers from,” Draco managed.

Trelawny smiled at him. “Yes, you see the problem. Despite all we do to invite them in, the spirits are not your friends.” Trelawny picked up the knight and held it in her hand. “I have seen them manipulate people for evil. I have seen possessions. I’ve seen lives destroyed. Some by me,” she muttered at the end.

Draco’s mind struggled to catch up to all the implications. “If we can’t trust them, then why do Divination at all?”

“Good question!” Trelawny said with a smile. “Why do you think?”

Draco hated all the answers he could come up with. “Because people are greedy. We want more and want to take shortcuts. More knowledge, more money, more promises.”

“It’s not just greed that drives people to divination. Often, it’s desperation.” Trelawny cast her gaze down at the chessboard. Draco could tell she was deep in her memories. “You remember your dream right before you and your mother fled? That was from the spirits. The spirits will help you, sometimes, for their own reasons.”

Draco remembered that dream, seeing the exact time on the clock and feeling the sting of the dark lord’s wand as it pressed into his arm. He cast the memory—dream—away as soon as he thought of it. “So, it might not have happened?” Draco asked.

“Oh no, it probably would have. But make no mistake: you weren’t warned for your own benefit.”

Draco processed that.

“The lower levels of Divination—what we’ve been studying so far—are all about interpreting what the spirits tell us. The upper levels are about trying to figure out why they said it and whether they can be trustworthy. It’s about identifying which spirits are telling us things, instead of what they are telling us. It’s about predicting what the people around us will do based on what spirits are following them.”

“We’ll start with this,” Trelawny said. Then, she handed Draco a copy of The Quibbler.

Chapter Text

Draco spent the entire next week reading his borrowed copy of The Quibbler. Then he read it again. And again. If Trelawny hadn’t recommended it so highly, he would have burned the damned thing.

“You can’t be serious,” Draco had told her the week before, when she gave it to him. The magazine sat in front of him. He refused to touch it. “It’s rubbish! How is this going to tell me anything?”

Trelawny calmly drank her tea. “I bet you thought the same thing about your crystal ball before you learned how to read it.”

He hated her when she was right.

Except his crystal ball ‘spoke’ in symbols and interpretation. The crystal ball gave him images and puzzles to solve. The crystal ball gave Draco something to think about logically.

The Quibbler was in English. Draco, as an Englishman, was fluent in English. And yet Draco reread the thing six times and could not make any sense of it.

“Snorkins adore lavender, hate purple, and are attracted to virgin blood,” it read. What is a Snorkin, virgin as in never had sex or as in blood that has never been used in a ritual, and what do you mean lavender isn’t a shade of purple????

“Nargles are known to infest mistletoe, so be extra careful this upcoming holiday season!” What is a Nargle and when did this article on magical creatures turn into a dating advice column?

“Cornelius Fudge’s army of Heliopaths loose in the Ministry!” Fudge resigned months ago. And wouldn’t someone notice if Fudge had a secret army of magical creatures? Frankly, Xenophilius Lovegood was lucky no one took him seriously, or else he’d be sued for defamation.

Draco felt himself getting more and more frustrated. He sat at a table in an alcove of a little-used hallway. Classes were in session, but he had a free period. He hid there, reading the illusioned text. He couldn’t go back to the Slytherin common room with this in hand.

He felt like Trelawny gave him a puzzle that defied logic. Worse, this was a test. Draco knew it. She had promised to teach him, and now he couldn’t do the first thing she asked of him. He was failing.

Draco Malfoy was not someone who failed. He braced himself and dove back into the latest copy of The Quibbler.

It shouldn’t be this hard. In August, Draco had opened a portal to another realm and saved Sirius Black’s life. This should be easy! But now it was mid-November and Draco couldn’t read a magazine article without shaking in anger and confusion.

Draco was smart. Draco knew he was smart. Things were supposed to be easy for him. Why was this so hard?

The spirits are laughing at me, Draco thought bitterly, words swimming in his vision.

His thoughts were interrupted by a soft voice floating over to him. “Hello, Draco,” it sang.

Draco jolted. He looked up. Above him stood Luna Lovegood. Draco hadn’t spoken to Luna in years.

“Cousin Luna,” Draco said. He didn’t speak loudly. He wasn’t supposed to talk to cousin Luna while they were at school. His mother sat him down before his second year and gently explained.

“Cousin Luna is going to join you at Hogwarts this year,” she had said. “I want you to help her to make friends if she ends up in Slytherin. Otherwise, I want you to make sure people are treating her well.”

“What’s wrong with Luna?” Draco said. Luna was the only cousin he’d met. He hadn’t seen her since he was ten.

Narcissa pursed her lips. “Luna’s not been well since Pandora passed,” Narcissa said.

“Is she sick?” Draco asked.

“No, no,” Narcissa assured him.

“St. Mungo’s didn’t find anything wrong with her,” Lucius said from the table, where he was reading The Prophet.

Narcissa shot her husband a look. “It doesn’t matter if there is anything wrong with her. She is still family.”

Lucius nodded. “She’s a few generations removed, but she’s a Malfoy.”

“But what’s wrong?” Draco said, starting to get frustrated.

“Oh, Draco. Pain changes a person. She’s just…more eccentric now,” Narcissa said in a way that Draco understood meant that Narcissa was being polite. Draco waited for her to explain. She didn’t.

Lucius just shrugged. He wore a worried look. “Perhaps she’ll grow out of it.”

Draco did not understand that conversation until September when he saw Luna skipping down the halls, her hair bouncing behind her. The other first years had parted to let her through, whispering after her as she skipped along. Even then, before she’d started dressing strangely and singing randomly and disappearing to who knows where, she was an outcast.

Luna, fifteen now, stood over him, staring down with a bemused but vacant expression. She was out of uniform, in a patterned dress with a crocheted vest over the top of it. In her hair, she’d woven multiple feathers into her braids. They dangled down in flashes of bright red amongst her silky, pale hair.

She smiled gently down at him.

“Cousin Luna,” Draco said. He looked down at his copy of The Quibbler, glad he had disillusioned it to look like a normal Charms textbook. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?”

Luna shook her head. “Professor Hagrid is letting me do an independent study. I’ve been telling him for weeks that the Gulping Plimpies are behaving strangely. I think it has to do with Yule, though they didn’t celebrate it last year.”

Draco might have kept on with Care of Magical Creatures if he’d known that independent study was an option.

As it was, this conversation wasn’t of much interest. “Huh,” he said.

“But then I lost track of the Plimpies, and found a trail of Nargles instead. They led me here.”

Draco glanced down at his copy of the Quibbler (still disguised as a Charms textbook), where he had a page on Nargles thumbed.

“The… Nargles?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “They don’t like you reading about them.”

…Luna shouldn’t have been able to see the magazine. It was illusioned.

Draco realised if he didn’t ask, Luna would change the subject. “How can you see it?” he blurted.

Luna didn’t answer. Instead, she tilted her head at Draco. The feathers in her hair swung as she did. “Have you ever seen a Thestral, Draco?”

Draco leaned forward and shook his head. “No, I can’t see them.”

“They say people can only see them if they’ve seen someone die,” Luna said. “I’ve been able to see a lot of things since my mother died.”

Draco shifted in his chair. He put the copy of the Quibbler aside. “I’m sorry about your mother,” he said, to be polite. He’d been fairly young when Pandora Lovegood had passed away. He thought he remembered his parents talking about some sort of magical explosion, but they never told him. “How did she die?”

“She liked to experiment.” Luna sang. She plucked one of the feathers from her hair and started playing with it. “She wanted everyone else to be able to see what Dad saw.”

Luna’s dad. Xenophilius Lovegood.

Draco waited for her to continue. She didn’t. “What did he see?” he prompted.

Luna turned away from the feather in her hand and blinked owlishly at Draco. “A lot of things.”

“Like what?”

“Snorkins, Ghorklepies, Wrackspurts… I’ve still never seen a Crumple-horned Snorkack, but I’ve seen regular Snorkacks.”

Draco tried to wrap his mind around all the ‘creatures’ Luna spoke about. Were these the spirits that Trelawny told him about? He glanced down from Luna to his copy of The Quibbler, then back up at Luna. He tried to suppress his excitement. Was this the connection? Were these… things… the spirits?

“These creatures… Snorkins and Snorkacks and whatever… do they ever talk to you?”

To Draco’s surprise, Luna laughed. “Of course not, silly. They can’t talk.” She paused and mused over it. “Unless they’re just shy.”

Draco slumped in his chair in disappointment. “So, they’re not intelligent?”

Luna blinked at him. “Is anyone?”

Yep, she’s a Malfoy.

Draco pressed his lips together and let out a long sigh through his nose. “I guess not.” Then he asked, “So what do they do?”

Luna’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“The Nargles and the Plimpies you followed. Where do they go? What do they do? Do they eat? Do they, I don’t know, always meet in one place?”

Luna scrunched up her face in thought. “I think they just do whatever they want.”

That did not bode well, in Draco’s book. “Are they evil?”

Luna paused, still like a ballerina. She tilted her head. “I’ve never thought about it,” she said, which was such an insane thing to say that Draco had to stop for a moment.

“I suppose they might be evil,” she said finally, wide eyes staring off into the distance. “I don’t know if they are any more good or evil than you and me.”

And wasn’t that just vague enough to be incredibly frustrating?

Sure that he would not get any more information out of Luna, Draco sighed and gathered up his books. “Thank you, Luna. Sorry for all the questions.”

“Can I ask you a question, Draco?” Luna asked, with a tilt to her head.

Draco looked at Luna in surprise. “Sure.”

Luna pursed her lips. “Who is that man who’s always with Harry?” she said, large eyes fixed on Draco.

Draco started in confusion. “What man?” he asked. “Weasley?”

Luna shook her head. “No. The quiet one. With the shifty face.”

Draco got a bad feeling. “Dumbledore?”

Luna shook her head. For the first time Draco had ever seen, she looked frustrated. Her calm, whimsical demeaner was lost. She still spoke softly. “No, not Dumbledore. The quiet man. He doesn’t talk. He’s about this tall—” Luna held her hand about shoulder height. “—and he’s always with Harry.”

Draco sat there and stared at her. “Luna, there is no one in our year like that. I’ve never seen a man like that.”

Luna dropped her hand. She turned away from Draco, looking confused. Draco watched her take a few steadying breaths. She ran a hand through the hair that wasn’t braided or tied up with feathers.

“Right,” she said eventually. She pulled herself together and turned back to Draco. She smiled, but it never met her eyes. “Thank you, Draco. I’m sorry to bother you.”

Luna gave Draco a little wave before she cast her head down, clearly troubled, and walked off. Draco could just see the stubborn frown on her face, not hidden by her light hair.

*

The Quibbler… still made zero sense. It was garbage. Draco would have burned the thing if Trelawny hadn’t recommended it so highly.

If Draco had met Luna a month ago, he would have said she was crazy. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

Who was ‘the quiet man’? Her father wrote The Quibbler, and clearly it was more than just nonsense. What was the connection between these creatures and the spirits? Were they the same thing?

He needed to talk to someone sane, and as far as Draco knew, the only sane person who talked to Luna regularly was Harry Potter.

This time, Draco was the one who needed to talk to Harry.

Stupid Potter, stupidly befriending everyone. Draco thought, stomping up to the owlery. House Elves and half-giants and mudbloods and blood-traitors. Only society’s rejects need apply.

Draco went up to the owlery, wrote Harry a letter requesting a meeting on Wednesday at 7 pm in the Room of Requirement, and sent it. He of course included a little doodle of a crystal ball instead of a signature. He also threw in a few other doodles to throw anyone off, including a tiara, a snitch, and some stars.

He got an owl back the next day. Er…I can’t actually make it that night. Dumbledore and I are having a meeting. Can we do Friday?

Why, why, why was Harry Potter having secret meetings with the headmaster? Draco could have torn his hair out in frustration. The stupidity of it all. Regardless, Draco wrote back that that would be fine, and sent another owl back.

See? Nice, normal, private. Much better at staring at someone across a crowded room until they acknowledge you.

Draco snuck up to the Room of Requirement after dinner. He had never been there before and wasn’t sure where he was going. It didn’t help that he was starting to feel queasy. Maybe the rumour that Hogwarts employed free elves was true. The quality of the food must be dropping.

He walked the corridor looking for the entrance. He was saved searching when a door appeared out of the stone wall and Potter poked his head out.

Draco followed Harry into the room. The room appeared like a nice sitting room. There was a bookshelf in the corner with books on Divination, as well as a fireplace, some couches, some tables and chairs, and a whole shelf full of crystal balls.

“Are you okay?” Potter asked. Draco must have looked worse than he thought.

“Just a bit queasy. It’s fine.” Draco dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

“Are you sure?” Potter said. “It’s just I’m usually asking you to meet up and when you want to meet up, it’s usually because you had a vision of something bad. Not that I mind meeting here, or anything.”

“Relax, Potter. I’m fine. I didn’t see anything. If you must know, I quit.”

“Really?” Potter said.

“Yes,” Draco said, taking a seat on one of the couches.

“But you were so good at it!”

Draco shrugged. “I’m good at most things.”

Potter considered that and nodded. Smart boy. “So, what did you want to meet about?” Harry asked.

Draco let out a sigh. Where to even begin? “You’re friends with Luna, right?”

“Yeah, we’re friends. Why? What about her?”

Draco pursed his lips. How could he say this so it wouldn’t sound like an insult? “She’s a bit of an odd duck.”

Harry burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, just, coming from you-!” Harry hid his face in his arms and laughed into the arm of the couch.

Beside him, Draco flushed. He crossed his arms and waited.

Eventually, Harry laughed himself out. “Luna’s odd, but she seems happy. She’s nice. A bit hard to understand, but nice. Why do you ask?”

Draco chewed his cheek, debating how much to tell Harry. He shouldn’t tell him anything, from a strategic standpoint. But Draco didn’t have anyone else to talk to. And he’d been reading The Quibbler for days without getting an answer.

“Trelawny has got me doing some research,” he eventually said. “In short terms, I’ve hit a dead end. I thought that maybe Luna would know something about it. But her answers were rather strange.”

Potter looked doubtful. “I don’t know, Malfoy. According to her, Gryffindor’s full of Nargles and Slytherin’s full of… what did she call them? Aquavirus Maggots?” Harry made a face.

“What in the world is that?” Draco asked.

“They resemble brains.” Harry shuddered. “Don’t ask how I know that.”

“Well, now I want to ask,” Draco said, only to get a stern look from Potter.

“Look, Luna’s weird, but she doesn’t mean any harm. I think she just sees things differently than the rest of us. Whatever she said that’s got you wondering, I wouldn’t worry about it. That’s just Luna.”

Draco thought back to the quiet man she said followed Potter around and worried.

“Besides, who’s to say it’s not true?” Potter said, oblivious to Draco’s woes. “Maybe she does see things differently, and this is just her way of explaining it.”

Draco sat up. “You think that Luna’s telling the truth?”

“There’s so much uncertainty in the world. Who knows?”

Draco scowled. “I hate uncertainty. I want to know what’s going on.”

Harry shrugged. “I never know what’s going on.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” Draco asked.

“Nah. It helps me roll with the punches when things go wrong. And things tend to go wrong in my life. A lot.” Harry scowled.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said.

“Eh, it doesn’t really phase me anymore. Bad shit happens, but also sometimes good things happen. Like getting Sirius back. That was good.”

Draco pushed down the conflicted feelings he had about all of that. “What if you can avoid the bad things?” Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. “You can’t. That’s the point. They’re after you whether you want it or not.” Right, Draco forgot who he was talking to. “Is that why you got into Divination?”

Draco shook his head. “I stumbled into it. But it’s helped me avoid a lot of bad things so far.”

Potter nodded, not pressing him. “I don’t think I thanked you, by the way, for all the times you warned me about things,” Harry said. “You warned me about Peter Pettigrew, then about the second task, then the fourth task—” Harry rolled his eyes. “—then about Sirius.”

“I’m glad to know I’ve been useful,” Draco said seriously.

“Shut up. I don’t care if you never do anything useful in your life again. Because of you, Sirius is alive. Hell, Cedric might not have been alive either if you didn’t say anything about the fourth task.” Harry sighed. “What I’m trying to say is, thank you, and I am sorry I didn’t listen to you earlier, about the dog and the gate or whatever.”

Don’t let the dog go through the gate, Draco’s mind echoed even now. “It wasn’t very clear instructions,” Draco admitted.

Harry snorted before his face settled into a kind expression. “Anyway, you’ve done enough. I’d still be friends with you if you never predicted anything again for the rest of your life.”

Friends??? Draco’s mind got stuck on. He quickly squashed down the hope that sparked up. Just because Blaise was leaving him didn’t mean he was desperate. Draco forced his common sense forward. There was no way Potter actually wanted to be friends. He was just using him for predictions, that was all.

“Did I tell you I quit?” Draco asked.

Harry looked up. “Yeah, you did. Like, ten minutes ago.”

Oh, right. “Yeah. Sorry if you were only hanging out for the next time I warned you about something.”

“I prefer it when you aren’t trying to warn me of danger. I’ve got enough going on as it is,” Potter said and sighed.

“Why are you meeting with Dumbledore, anyway?” Draco asked.

Potter sighed. “I could answer, but you said you don’t want to be involved.”

“You can tell me without me getting involved,” Draco said, his need for knowledge overriding him common sense.

Potter gave him a look and studied him for a moment. For better or worse, Potter sighed and answered him. “We’re looking for more Horcruxes,” Potter said. At Draco’s blank look, Potter clarified. “You know the locket Kreacher had in Grimauld last summer?”

Draco’s mind flashed back to last Summer. The locket. The evil thing. The bad feeling that went straight to his core and made him physically sick.

Draco gawked at Harry in horror. “There’s more of them?”

Potter leaned back on the couch. “Right now, we’re trying to figure out what Voldemort knows. Obviously, we can’t just ask him, so we’re going through memories. But one of them—a really important one—has been tampered with.”

“Do you know whose memory it is?” Draco asked.

Potter nodded. “Professor Slughorn.”

“That’s easy then! He loves you. Just ask him.”

“I tried that! I was his favourite student until I started asking about the memory. Now he barely looks at me in class and avoids me in the halls.” Potter scoffed. “He’ll still invite me to his stupid Christmas party because he wants to show me off, but actually talk to me? No.”

Draco glared at Harry and his helpless act. “Potter, did you or did you not win a bottle of Felix Felicis on the first day this year?”

Potter blinked. Then his eyes widened. Then he sat up. “Oh!”

Draco face palmed.

Chapter Text

Draco insisted that he be there when Potter used the Felix Felicis.

“You have one of the most powerful potions in the world. I want to see it work,” Draco said.  They were in one of the washrooms in the dungeon. Draco had charmed the door locked so no one else could come in. “I still can’t believe this is what you’re using it for.”

Harry looked at Draco incredulously. “It was your idea!”

“I know!” Draco put his head in his hands. “You could have changed your life, or defeated the Dark Lord in single combat, or literally anything with twelve hours of the best luck in the world. Instead, you’re running Dumbledore an errand.”

Harry’s face pinched up. “This is important! Slughorn may be the only one that knows Voldemort’s intentions in asking about horcruxes. He’s the best clue we have on how many horcruxes we have to find, and what they might be.”

Draco threw up his hands. “Dumbledore is a legilimens! And even if Slughorn is an occlumens, Dumbledore could just force him to give him the memory and then obliviate him later.”

Harry looked at Draco in horror. Not for the first time, Draco remembered the fundamental difference between them. Harry was a good person. Draco tried to accomplish good things.

“We’re not doing that,” Harry said.

Draco rolled his eyes but ceased arguing.

Someone knocked on the door. “Occupied!” Draco called, leaning against the sink.

“Um…” Harry said, gesturing to the multiple empty stalls.

Draco cocked his brow. “They’re occupied.”

Potter shook his head but didn’t argue. He ruffled through his pockets, finally pulling out the tiny vial. The molten gold colour shone even in the terrible bathroom lighting.

Harry gave Draco one final look. “Bottoms up!” he cried and then he tipped his head back and carefully drank a swallow of the potion. At least he was smart enough not to use all of it. Harry took a breath and recorked the bottle with half the potion still remaining.

Draco waited a moment and looked at Harry curiously. “How is it? Is it working?”

Harry flashed him a smile. “I feel great!” he said, bouncing in place. Optimism radiated off him. Draco wanted to squint away from his joy. “I feel ready for the Christmas party,” Potter said and turned to leave.

Draco stopped him. “Dressed like that?” He eyed Harry’s robes.

Harry looked down at himself, as if he didn’t see how his robes were threadworn at the bottom or the suspicious stain by the collar. “Yeah?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Honestly! You’re lucky to have me,” he said, and waved his wand. The robes transformed to a more stylish cut. All loose threads and mysterious stains vanished.

Harry looked at the transformation and then looked at Draco and beamed. “I am lucky to have you! Thanks!” Harry checked his watch. “Just in time! I have to go pick up Luna.”

“Right. You have fun with that,” Draco said, standing up from the sink to leave.

Potter straightened up. “I’ve just had the best idea! You should come to the party too!”

“It’s invitation only, Potter.”

“So? I bet I can sneak you in.”

Draco chose to ignore Potter. He pulled out his wand and unlocked the door.

“Please, Draco. I’ve got a really good feeling about this. I really feel that you should be there tonight.”

Draco pursed his lips. “I’ll consider it,” he said, mostly to get Potter off his back.

Potter grinned, taking that as a yes. “Great! Oh, you won’t regret it. This is gonna be so much fun!” Potter pulled his wrist out of his sleeve and checked… his muggle bracelet thing? Draco was baffled as Potter made his way to the door. “I’ve got to find Luna. I’ll meet you there!”

“Don’t forget your luck will run out around midnight!” Draco called after him as he ran out the door, as if Harry Potter was Cinderella. Would that make me the fairy godmother? Draco chuckled at the thought.

With that, Draco decided he’d had enough of Potter’s shenanigans for one night. He checked himself in the mirror, decided he was presentable, and left the bathroom to head back to his dorm.

Only Davis was in the dorm when he arrived. He looked up from where he laid reading a book. He offered Draco a nod, but no words. Draco gave a nod back. It was the friendliest they had been in weeks.

Blaise’s bed sat empty and stripped of its sheets. He just left that afternoon, but already the house elves had removed all trace of him. Draco’s eyes kept wandering to it as he made his way to his own bed.

He flopped onto his bed, his copy of The Quibbler crinkling from under his pillow. Draco mentally groaned at just the thought of reading it again. Term just ended that day. He was free from schoolwork until after new year.

The freedom should have been… freeing. Instead, Draco laid on his bed in silence, listening to the sound of the lake around them, wondering what to do.

Now what?

Draco laid for his bed for two minutes before he got bored. His mind was too empty to keep itself occupied but too loud to relax. He readjusted on the bed. He should just try to sleep.

Within a minute of closing his eyes, Draco opened them again. This wasn’t working. He forced himself to sit up and, with a glance over to make sure Davis wasn’t paying attention, pulled out The Quibbler, once again. He had free time. He might as well do something useful.

Draco waved his wand to open the magazine to a random page, already dreading reading the same words again, when the whole thing caught on fire. The paper caught easily. Within a few seconds and a puff of smoke, the magazine was gone.

Whoops.

Draco stared at the pile of ash on his bed in shock.

…maybe he needed a break.

…and he was just invited to a party.

Fuck it.

Draco stood up and went to his trunk. He ignored his crystal ball and pulled out some decent dress robes. Quickly, Draco changed. He slipped into nicer shoes and quickly spelled his hair into place. He checked his reflection in the mirror. It would do.

Without saying anything to Davis, Draco left the room. The door banged shut behind him.

*

Draco made his way to Slughorn’s office. Through the door, Draco could see that Slughorn decorated, covering the walls in fabrics and drapes to hide the fact that they were in a dungeon. Slughorn stood at the door, greeting guests. When he saw Draco approach, he raised a hand to stop him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but this is an invitation only event—”

Out of nowhere, Professor Trelawny popped up. “Mr. Malfoy!” she cried. “I’m so glad you got my invitation!”

Trelawny threw her arms around Draco in a warm hug. Slughorn stumbled back, wrongfooted. (Draco would have too if he weren’t trapped in Trelawny’s hold.) Slughorn quickly composed himself. “You know this boy, Sybil?”

“Oh, not at all!” Trelawny said with a wave of her hand. “But I did invite him. You know how I feel about keeping an eye on students with potential.” Trelawny stretched the word. Slughorn’s eyes went wide.

The next thing Draco knew, Slughorn was nodding. “Right, of course. I’m sorry for any misunderstanding earlier, young Malfoy.”

Draco wondered if he should say something, but Harry and Luna arrived at that moment. Luna wore a silvery bangled dress that moved with her. It didn’t look bad, but it was the brightest thing in the room. Beside her, Harry Potter looked rather dashing, now that his robes weren’t stained. His hair was a mess though, as always.

 “And if it isn’t Harry Potter,” Slughorn said, sounding the least enthusiastic Draco had ever heard him sound about the boy hero.

“Hi, Professor Slughorn,” Harry said. “Thanks for the invite. I wanted to ask you again—”

“Oh, look, it’s Sanguini. Excuse me, I simply must greet him. Special dietary requirements and all. He’s a vampire, you know. Perfectly harmless, I’ve just got to… excuse me…”

And then Slughorn was gone.

Harry stood in the entryway of the party, abandoned and blinking. He shook it off quickly. “Oh well, I still have another six hours.” A houseelf wandered by, carrying a tray above its head full of drinks. Harry snatched two of them off the tray and gave one to Luna before taking a sip of his own. His eyes widened and he broke into a grin. “This is really good.”

Draco promptly decided whatever happened from then on was Potter’s problem.

He turned to Trelawny when Slughorn was out of earshot. “What are you doing here?”

“Unlike you, I was invited,” she said. She flipped her long hair over her shoulder and waved down a house elf to get a margarita. “Horace likes to collect people he thinks are important, which I am.”

Draco looked down at Trelawny’s outfit for the first time. Trelawny truly dressed the part of the important seer tonight. Her velvet dress had gold embroidery edged on the sleeves. She paired it with her best shawl. The fringe was a string of (fake) gold coins that clinked together musically. She even traded out her usual wooden necklaces for mixed metals.

Draco cocked a brow at her. “So, you implied you had a vision of me doing great things to keep me from getting kicked out? That’s sweet, but you didn’t have to lie for me.”

Trelawny was too busy sipping her drink to respond. “Any luck with The Quibbler yet?” she asked with a half grin.

Draco scowled and blushed, not thinking about the pile of ash on his bed. Oh, she was taunting him, wasn’t she? “I can’t believe you don’t think it’s all bullshit.”

Trelawny laughed.

Draco missed her response when his eyes finally caught on Harry. Harry stood awkwardly at one side of the room, not even networking. He had a drink in one hand and was laughing with Luna. Draco watched them for a moment, looking for the Shifty Man that Luna had talked about. He was startled to see a pair of feet sticking out from under the curtain. Was that him??

The curtain moved. Draco froze until he saw Granger poke her face out. She hissed something at Harry and then disappeared behind the curtain again.

So, not the Shifty Man that Luna saw. Draco pushed that from his mind.

“C’mon, Potter, the clock is ticking.” Draco muttered. If Draco had a secret mission to get a memory from someone, he would not be this calm about it. He wondered if that was just Potter being Potter or a side effect from the Felix Felicis.

Feeling himself grow annoyed, Draco cast his gaze around the room to see who else was there.

Cormac McLaggen stood to one side of the room, dominating the conversation with some poor Ministry worker. Ginny Weasley and her boyfriend Dean Thomas were by the snack table. Thomas said something and Ginny rolled her eyes. He spied a few more students he knew but didn’t know well: Flora and Hestia Carrow, Melinda Bobbin. Very few attendees were Slytherins. Blaise would have been invited had he not left for France that day. With a start, Draco realised that he was the only one there with Death Eater connections.

Draco pushed past his outrage and cut a glance over at Slughorn. That made sense, he supposed, if Slughorn held an important memory he was trying to hide. Draco begrudgingly sipped his drink.

Trelawny wandered off somewhere, presumably to find more margaritas. Draco stood alone. That’s how he was able to catch the conversation of two strangers standing near him.

“Who is that girl with the strange outfit?” Draco overheard a lady say. “The one in the silver robes.”

The man next to her leaned close to respond. Draco happened to be close enough to hear. “I think that’s Pandora’s daughter.”

The lady gave a soft gasp. “Is it really? It can’t be!”

Draco snuck a look at them. He didn’t recognise either of them. The lady wore a green suit with a fascinator, while the man had on what looked like a military jacket.

“It’s been five years, so I think it is. She’s the right age,” the man said.

The lady in the green suit cooed. “Oh, that poor girl.”

Draco shuffled his way over to the couple. “Excuse me, I don’t mean to interrupt, but Pandora was my cousin.”

Draco received confused looks. “And you are?”

“Draco Malfoy.”

The lady’s eyes lit up in recognition before shifting to suspicion. “We don’t support the Abolitionists. Too many of my friends died to think that’s a good idea.”

“No, no,” Draco reassured her. “I want to know about my Aunt Pandora. Did you know her?”

The couple looked at each other. Draco waited while they communicated with their eyes.

“We went to school with Pandora,” the woman said. “She was a friend of mine. Bloody brilliant, that one. One of the smartest people I ever met, to this day still.”

Draco tried not to let his surprise show.

“She was great with magical theory. We all thought that she’d go on to become an Unspeakable. Then she met Xenophilius Lovegood, and he ruined her,” the lady hissed.

Draco’s eyes went wide. “What did he do?”

The man jumped in. “Nothing like that. Lovegood… had ideas.”

“And Pandora was so open minded her brain fell out,” the lady scoffed. “She was supposed to be the bigshot, and I was supposed to be the housewife. Look how that turned out. No offence, dear.”

“None taken,” said the man.

“What happened?” Draco said.

The man shrugged. “The usual with purebloods. She got disowned and was stuck marrying the man.”

“You make it sound like she didn’t want to. She did. Merlin knows we all tried to talk her out of it.” The lady shook her head.  

“He was always a strange one. It looks like their daughter takes after him.” The man gestured over to Luna, who was trying to teach Slughorn’s vampire friend how to dance, but it was unlike any dancing that Draco had ever seen before. “Tell me, does she talk about seeing creatures? Nargles and nimwits and such?”

Draco nodded eagerly.

The man scoffed and raised his Champaign flute to his lips. “Figures.”

“Ignore him,” the lady said. “Don’t let us cloud your judgement of your friend. I’m sure she’s a perfectly nice young girl. And besides, Xeno wasn’t always so bad. Remember when they started publishing that magazine together?”

Draco jumped in. “The Quibbler?”

The lady snapped her fingers. “Yes! That one! It wasn’t so bad. Not at first.”

“I’ll give you that. The first few issues were actually interesting. I don’t know if they were true, but they made you think,” the man said. Draco was rapt with attention as the man turned to him. “It used to be open for contributions, back in the day. Lots of alternative ideas there.”

“The thing really went downhill after Pandora died,” the woman said.

“At least it would have been instant,” he said.

“That’s not comforting,” she said back. She tipped back her head and finished her champagne.

“Frankly, it’s probably a good thing The Quibbler isn’t really around anymore,” he said. “Can you imagine all the letters they would publish about all this Abolitionist shit? At least The Prophet puts a limit on it.

“We might get to read some articles with sense then,” the lady argued. “The Purebloods all own The Prophet, and they all want the Abolitionists to win. Hell, what pureblood doesn’t have family in Azkaban?” She leveled at look at Draco, as if daring him to argue. “As long as they don’t mess up the country for the rest of us. It sounds like they’re going to get a Wizengamot vote, Merlin help us.”

“I don’t know, Sharon, the Sacred Twenty-Eight aren’t as important as they used to be,” the man said. “Malfoy was the real political powerhouse, and he can’t do anything because he’s locked up. Slughorn’s one of the last of his line and he just hosts these parties. I suppose the Abbotts and the Bones are important…”

“Were,” Sharon said. “Didn’t you hear that Amelia Bones was killed earlier this year?”

“I forgot about that!” he said.

“The Prewetts are basically gone, mixed with the Weasleys. Who else?”

“The Longbottoms,” he said with a frown. “There’s just Augusta and her grandson left. There’s the Notts, but Nott will never let his son inherit anything. He hates the boy. That’s if there’s anything left for him to inherit after all the gambling he did.”

That was news to Draco. He’d have to ask Pansy or someone later.

“Crabbe and Goyle?”

“I don’t know them well. I suppose we’ll see about the sons. Who knows? Maybe they’ll marry well and make a name for themselves, outside of their parents’ beliefs.”

“Marry who? They’ll only marry purebloods.”

The conversation descended into bickering. Draco didn’t think he’d learn anymore from them. He excused himself. He needed to think about what he heard.

So, Pandora wasn’t like Luna at all. That surprised him. He always remembered Pandora looking like an older version of Luna and assumed that she was like her too. Now he regretted not knowing his Aunt better. Next time he went to the library, Draco would look up early copies of The Quibbler.

Putting this new revelation about his aunt aside, he looked over at Harry. Harry was trying to talk to Slughorn and failing. Draco watched Harry approach Slughorn only for Slughorn to see someone else across the room he desperately needed to speak to.

In the process of failing to talk to Slughorn, another man sidled up to Harry to talk. Draco recognised him, even if Harry didn’t. The enthusiastic young man was a former player for the Chudley Cannons. It took a minute for it to click. Draco recognised him because he’d been promoted to manager last season. The man was very eager to talk to Harry. If Draco had to guess, it looked like he was trying to recruit Harry.

That is not what this luck potion was supposed to be for, Draco thought bitterly. He tried to shake the rising indignation. (He was not jealous. It was the Chudley Cannons, for Merlin’s sake.)

Draco drew subtly closer. Trelawny looked at him moving and glanced at where he was going, grabbed another drink, and followed.

“—not as many people trying out for the Cannon compared to some of the other teams,” the Cannons manager said. “Lots of our starters come straight from the Hogwarts teams. ‘Course, then they all want to transfer by the time they’re trained up.”

“My friend Ron is always complaining about you being a starter team,” Harry said. “He would have loved to meet you, Mr. Dorkins. He’s a huge fan.”

“It’s too bad he isn’t here,” Hermione said, sounding not at all sorry. Draco had no idea what Weasley did to deserve her ire, but she sounded unrepentant. Good for her.

“Your friend sounds like a great friend. Quidditch isn’t a sport for the weak of heart,” Mr. Dorkins said. He pulled down the collar of his shirt, showing off a patch of red scarring on his shoulder. “I got this from my final game in my last season, Cannons versus Harpies, from a stray bludger. It was my right shoulder, of course, so I can’t catch snitches anymore… But it all worked out for the best, because Hal Dendron stepped down shortly after. Now I get to be the manager,” the man said with a grin.

“That’s amazing!” Harry said.

“Nah, it’s not that impressive, really,” Mr. Dorkins said, buttoning up the top few buttons on his shirt and hiding the scar once again. “I’ve seen a lot worse. I’m just lucky mine doesn’t cause me much pain. But you must know all about scars, Mr. Potter.”

“Oh, yeah, I got loads,” Harry said easily. Too easily. Draco’s eyes fell on the empty glass in his hand. (There were supposed to be non-alcoholic drinks for the students, but what house-elf could deny Harry Potter anything?)

The Cannons manager blinked. “I meant the one on your forehead, but what else have ya got?”

Potter held up his left hand and showed Mr. Dorkins the back of it. He gasped. “I got this one last year. We tried dittany on it, but there’s only so much that will do.”

Then, Potter took off the outer layer of his robes. Everyone in the room turned to see what was going on, even Slughorn. Potter handed Granger his robe and started untucking his dress shirt, which… Potter. Potter no. Potter! Potter, no!

Potter rolled up his shirt to show a scar on his lower back. “This is from third year. I fell off my broom in a Quidditch game, my old Nimbus 2000. I must have scratched myself on the metal foot holds during the fall. Madame Pomphrey missed the scar since it’s on my back.” Then, Potter dropped his shirt back down. He croached to pull up his trouser leg, showing perfectly scar-free skin. “The acromantula bite would have left a scar, but Fawkes cried on it after in Dumbledore’s office.”

“Fawkes?” said Mr. Dorkins.

“Dumbledore’s phoenix,” Potter said, ignoring the crowd whispering about acromantulas attacking students.

Another woman who had been listening spoke up. “I knew phoenix tears had healing capabilities, but I didn’t know that would work against acromantula venom too,” she mused.

Potter shrugged. “I mean, the basilisk bite didn’t scar either, and Fawkes cried on that too. That’s probably the only reason I survived.”

Someone dropped their wine glass. The shattering of glass caught everyone’s attention. “You got bit by a basilisk?!” the woman gaped.

Potter blinked. “Yeah? That was, what, three years ago? I was almost thirteen.”

“You were twelve?!” the woman balked.

Potter nodded and took another sip of his drink. “It was when the Chamber of Secrets was opened.”

Someone else who hadn’t been part of the conversation a minute ago scoffed. “I don’t believe that—”

“It’s true,” Ginny Weasley cut in, having joined the conversation too. “I was there.”

Just behind her, Dean Thomas cut her a harsh look. “Ginny…”

“It’s true!” she hissed back. “It happened to me, and I’ll talk about it if I want to talk about it.”

Even Slughorn inched his way closer as all of his important guests crowded around. Draco thought it was rather lucky that Potter was tipsy, otherwise he would never be able to handle this much attention.

“What happened to the basilisk?” another man asked.

“It’s dead,” both Harry and Ginny said.

“Yes, but what happened to it?” The man pressed.

At Harry’s confused expression, Hermione clarified. “He means what happened to the body.”

“Oh!” Potter said. “It’s probably still there. Unless the house elves or someone cleaned it up…?”

At this, every eye in the room swivelled down to the closest house elf, who stood in the middle of the crowd holding an empty platter. It squeaked. “We’s did not!

Potter shrugged. “Then it’s probably still there. I don’t think anyone else could have entered the Chamber.”

The crowd murmured.

Draco, for once the bravest soul in the room, asked the question that everyone else wanted to. “Can we see it?”

*

That’s how an entire party of students and tipsy adults wound up wandering down the corridor laughing and trying to keep quiet. At least one person spilled their liquor. Draco walked with Luna and Trelawny, who both seemed unbothered by this turn of events. Luna skipped along, humming as she went.

Draco craned his neck, only to see the group turn into the girls’ bathroom. “Do they know where we’re going?”

Trelawny only shrugged and took a sip of the drink from her left hand, being careful not to spill the drink in her right.

Behind them, Ginny Weasley and Dean Thomas argued in loud whispers. “We don’t have to go down there, Gin. You don’t have to prove yourself to anyone—”

“I want to go, Dean,” she argued back. “Why can’t you just believe me when I say something? I’m not some delicate little girl.”

“You almost died, Ginny—”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

“—and you won’t talk about. Forgive me for trying to protect you.”

“See, that’s the problem! I don’t need your protection!”

“Then what am I even here for?” Dean Thomas said, frustration lacing his words.

(Draco made a mental note to tell Pansy about this later.)

Trelawny leaned toward him. Somehow, she didn’t seem tipsy at all. “That doesn’t sound good.”

On his other side, Luna nodded. “They’re both covered in Dadderblimps. That can’t be healthy.”

Draco didn’t even ask.

Finally, the whole group crowded into the girls’ bathroom. They shuffled together, getting too close for comfort. Moaning Myrtle floated above their heads. Up ahead, Potter motioned at one of the sinks. “This is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.”

From behind Draco, Dean Thomas whispered, “Is he joking?”

No one else spoke as Harry approached the sink. From where Draco stood, he could just make out that the handles on the sink were more detailed than all the others. He was just about to sneak forward for a better look when Potter opened his mouth and hissing came out of it.

Parselmouth, Draco barely had time to think before the sink started shaking. Within moments, the handles turned themselves. The porcelain sink folded itself into the wall and the mirror above it parted. With the creaking of gears and old magic, the sink removed itself. Where it was sat a hollow in the wall that dropped down into the darkness.

Around him, the crowd clapped politely.

“So, yeah, that’s the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets. Er… we’ll need brooms or something to get down. Oh!” Harry said as if suddenly remembering. “It’s a good thing I left my firebolt out. Accio Firebolt!”

Not a minute later, the broom flew into the room, earning Potter another round of applause. The manager of the Chudley Cannons was practically swooning. Then, before Potter could arrange who would go first, another man loudly told Potter about wyvern translators. “We breed wyverns and dragons, and we’re always looking for new translators. If you ever need a job, I could get you one.” This earned the wyvern breeder a cold glare from Mr. Dorkins.

Harry just grinned at both of them. “Really? Wow! I didn’t even know that was an option.”

Draco felt a headache coming on. Potter had two job offers and still no sign of getting the memory. Focus Potter! Draco felt like yelling.

Potter started ferrying everyone down. A few of the house elves offered to apparate people down, which seemed far safer in Draco’s opinion. There was no way Draco was sharing a broom with Potter.

Draco leaned toward Trelawny. “Are you going?”

“Duh,” Trelawny said, her face morphing into an evil grin. She handed off her empty glasses to a house elf and rubbed her hands together. “Minerva is going to be so jealous.”

Luna looked on with a worry line between her brows. “It’s awfully dark,” she said.

Ginny sidled up next to her. “If you want to go, go now ‘cause we’ll never get another chance to go with a whole crowd of people.”

Draco scanned the crowd and didn’t see Dean Thomas anywhere. Draco should have been able to find him easily with the crowd quickly disappearing down the chamber entrance. He couldn’t help himself. “Where’s your boyfriend?” he asked.

Ginny scowled. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Really?” Potter said, the lucky bastard having just returned from the depths below. He held his broom in one hand. His hair looked handsomely windswept. His robes were still somehow clean. “That’s too bad, Gin. I’m sorry.”

Ginny snorted. “I’m not. Let’s go. I want to see the Chamber again so I can put it to rest.”

Harry cocked his head. “You sure?”

“Yes,” Ginny said without hesitation. Potter shrugged and motioned for Ginny to get on the broom with him. She did with a blush, and then they both disappeared down the tunnel behind the sink.

Not waiting for a personal ride with Harry, Draco took the next available house elf and apparated down.

They appeared in a dark tunnel, if you could call it that. It was basically a cave, stalactites and all. The only light was from the wandlight of all the party goers already down there. The rocks around them gleamed with dripped water. Draco flinched away from whatever dark substance was growing on it.

While waiting, someone approached Slughorn. “I’m not used to your parties having field trips!” He laughed jovially.

“Ha ha.” Slughorn looked and sounded uncomfortable as he laughed along. 

Trelawny and Luna soon appeared beside Draco. Neither of them seemed bothered by the dark. They both lit their wands.

“This way!” Potter called cheerily. The crowd stuck close to him.

“Some field trip,” Draco muttered.

As they walked, Ginny kept with Potter near the front.

Draco walked closer to Trelawny, keeping an eye on the two in front of them. He spoke in low tones. “I don’t get why Ginny wants to be here. Didn’t she almost die down here?”

Trelawny shot him a look. “She’s a Gryffindor, Draco. She probably wants to confront her fears.”

“Can’t relate,” Draco said. “You sure she doesn’t just want to hit on Potter?”

 “Young ladies can multitask,” Trelawny said.

Luna hummed. “Yes, Nargles are known to help clear up the Dadderblimps.”

Trelawny groaned. “If only all my problems were that easy to solve.”

Draco suddenly remembered something he read in the Quibbler. “Luna, Nargles are attracted to mistletoe, right?”

Luna grinned at Draco. “Yes!”

Draco shot a glance up to Ginny and Harry. Their hands brushed. “Is it the mistletoe they like, or just people liking each other?”

Luna laughed. “What else is mistletoe used for?”

Draco looked forward to where Ginny Weasley and Harry walked together. He squinted, as if he could see the Shifty Man following Harry or the Nargles or the Dadderblimps at any moment. Even in the wand light, he saw nothing. Whatever Luna saw was beyond him.

Finally, the tunnel opened up.

The cavern before them was large enough for an entire wing of Hogwarts to sink into. It was easily several stories high and deeper than it was wide. Black tiles lined the floor, in contrast to the stone walls and pillars surrounding them. Even more stunning were the faces carved into the rock walls. Draco recognised the faces of the Hogwarts founders, as well as Merlin, Arthur, and several other pureblood wizards of the great age. At the very far end of the cavern, Salazar Slytherin’s face stood carved into white stone, overlooking a raised platform.

The group fanned out, marvelling at the sheer size of the space.

“Why aren’t we practicing Quidditch down here?” McLaggen said. Which… that was a great idea, actually. Huh, Draco thought, maybe he’s smarter than I gave him credit for.

Only after he said it did Draco notice the giant corpse laying near the front of the room.

“There it is,” Potter said, sounding much more subdued than he did on the way down.

Draco did not want to approach the giant dead beast, but the rest of the party started moving forward. He saw Ginny take Harry’s hand.

The beast—the Basilisk—lay dead and unmoving, barely decayed since its death almost four years prior. Only its eyes had withered away, though there were scratches around them from someone blinding it. Good. Despite the soft tissue starting to rot, its skin, teeth and bones seemed in good condition. Its scales shone a brilliant green in the magical light.

“It’s huge,” said the wyvern breeder. He ran forward. Everyone else crept forward behind him. “It’s in great condition, too!”

“It must be worth a fortune!” Sanguini said. “Do you know how much just the teeth would be worth?”

“Er… no,” Harry said.

“A lot,” he said.

“What are you planning on doing with it?” the lady in the green suit asked.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked.

“Aren’t you going to sell it?” the wyvern breeder said.

“Doesn’t it belong to Hogwarts?” Harry asked.

Sanguini shook his head. “Slayer’s Rule should apply.”

Hermione put a hand to her chin. “According to the Department of Magical Creatures, the slayer of the beast gets the bounty. Technically, since you were underage, you could argue that it should go to your magical guardian, which in this case would be Dumbledore. But it’s been years and he hasn’t done anything, so even if Dumbledore had claimed ownership, the property has since been abandoned. Since you’re sixteen now and that’s the age for most slayer’s licences, rights to its harvest would return to you, Harry.”

Harry nodded slowly. “So, how much is it worth?”

“Millions!” The wyvern breeder said, running his hands along its scales. The man was practically jumping up and down in excitement. “I think it was a female.”

“Huh,” Harry said. “Now I feel bad.”

“Don’t,” Ginny said. “It was you or it.”

The wyvern breeder ran off somewhere. The rest of the guests fanned out around the creature, taking in the sight. Sanguini inspected its teeth, while the couple Draco had talked to earlier discussed its scales. At least one guest had a camera and took pictures.

“There are eggs!” the wyvern breeder cried from the backroom behind Salazar’s mouth. He ran back to the entrance and yelled from there. “Three of them. Merlin knows when they were laid, but since they’ve been this close to a magical source, they should have been able to sustain themselves.”

“That’s great,” Ginny said flatly. Her face had taken on a greenish tinge.

“I know!” the wyvern breeder responded excitedly, practically bouncing.

“Aren’t those illegal to breed?” Draco asked.

“They are in Europe. That’s why the eggs are so valuable, since we aren’t breeding them. There’ll be lots of interested buyers, though the Chinese might try to buy them for their breeding program, since it’s been centuries since they’ve been able to get new genetic stock.”

While the Wyvern breeder happily prattled on. Only Hermione was really listening, asking detailed questions and getting detailed answers, unlike how she ever had with Hagrid teaching Care of Magical Creatures. Draco had half an ear to listen as well, but his eyes caught on Professor Slughorn.

Slughorn stepped forward from the back of the group. He approached the carcass, standing next to Harry. His face was pale and his chin wobbled with his shaking. “You killed this when you were twelve?”

Harry rubbed his neck. “I mean, Fawkes helped me.”

“Fawkes…? You mean the bird?” Slughorn asked with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry said. At Slughorn’s horrified face, Harry quickly jumped in. “Don’t look at me like that. It is what it is. I know it isn’t fine, but it’s better if I don’t think about it.”

Slughorn, for his part, said nothing. They both stood, surveying the party goers as they walked around the dead beast.

“Harry,” Slughorn said. “I want to apologize for how I’ve acted towards you these past few weeks.”

“Oh, that’s—” Harry said, trying to shrug it off, like the noble idiot he was.

“No, no, let me finish,” Slughorn cut in. “I don’t think I will ever understand you. You’ve had to be far braver in your life than I have ever had to be in mine. I have survived the past twenty years by hiding. It’s what’s kept me alive, being cowardly. I see now what a luxury that is.” Slughorn heaved a deep sigh. “I think it’s time that I started being brave, too.”

Harry looked up at him, his eyes round. “What are you saying?”

Slughorn rifled through the pockets of his robe and pulled out an empty vial. Closing his eyes and relaxing his shoulders, Slughorn put his wand to his temple and slowly pulled. A wispy, white vapour appeared, attached to the tip of his wand. Finally, the memory snapped free of Slughorn’s head and floated freely, only attached to the wand. Slughorn carefully put it in the vial and sealed it.

“I believe this is what you were looking for,” he said.

Harry held out his hand and let Slughorn place the memory vial in it. Harry looked back up at him. “Thank you,” he said.

Slughorn nodded and turned away from Harry.

Harry interrupted him. “For what it’s worth, I never thought you were a coward.”

Slughorn gave a soft chuckle. “You didn’t have to. It’s what I was.”

Harry gave him a smile of understanding, before running back to Ginny and Hermione. Draco watched him go. They all huddled together as Harry explained what happened. The next thing Draco knew, Harry and Ginny were running towards the entryway, no doubt looking for a penseive. Hermione, meanwhile, stayed behind to talk to the elves about how to move such a large beast.

Draco cast a tempus to check the time. It wasn’t even half nine yet.

He still had over two and a half hours of luck left, and Harry had already gotten:

1. Two job offers,
2. His crush to break up with her boyfriend,
3. A literal fortune,
4. The memory he actually wanted, and
5. The recognition he should have gotten years ago.

You lucky bastard, Draco thought.

“I give up,” Draco said, turning away from the Basilisk. “I’m going to bed.”

Chapter Text

The rest of Christmas break passed quietly for Draco.

Harry Potter disappeared after the Christmas party, no doubt spirited away back to Grimmauld Place with Black and Lupin. Draco spent one Christmas there as a child. He doubted that Black would allow the place to be decorated anything like the arsenic green in Draco’s memory.

For the first time, Draco was staying at Hogwarts for all of the Christmas holidays, not just for a portion of it. Until his father was free from Azkaban, the grand Christmas parties of Malfoy Manor were a thing of the past. They couldn’t spend their Christmas holidays in the Summer home either. It was compromised, Narcissa wrote. After Draco pressed for more information, she admitted that she hadn’t been there in months. She’d been sleeping either in a rented office or on Aunt Andromeda’s couch.

Don’t worry about me, she wrote. It will all be worth it once your father is free.

They met in Hogsmeade for dinner on Christmas Eve. Narcissa wrapped her head in a scarf to hide her hair. Draco sat with his hat on and his back towards the room.

“Dumbledore is losing popularity, fast,” Narcissa explained in hushed whispers over their simple dinner at The Three Broomsticks. “Word got out somehow that he’s been hiding a Basilisk in the school. A Basilisk! Parents are furious. I’m furious.” Narcissa’s voice grew louder as she spoke. She huffed and brought the volume down. “I think there’s enough supporters on the Wizengamot to force a vote.”

“That’s good,” Draco said. “What do we do if the vote doesn’t happen?”

Narcissa shook her head. “I don’t know. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what to do.” Narcissa chewed her lip. She lowered her voice even further. “We’re already fugitives. Maybe we’ll have to skip the legal route.”

Draco tried not to let his eyes go too wide. “No wonder Father loves you.”

Narcissa smiled. “Thank you, but I’m just doing what I have to for my husband.”

“Most people wouldn’t try this hard,” Draco said.

Narcissa gave him a wicked smile. “We aren’t most people, my Dragon.”

*

The only other person in Draco’s dorm staying for Christmas was Theodore Nott. Nott wasn’t talking to Draco. That was fine.

In fact, Draco was better than fine because Draco finally had a lead on Trelawny’s spirit mumbo jumbo.

After that conversation about Pandora Lovegood at the Christmas party, Draco went back to the library. This time, instead of reading the latest copy of The Quibbler, he pulled the oldest.

Pandora Lovegood née Malfoy, unlike her husband, was a brilliant writer who knew how to explain things. (Though going from a Malfoy to a Lovegood was a downgrade, in Draco’s humble and non-biased opinion.) She was also the Editor of The Quibbler, as Draco learned reading the Letter from the Editor.  

Dear Reader,

It is with great joy that I get to introduce the first copy of The Quibbler. To understand where this magazine came from, you have to first understand my husband and me.

When I first met my husband, I thought he was completely insane. We were very much opposites. While I was top of my classes and eager to learn, Xenophilius hated school. He would skip class and walk the grounds for hours. Frankly, I thought he was mad.

I only spoke to him because we were assigned a project together in History of Magic. It was the most frustrating project I had ever done. I wanted to present what the textbook said, but he argued. He said if we wanted accurate information, we needed to find original documents and interview witnesses. I relented, sure that doing it the long way would make no difference.

What I found instead was that the sources the textbook relied on were second hand. Every inaccuracy we found grated on me. The biggest shock was when I learned that the textbook could not be published until an entire chapter was removed for casting the Ministry in a bad light. Not just rewritten. Erased.

After that, I started looking into other things he said, researching and asking experts, only to become frustrated when he turned out to be right. I wanted to know how. Over the course of ‘studying’ him—as my friends joked about our budding friendship—I learned that so much of what we were taught was simply theories, many of which had already been proven untrue. I also learned that much of what we dismissed as ‘ridiculous’ and ‘unscientific’ were left unstudied, often purposefully to protect company profits.

At our wedding, my Maid of Honour joked, “When Pandora finally found a mystery she couldn’t solve, she married him.” I disagree. Though my husband is unusual, he has never been a mystery. He is honest, talented and inquisitive beyond any measure. Over the course of our marriage, I have seen things that I would have thought impossible, even as a witch.  

The Quibbler is our brainchild, in a way. Alternative publications often get a bad rap. When we approached traditional publishing houses and newspapers, we were rejected, ignored, or outright laughed at. Wizarding publishing, we soon learned, is a monopoly, controlled by a few and supported by the Ministry. We were left with one option: to start our own publication and include the types of articles we wanted to read.

The Quibbler is our way to explore and share the limits of what is possible. Though some of our ideas may seem eccentric, please read with an open mind. Not every article we write will be for everybody, but we hope that by publishing them, the right person will stumble upon an idea they were waiting for.

If you or a loved one have an idea for an article or want to contribute, please write to let us know!

Signed,

Pandora Lovegood, Editor of The Quibbler

Something about reading a letter of a dead woman’s hopes and dreams made Draco stop. He’d barely known his aunt, but for the first time, he acutely felt the loss that her death must have been.

The original Quibbler hadn’t decided its formula. It published anything and everything: academic articles, opinion pieces, even student debate pieces. Draco flipped through in fascination.

The first article was an exposé on Dreamless Sleep addiction. Huh. Draco checked the year on the magazine: 1984. Two whole years before Dreamless Sleep became a known addictive potion.

Next was “A Squib’s Guide to Potioneering.” Draco didn’t know squibs could make potions. He read on in fascination. Non-magical traditional remedies could avoid negative interactions with potions. The article claimed that these ancient muggle remedies should not be dismissed by wizard or muggles, despite how both medical systems cast them aside. It gave a list of backyard herbs and their basic uses.

Draco moved onto the next article. He realised that he would have to reread all of these later. Page after page had niche topics he had never considered. The quality of the articles varied, but the ideas were there.

And finally, Draco found Xenophilius Lovegood’s contribution to the issue: “How to see the Unseeable,” by Xenophilius Lovegood, edited by Pandora Lovegood.

Hello. What was this?

Unlike his later writings, this version of Xenophilius Lovegood had an editor. Lovegood never defined what the Unseeables were, to Draco’s frustration. The writing still struggled, but Draco could read it.

Draco skimmed it.

…Some people will never be able to see anything, but that is not from a lack of capability. They are simply too attached to open their eyes. Their lives are tied up and bounded by things that do not matter. This keeps their third eye firmly closed.

Intellect often serves as a hindrance rather than a help. Often, the smartest people struggle the most with seeing the unseen. They see with their brains instead of their eyes.

Children, in fact, are some of the most open to the possibilities, as evidenced by the ease at which children use wandless and wordless magic. If you have ever had a child, you know that ‘accidental’ magic is hardly accidental at all. Their minds do not cloud their vision. They do not have the tools to explain or rationalize, so they don’t…

Draco read on.

*

Once Christmas itself passed, Draco’s holiday week dragged on.  Time stopped meaning much other than a countdown to an end.

Usually, the days between Christmas and New Year’s were some of Draco’s favourites. The manor would be decorated in a way that mixed the latest fashions with its many antiques.  The house elves worked overtime the entire month of December to keep all the guests fed. Not a day went by without some new party to host or prepare for. Then, when it all inevitably became too much, Draco would sit in one of the windows and stare off across the glittering lawn.

Christmas alone at Hogwarts just didn’t compare. It didn’t matter how many decorations the Hogwarts elves hung, it wasn’t home.

The only other person haunting the dorms was Nott. Every time Draco look at him, he remembered what that couple at the party said about him.

“…Nott will never let his son inherit anything. He hates the boy. That’s if there’s anything left for him to inherit after all the gambling he did.”

More than one person had followed the Dark Lord in search of fortune.

To Draco, looking at Nott was like looking in a jinxed mirror.  He saw what he could have been: a pureblood forced to follow his father’s will. Up until last Summer, he was Nott. Both of their fathers served the Dark Lord and were in Azkaban because of it. Both of them were the only heirs to Noble Houses.

But Nott hadn’t seen all that Draco did in those few short weeks last Summer. He didn’t hear Peter Pettigrew explain how he betrayed his friends while drunk. He didn’t see how men cowered with the news that the Dark Lord would be visiting soon, or feel the way the fear was palpable in the air. He didn’t feel the relief when his mother sent him to his room to try and keep him as far away from the terror that had invaded his home. Draco hadn’t set foot in his home since he ran, and he was terrified that the place would be tainted in his memories when he did. That was, if there was still a home to go back to.

Draco pulled himself from his own fears. He looked across the deserted common room at Nott.

Nott sat in a corner at an empty table. His quill scratched across parchment as he wrote. He scowled as he wrote. He had a large tome in front of him which he took notes from. Another stack of books sat on the table in front of him. He recognised the tomes from Mr. Fiddlewood’s desk: Wizarding law. Specifically, inheritance laws.

Draco shouldn’t care. It wasn’t his problem. There was a time and a place for meddling, and this was not it. He had nothing to gain from talking to Nott. Why should he care about Nott’s personal family issues?

Because you’re a good person! A voice that sounded suspiciously like Potter said. Draco squashed it down without rebutting it.

No, he thought, standing up. He wasn’t doing this because he was a good person. Screw that. He was doing this because Theodore Nott was also an heir to a noble family and it would be an absolute shame if the Nott family were to fall into despair.

And because you’re lonely, said a sad, pathetic part of Draco’s own mind. He pushed that thought aside.

Nott didn’t look up as Draco approached. Instead, he flipped through his book like it had all the answers.

When a few moments had passed, Draco cleared his throat. Nott looked up. His eyes widened fractionally before the pureblood mask fell back into place.

“Hi, Theo,” Draco said, then immediately faltered. Merlin, when did Draco become so awkward? He was spending too much time with Trelawny.

“Hello,” Nott said back, graciously. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Draco—because standing made him feel even more awkward—took the seat across from Nott. “I hate to ask, but I heard a rumour and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Nott raise a brow. He closed his book and set it aside. “What did you hear?”

Draco sighed. “That you might not get an inheritance at all because of you dad and his gambling debts.”

Nott inspected Draco. “Where did you hear that?”

“Slughorn’s Christmas party.”

“You were invited?” Nott asked, genuinely confused.

“Not by Slughorn,” Draco said.

“I don’t think any other Slytherins went,” Nott said. “How was it?”

“Very interesting,” Draco said. When Nott didn’t reply, Draco tried to think of a way to sum up the party. “Potter was the belle of the ball. Dean Thomas and Ginny Weasley broke up. We saw a basilisk corpse.”

Nott’s eyebrows shot up. “That sounds like some party.”

“You have no idea,” Draco muttered. “Anyway, don’t distract me. We’re talking about you right now.”

Nott shrugged. “It almost worked.” Then Nott let out a long breath. “My father spent my trust fund. Him being stuck in Azkaban is the only reason the Nott estate wasn’t completely gambled away. I’ve got to stay on his good side until I’m old enough to challenge his seat as head of the family.” Nott clenched his fists. “He can’t do much from prison, but he can still disown me. If I speak out against him now, I get nothing.”

“That bastard,” Draco said.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You can’t let him control you,” Draco said.

“Don’t worry about me, Malfoy. I’ve got a few plans up my sleeve.”

“But—”

“Just because I’m friends with Crabbe and Goyle doesn’t mean I trust them,” Nott said with a cutting look.

Draco couldn’t argue with that. “I don’t want you to be forced to do something you don’t want to do. There are people you can go to.”

Nott frowned. “I am not trusting Dumbledore.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to. You’re too smart for that,” Draco said. “Look, I don’t know what you believe politically, but I do know that we both respect the old families. If you need any help, all you have to do is ask.”

Nott studied Draco before answering. He gave a shrug. “I know you’re worried about me joining the Death Eaters, but I don’t really care one way or the other, to be honest. You’d have to be daft to think someone like Granger is less of a witch because she’s muggleborn, but that doesn’t mean muggleborns should be allowed to run the whole county.”

Draco found himself nodding. That was what Draco thought as well. While his father would certainly disagree, Draco felt that was reasonable. “I can put you in touch with a lawyer.”

Nott shock his head. “I already tried that. The Wizengamot is very clear about inheritance laws. There’s nothing I can do.”

“But—”

“Draco,” Theo said. “There’s nothing I can do. I just have to keep my head down until my birthday. Just eight months.”

“Are you sure you can?” Draco said.

Nott shrugged. “I have to try. Don’t worry about me, Malfoy. I’ve got a few things up my sleeve.”

Draco grinned. “Very Slytherin of you.”

Nott grinned back.

It felt good to be talking to another Slytherin again. Theo and him hadn’t been very close, but they were friends. They had similar wit and they could both start talking about politics without having to explain first. Draco had missed this.

“Just… be careful. Make some new friends, if you can.” Draco said. He stood up, only to have Nott reach out to stop him

“Draco,” Nott looked at him with pleading eyes. “You understand why I can’t talk to you this year? With everything going on? You know how rumours are.”

Draco knew, but that didn’t make it suck any less. He felt a flash of the frustration he’d been pushing down all year, and pushed it down again. “I get it,” he said with a shrug.

Nott looked up at him. “I hope you don’t hold it against me.”

Draco tried to put himself in Nott’s shoes. Draco had always known that his family was rich beyond measure. At times, he knew part of his self-worth was based on that. But Draco also loved his parents more than anything, and he knew they loved him the same. They would never do anything to hurt him, including politically.

Draco could barely conceive of a life without his mother, with a father that hated him, with his fortune in such jeopardy.

In Nott’s place? Draco had no idea what he would do.

“I won’t,” Draco promised anyways.

Draco didn’t get a chance to answer. The door to the common room swung open. Nott quickly turned back to his books, and Draco made to look like he wasn’t just talking to him. Draco walked back to the dorm room just as voices he didn’t know filled the room.

Draco retreated quietly to their dorm room, as if he was never there.

*

After the holidays ended, the student body returned with a roar in the hallways. The freedom of having the school to himself vanished. Draco once again dodged shoulders in the halls.

He was relieved to see that Nott took his advice to heart. He spotted Nott talking to Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas, both halfbloods. They got along, from what Draco could see of the trio laughing together across the Great Hall. Nott got some strange looks from sitting at the Gryffindor table, but was left alone.

Draco sat across the hall. He was happy for Nott. Truly. Even as the pit in his stomach opened up, reminding him that he was abandoned.

The trio got up to leave just as Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley arrived. They held hands as they walked up the long table. Finnegan whistled as they passed by. Potter blushed. Ginny only laughed and pulled Harry in to sit beside her.

Huh, Draco thought. He turned back down to his plate. Looks like Potter’s Felix Felicis worked.

*

While Slughorn’s Christmas Party as the luckiest day of Potter’s life, that was not the case for Dumbledore.

As news of Harry Potter’s great deeds spread, news that Dumbledore allowed a child to battle madmen, murderers and basilisks spread with it. Dumbledore was no longer the untouchable genius that he portrayed himself as. Now, the criticism leaked out like a crack in a dam.

By mid-January, against Dumbledore’s recommendation, the Wizengamot called a vote to the issue of the Abolitionists. The promise of the vote made front page news.

Draco was used to feeling eyes on him during mealtimes. He looked up and met Dumbledore’s gaze, daring him to keep staring. Dumbledore did not look away. Instead, he studied Draco. Draco felt like fish in a bowl trying to be defiant. He looked away.

*

Professor Slughorn wrote the page number of the textbook on the board.

Justin Finch-Fletchley knocked on the door. If Snape were still teaching, he would have been cowering, half in the hall. Instead, he poked his head in, getting everyone’s attention. “Headmaster Dumbledore wants to see Draco Malfoy,” he said.

Everyone’s eyes turned to Draco. Draco closed his eyes and cringed internally. He could feel the looks the other Slytherins gave him, how just this request made him automatically suspicious. He would have eyes on him for days.

Knowing better than to make a big deal out of it, Draco started gathering his things.

Professor Slughorn, fool that he was, tried to argue. “We’re halfway through the Wound-Cleaning Potion. It will only be fifteen minutes to finish. Do you know if it’s urgent?”

Finch-Fletchley stood with his mouth open. “Um… I don’t know.”

“Do you know what it’s about?” Finch-Fletchley shook his head.

How was Slughorn a teacher? What if it was urgent? Or private? Would he announce it to the whole class?

“It’s fine professor,” Draco said to cut him off as he stood. “Pansy, don’t forget to time how long it boils. I’m not losing marks just because I’m not here.”

Pansy gave him a nod.

With that, Draco grabbed his bag and left.

Justin Finch-Fletchley looked confused about whether he should escort Draco to the Headmaster’s office. He started following him until Draco shooed him away.

Draco was in a bad mood by the time he made it to the gargoyle guarding the office. He realised he didn’t have a password.

“Look,” he said to the gargoyle, “I don’t have the password. You know Dumbledore wants to see me, so I can stand here and wait until he comes down here himself, or you can let me up now and save us all the trouble.”

The gargoyle’s stone face did not move.

Draco twisted his lips. “I can be very annoying,” he sneered.

After a moment, the gargoyle turned and revealed the spiral staircase.

Draco didn’t thank the gargoyle as he headed up.

He knocked on the door to Dumbledore’s office. He didn’t hear a response, so he let himself in.

Dumbledore was there, petting his phoenix. Is that what Dumbledore did all day? Not, you know, managing the school? Draco kept himself from sneering as Dumbledore turned around.

“Young Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said. “Thank you for coming.”

Dumbledore motioned for Draco to sit on the settee. Warily, Draco did.

Dumbledore sat on a chair facing the couch. He let out a sigh. “It has come to my attention that you and Harry Potter have become friends.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Dumbledore said. His eyes had that cold twinkle in them. Draco did his best to stare at the space between his eyes instead of directly into them. “It is more the nature of your visits that piqued my interest.” Dumbledore reached forward and grabbed some sweets from the bowl on the coffee table. He took a bite. “Mmm, ice mice.”

Draco did not reach for the candy. Whatever Dumbledore had to say, he’d get there faster if Draco didn’t interrupt.

Dumbledore finished his ice mice. “I have always been interested in the topic of divination. It’s such a little explored area of magic. Though I have rarely seen Professor Trelawny’s gifts, they are quite impressive. However, everyone else I have met who claimed talent turned out to be a fraud. Imagine my surprise when Young Harry told me that he had been consulting you fairly regularly.”

So, Dumbledore finally put the pieces together. Draco couldn’t even be angry at Harry. Dumbledore had already seen him with Trelawny twice, at least. He was shocked Dumbledore only figured it out now.

“Harry was quite impressed by your talents.” Dumbledore finally caught Draco’s gaze. He folded his hands together in his lap. “I was hoping to get a reading from you.”

Draco blinked. “You want a reading from me?”

Dumbledore nodded.

Draco sat with his mouth open. His mind immediately went to suspicion. Was this a test? What did Dumbledore want?

“You should have asked Trelawny for a reading. I quit divination months ago.”

Dumbledore smiled. “Really?” Draco nodded. “That was very wise of you.”

“Why? You’re the one asking for a prediction.”

“I don’t pretend to know about divination, but I do know that very few people are willing to turn down power,” Dumbledore said.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Draco said.  “You’re one of the most powerful people in the country.”

Dumbledore stilled. “Draco, I think you’ve confused my intentions. I know I can’t be trusted with power.” Dumbledore looked away. “I do believe that I have a responsibility to use the power that I have, that’s why I am here at Hogwarts, to teach others and empower them, but I’ve turned down many chances for more. You’ve no doubt heard that I’ve been offered the position of Minister of Magic multiple times.” Draco nodded slowly. “I have limited myself to where I believe that I can still do good.”

“But you’re Supreme Mugwump,” Draco said.

“The Supreme Mugwump is a coveted position, yes, but it is not one suited for tyranny.”

Draco sat and studied the man. The Dumbledore he sat with now was not the Dumbledore he heard his father complain about. This Dumbledore seemed earnest, wary, and well aware that what the world praised him for were flaws.

Draco swore off divination, he reminded himself, but the temptation was there. He could be the first to know what would happen to one of the most powerful men in wizarding Britain. He could say whatever he wanted. He could be the one to whisper in Dumbledore’s ear.

Draco shook himself. What a terrible idea. No wonder Dumbledore was so wary about power.

None of the risks of Divination had changed, but did he really care about Dumbledore’s safety? A month ago, he would have refused a reading because Dumbledore was a power-hungry politician. Now, Draco was tempted to refuse for Dumbledore’s own protection. The spirits were still a mystery, after all, and he knew predictions often had unintended consequences.

Draco pressed his lips together. “About that prediction… are you sure? Trelawny says that most of us are better off not knowing.”

“I quite agree. However, there is a problem that has been troubling me for months.”

“Whatever I tell you may not be accurate,” Draco warned.

“I will take whatever you say with a grain of salt,” Dumbledore said.

Draco sat for a long moment and studied Dumbledore.

Finally, Draco swallowed and nodded. “What did you want? I can do tealeaves, or a palm reading. I could grab my crystal ball…”

Dumbledore smiled. “A palm reading is fine.” Then he held out his right hand.

Draco took Dumbledore’s hand in his own. As he did, he noticed that Dumbledore his left hand in the long sleeve of his robe. Something about that tugged at Draco’s mind. Despite only needing one hand, Draco found himself saying, “Both hands, please.”

Dumbledore hesitated. That hesitation made Draco sure. Dumbledore reluctantly held out his left hand as well. Draco took both of Dumbledore’s hands in his own.

Dumbledore’s right hand was normal, wrinkled and spotted, the age that Dumbledore tried to hide with whimsy on display. Draco was also surprized to find numerous scars. He knew logically about Dumbledore’s past as a duelist, but it was another thing to see it written so plainly on his skin.

The other hand was shrunken, charred. The bones around every knuckle were clear, the muscle and tendons between shrivelling away.

“Are you dying?” Draco asked.

Dumbledore merely shrugged. “It happens to us all,” he said, not taking his eyes off Draco.

Oh right, Dumbledore suspected Draco was a necromancer. Ha. He thought that was some kind of lesson. Draco contained his smile at the irony and turned back to his hands. 

There was a little nub on Dumbledore’s right hand from holding a quill and a wand. No surprise there, except that there was a similar nub on his left.

“Are you ambidextrous?” Draco asked.

“I am, yes.” Dumbledore’s eyes might have twinkled. Draco thought it looked more like the reflection in the eyes of a predator.

No, Draco stopped himself. No judgements yet. Draco pushed his worry out of his mind. He couldn’t see Dumbledore’s fate clearly if he was too focused on his own judgements. (Even if he thought those judgements were right.) Dumbledore was just a person, with choices and decisions and reasons and flaws. He would never find the truth until he accepted that.

Draco went back to the hands. The right hand was exactly as Draco would expect from an old man: old, wrinkled, the fine skin lined and covered in brown spots. Draco could see the callus from how Dumbledore held his quill. Draco glanced at the lines on his palm, not ready to fully read it without first looking at the left.

The shriveled one had no lines left to read, no fingerprints to interpret. The darkest, blackest part of the hand was isolated around Dumbledore’s ring finger. Even now, a tarnished gold ring, likely cursed and the cause of Dumbledore’s sickness, sat there.

And all at once, Draco realised the right hand had put the ring on his left. His right hand, the noble one he greeted people with, sabotaged the left.

“I see two fates before you,” Draco said. “You may choose either. I see the path, as you have been acting all your life, and how it leads to your personal ruin.

“On the one hand—yes, literally, I know—there’s destruction wrought by your pride. You saw yourself as proud, strong, unbeatable, and look at what you did to yourself in the process.” Draco ran his hands over the life line of Dumbledore’s right hand, defined and sure except for the crack at the end.

Draco turned to the ruined left hand, only to realise it was not ruined at all. “Your other hand, the one you hide in your robes because of shame, is still usable. The longer you hide it, the more you force others to do for you.”

Draco saw the blackness creeping up Dumbledore’s wrist. “I’m afraid the destruction you wrought on your hands will extend to everyone around you, if you keep acting from a place of pride.”

Dumbledore did not look convinced. His face was carefully neutral. “Really.”

Draco glared at Dumbledore. “Yes, really. I hardly know what you should have to be ashamed of, but whatever you’re hiding, it’s going to lead to destruction. You were lucky with whatever curse was on that ring that it only hurt you. The longer you hide your shame and act out your pride…” Draco was scared to know how that sentence finished. “You’re a danger to everyone around you.”

Dumbledore didn’t say anything. His face was carefully neutral as he absorbed what Draco said. He stared off behind Draco’s shoulder. Draco turned to look, only seeing Dumbledore’s phoenix grooming itself.

“Thank you, Draco,” Dumbledore said. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

Draco sat for a moment, waiting to see if Dumbledore would say more. He didn’t. Draco stood up from the couch and walked to the door. He glanced back, only to find Dumbledore hunched over in his chair, staring at his hands.

Draco turned away and let himself out.

*

The hallways were all empty by the time Draco left Dumbledore’s office. Everyone was off to the great hall for dinner. Draco didn’t feel like talking to anyone right then. He turned with a sigh and headed off in the direction of the Slytherin common room instead.

He almost laughed when he heard footsteps following him. He turned. “You know you’re not sneaky.”

Draco waited for the sound of Potter’s laughter. He’d grown so accustomed to it over the past few months. Now, there was nothing. The hallway was silent. There were no footsteps.

Draco waited. The halls echoed. He had no idea where the footsteps came from. Maybe he imagined it? No. Draco walked forward to the next intersection and looked down the hall. There was no one there. Was someone hiding?

Draco stayed still to listen, even holding his breath. There were no sounds. He could only hear the distant cackle of Peeves.

Draco looked up and down the halls.

Eventually, Draco shook his head. He turned and went back to the Slytherin common room.

Chapter Text

The Prophet arrived one day in early February with a front-page splash.

The Wizengamot voted. The Azkaban Abolitionists won.

Draco stared at the headline in wonder. His father was going to be free.

The article outlined what would happen to the prisoners. They were divided into two groups: those too dangerous to be integrated into society would be handed over to a French prison, and those who were non-violent were going to be put into a parole program to help them reintegrate into society. Scrimgeour’s photo scowled under camera flashes, looking bitter.

Draco sat at the breakfast table and reread the article again, still only picking up the main points. Historic vote, 65% in favour, inhumane treatment—

His father would be freed. He’d have a parole officer and have to do a rehabilitation course, but Draco would be able to see him.

Draco clapped a hand over his mouth, partially in disbelief and partly so no one would see him grinning like a fool.

Dumbledore wasn’t at the head table, so Draco couldn’t look to see his reaction. He would have already known, of course, as the Supreme Mugwump.

Another owl swooped down in front of Draco. He shoved a whole plate of bacon toward the bird as he took the letter. The bird happily ate as he tore it open.

My dearest Draco,

We won.

I can hardly write. My hands are shaking so much. It’s taken months, but it worked. I still can’t believe it.

By the end of next week, your father will be free. The entire process is being expedited by the amount of money the old houses are throwing at this project. Everyone has family members that they want home.

We must still be cautious, of course. I am still in hiding. I will be attending the release ceremony myself to pick up your father. You’ll forgive me for mincing my words for the sake of this letter.

In June, we will come to pick you up ourselves, and then we will all be together again.

I love you. Your father loves you. We will see you again as soon as we can.

-Mum

All Draco wanted to do was tell Harry.

*

Draco waited in their usual classroom for Harry to show up. He already casted privacy spells. Winter howled outside the windows. He could see the snow piling up around the school. The warming spells in the classroom needed to be renewed. Draco pulled his cloak closer to himself and longed for Spring. He wasn’t made for these conditions. 

Draco tried to focus on his textbook instead of the cold. The teachers must have been conspiring to steal every spare moment they could from the students. Even in Draco’s excitement to share the news of his father’s freedom, he still had a Transfiguration essay to work on.

He jumped when the door slammed. Harry stomped inside.

“What’s got your panties in a twist, Potter?” Draco asked, eagerly shutting his textbook.

“Not now, Malfoy,” Harry spat. “Just tell me whatever you want to tell me, already.”

Draco sat back. Whatever Draco wanted to share about his father would have to wait. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Never better. Nothing has changed from yesterday.”

Draco ran through what happened recently to pinpoint Potter’s mood. “Is this about Azkaban?”

“Who cares about Azkaban?” Potter said, sounding angry. “Just a whole bunch of Death Eaters running loose. That doesn’t make my job harder at all.”

Potter’s job? “If this is about those things Dumbledore asked you to find—”

“Fucking Dumbledore!” Harry cursed. Draco flinched back. He’d never seen Harry this angry, not even when Draco was the one bullying him. Potter practically shook with rage. “They’re called horcruxes, Malfoy. You want to know what a horcrux is? Me! I’m a horcrux!”

“Wha-?”

“Dumbledore knew. Since second year, he knew. Or he might’ve, with the diary. He’s known for years and he only told me now.”

“Potter—”

Harry started pacing, unable to contain his anger. His shoulders shook and his eyes glassed over with angry tears. “That bastard kept Sirius in Azkaban, me with the Dursleys… my parents died listening to him! And now he doesn’t even tell me-!”

“Harry!” Draco yelled. Harry wouldn’t stop. Draco finally drew his wand. He cast a stinging jinx at Harry. Harry stopped pacing long enough to gap at Draco.

Draco finally asked the question that he’d been avoiding since August. “What the hell is a horcrux?”

Harry told him.

Draco’s blood turned cold.

Harry’s explanation was crude and basic, but Draco knew enough to understand what an abomination it was.

A horcrux was an ancient, barbaric shortcut to immortality. It was an object containing a piece of someone’s soul. So long as the horcrux was intact, the rest of the soul could not cross over, even if they suffered a mortal wound.

No wonder it had made Draco and Trelawny so sick. It defied the laws of nature. Divination was the art of reading fate. Horcruxes defied fate on its most fundamental level: all living things die.

A small part of Draco marvelled at the irony. Everyone spent the year obsessed over Sirius Black, thinking him back from the dead, while the Dark Lord had the secret to immortality the whole time.

“And the Dark Lord has multiple horcruxes?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded. “And he had to kill someone every time he made one. He had to commit the ‘moste evil’ act possible every time.”

Draco didn’t believe that murder was the most evil act someone could commit. That seemed like a Dumbledore thing to say, to draw the line at murder instead of everything that could come before. There were worse things that could happen to a person by letting them live.

(Just ask Sirius Black.)

But now wasn’t the time to argue with Harry on that.

Harry continued to rant.

“And Dumbledore never told me. He never told anyone! He’s been trying to solve it all on his own, he said, but has he really?” Potter paced. He clenched his fist around his wand. “When was he planning to tell me? Was he ever?”

Draco was too angry to try and defend Dumbledore’s stupidity. The man could make his own excuses. But his eyes did not leave Harry’s wand hand as he paced the room.

“Dumbledore is a secretive bastard. We knew this. Let’s stop and think for a minute.”

Harry whirled on Draco. “You don’t get it! You haven’t felt him in your head. Sometimes, I get so angry and it’s not even me! It’s him.” Harry fisted his hands in his hair, putting his scar on full display. Harry stopped and his eyes went wide. “Is that why the Dursleys were so awful to me?”

Draco had lost the plot of the conversation. All he knew was that Harry was distressed.

“Okay, so you’ve got a horcrux attached to you—”

“I AM a horcrux!” Harry yelled.

“Whatever! Then let’s get it off of you.”

Harry grew quiet. “Dumbledore says that the only way for me to get rid of the piece of Voldemort’s soul is…to die.”

Draco… Draco couldn’t do anything. Horror filled him. Just when he was starting to think Dumbledore wasn’t so bad. The betrayal hit Draco hard, and he only started trusting Dumbledore last week. No wonder Harry was falling apart in front of him. Draco wanted to march into his office and curse Dumbledore’s face to match his hand.

He hated the world right then. He hated everyone who stood by and let Potter face all the horrors he had alone. He hated Dumbledore the most. Was Potter nothing to him? Was his golden child Harry Potter really nothing more than a lamb to be fattened up for slaughter?

Harry kept talking. “But then I’d be dead. But if I’m not, then Voldemort can’t die either. Neither can live while the other survives. It was so obvious!”

“That does not sound obvious,” Draco argued weakly.

“I have to die,” Harry said. For the first time this whole conversation, Harry’s shoulders slumped. He stood relaxed.

Draco felt every red flag that he had ever seen around Harry Potter raise themselves in the air as one.

“No. No no no. That is not the conclusion to draw from that information,” Draco said as calmly as he could. He was not calm.

“And let Voldemort live?” Harry said.

“That’s not the point!”

“That is the only point!” Harry said. “He killed my parents! He’s killed loads of people! I’m the only one who can stop him.”

Draco felt so far out of his depth for this conversation. He reverted back to derision. “Potter, stop being ridiculous.”

“He literally can’t die unless I do first!” Harry said. Draco saw the moment Potter had an epiphany. “But… you’d bring me back, right?” Harry asked.

Draco sat there staring at him. “Oh, Harry…” he sighed, the horror in him quickly replaced with grief.  

“You brought Sirius back,” Harry said slowly. “If I… died… and you made sure that I could come back… I could get him off me. Out of me. You could fix it.” Harry’s eyes were wide and hopeful. His hand kept flexing by his wand, tentative. Draco couldn’t look away from his green eyes. “You could destroy the horcrux, then bring me back.”

“Harry…” Draco said.

“You could! You just have to do what you did with Sirius!”

“Harry, no. I can’t.”

“But you can—"

“Harry, I would if I could. The world is a better place because you’re in it. But I can’t. I would do it in a heartbeat, but I can’t.”

“You wouldn’t?” Harry asked.

“I don’t want you to die at all!” Draco shouted.

Malfoys don’t beg, his father echoed in his head.

Draco closed his eyes and swallowed his pride. “Please, I am begging you, do not throw your life away.”

“But it’s the only way!” Harry argued.

“I don’t care! Even if it is for the greater good, I don’t care!” Draco was yelling now. “Talk to Sirius, or Remus, or Hermione or anyone. There must be another way.”

“Dumbledore’s been looking—”

“Has he?!” Draco practically screamed. “Tell him to look harder! Get Hermione to help!”

“But—"

“Harry, do you remember when you said you could never repay me for bringing Sirius back?” Draco said.

Harry looked up. Draco could tell he was still out of it with despair. He waited. “Yeah, vaguely.”

“Here’s how you can repay me. Live.” Draco spit. “Stop acting all self-sacrificing and think of yourself for once. You really think the world would be better off without you? I can think of a dozen people who would disagree and would do anything to find another way. Use them.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Merlin, even when you’re acting all self-sacrificing, you’re acting selfish.”

“But there is no other way.”

“You don’t know that,” Draco said calmly.

Harry opened his mouth to argue then stopped. “They’ve all already done so much for me. I can’t ask them…” Potter stopped. “They’ll torture themselves to fix it for me.”

“Potter, it’s not manipulative to find people whose interests align with yours,” he said. Harry sat and thought about it. Draco hoped that he was processing this conversation. Draco crossed him arms. “What does Ginny think?” Draco forced himself to ask.

“About what?” Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes and waved a hand. “About this horcrux thing.”

“Oh, um, I haven’t told her,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“How about Ron and Hermione?” Harry refused to meet Draco’s eyes. “Sirius? Remus? Literally anyone other than that old coot?”

Draco face palmed. “Look, you are in shock and traumatized and not thinking clearly. You are so lucky to have me to be your common-sense filter. Go calm down, and then talk to someone. And don’t do anything stupid.” He threatened.

Harry nodded, slightly more clear-headed. “Yeah, yeah thanks.”

“Do you need Granger or Weasley here? I have parchment,” Draco said, already reaching for his bag.

Harry shook his head. “No. That’s fine. I think I’m good now. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Draco said.

Harry rubbed his face. The colour had returned to normal. “I’m going to take your advice and call Sirius. He’ll know what to do.”

Draco felt all the tension of the conversation final leave him. “Good,” he said. He snuck out the door after Harry and watched him walk the hall toward Gryffindor tower, hoping that Potter would be alright.

*

Lunch in Trelawny’s tower was no longer foreign to Draco. He’d convinced the house elves to deliver food straight to them so he didn’t have to haul a basket up flights of stairs and a ladder.

“Draco,” Trelawny said. “You’re in danger.”

Draco snorted. “What else is new?” He flipped through another old copy of The Quibbler, immune to Trelawney’s warnings by now.

“Draco, listen to me.”

Draco looked up from the magazine. Trelawny held his teacup in her hands. He basically swallowed all the tea in one go in his eagerness to read, even though it still made very little made sense to him. She gazed into the cup with a crease in her brow and frown lines around her lips.

“I’m serious, Draco. Something is after you.”

“Something’s after me, are they?” Draco asked. “Was it the humdingers that told you that? Or the bumbling snorkins?”

Trelawny stayed still. “Don’t mock the spirits. I don’t know which of the spirits is trying to warn you.”

Draco set down the magazine. “How do I know it’s a real warning at all? The spirits lie, remember. Maybe they are just trying to manipulate us into thinking I’m in danger.”

Trelawny sat across from him, studying his expression.

Draco knew exactly how this discussion was going to go. Trelawny would show him his teacup and he’d see some omen of death, possibly the grim, warning him of danger. Draco would argue, Trelawney would double down, and he’d leave feeling wary. Then, because he had seen the omen, he would be extra cautious, and somehow that would put him in harm’s way. It was a classic self-fulling prophecy. Usually, he loved those. His history of divination book was full of them.

It was so obvious. Predicting the future wasn’t even difficult, now that he understood what the warning signs meant.

Except that isn’t what happened. 

“Do you know how many students I’ve seen that have the gift?” Trelawny asked instead.

The change of topic threw Draco for a loop. “It’s not just me?”

Trelawny barked a laugh. “Goodness, no.”

Draco thought about it. She’d been teaching for fifteen years, and he didn’t know any other students who had the gift, so… “Maybe…three?”

Trelawny snorted into her teacup. “No. It’s actually not uncommon. There’s a few with the gift in every class.”

Draco’s mouth fell open. “Every class?!”

“Yes, so that would be…” Trelawny thought, “…probably about a hundred students. Over fifteen years.”

Draco gapped. “But- no offense, Professor, but you don’t actually teach anything.”

“I do teach, just very little.” He must have been making a face, because she looked up from her teacup and snorted. “Draco, having the gift isn’t special. Someone having a gift for divination is about as common as someone having a gift for music.”

“Then- wait—" Draco said, mind boggled.

“Not everyone who likes to sing wants to learn the piano. I’m not going to waste my time teaching just anyone. I’m looking to teach someone who is willing to practice. Lots of people are musical, but how many of them become professional pianists?”

Draco supposed that was fair. “Okay, but you’re a piano teacher?”

“Most teenagers don’t base their futures around how good they are at piano,” Trelawny said. “A lot of teenagers will change their entire life path if I tell them ‘the fates’ have spoken. Ugh. Look at Padma and Lavender. They used to follow me around for readings, and all they ever asked about was their love lives. They were thirteen! Do you know how many readings I tried to hint at Lavender that she needed to get her DADA grades up? She never listened, and look how her OWLs went.” Trelawny was angry enough that her bracelets clinked together as she motioned.

“People are led astray so easily. Divination takes discernment, discipline and neutrality. I was really hopeful for that Granger girl. She could have been so good at it if she had it, but she didn’t. She would have been good at it because she never cared for it.”

Draco felt all of his beliefs about himself leave him as Trelawny ranted. He’d thought he was special. Now his ‘gift’ was just as dumb as he originally thought it was way back in third year. “If ‘the gift’ is actually really common, and what we do isn’t special at all, why did you choose me? You said I had the gift, but you could have had anyone as your apprentice.”

“You do have the gift. I don’t tell just anyone that.” Trelawny set down her teacup without looking at the tealeaves. “I didn’t choose you. True, I gave you your crystal ball. I saw your talent and liked your flair for the dramatics—like attracts like and all that—but you practiced and came to me. You investigated on your own, found your gift real, and took it seriously enough to study and develop it.”

“Fate didn’t pick you. You picked your fate.” Trelawny stared at him very intently. “Very few are resigned to their fates. Some of us get dealt a bad hand—that Potter especially—but if there’s anything years of teaching and readings have taught me, it’s that very few things are set in stone.”

“Then why bother warning me about anything at all?” he asked, suddenly remembering how this conversation started. “How do you know I’m in danger if nothing is set in stone? It could be the spirits are lying to you for their own purposes. Or it could change tomorrow, and the rest of my life could be all sunshine and rainbows.”

“Do you believe that?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

He narrowed his eyes back at her. She already knew the answer was no.

“I know you’re in danger because someone as stubborn as a rock is after you,” she said. “Just like how you picked your fate, they’ve decided theirs.”

*

Wizarding politics worked quickly once the Wizengamot made a decision. At noon-hour on a Tuesday in the middle of February, everyone should have been in the Great Hall for lunch. But not this Tuesday. Today, a hoard of students crowded around the wireless in the Slytherin common room. The house elves brought lunch to them. Sandwiches and plates sat on the coffee tables as everyone waited for the special broadcast to begin.

The Azkaban releases were about to start.

When the time finally came for the wireless live broadcast, everyone was ready for good news. For one of the first times all year, students weren’t fighting. No matter what side of the war people fell on, everyone in Slytherin knew someone in Azkaban, most had family members there. It wasn’t just Slytherins waiting for the broadcast, either. Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and ever a stray Gryffindor crowded in to listen.

Randy Wicklespurt, the Breeze Wizard Wireless broadcaster, described the event as it happened.

“Minister Scrimgeour stands beside Mrs. Viola Shunpike, the grandmother of Stan Shunpike, the face of the Azkaban Abolition movement. In the crowd are some very notable faces from both sides of the debate. Narcissa Malfoy, whose husband is currently imprisoned, stands near her cousin Sirius Black, who is still waiting trial. Also present is Sirius Black’s fiancé Remus Lupin, the Heads of several Noble Houses, including Abbott, Rookwood, and Greengrass, and Albus Dumbledore. It is raining lightly.” There is a pause. “Mr. Scrimgeour approaches the microphone.”

There was a pause. Scrimgeour’s voice erupted from the radio. “Today is a historic day for wizarding kind. Since being converted into a prison in 1718, Azkaban has been home to dementors and criminals. Today, we are closing its gates for good. Prisoners will be either released with parole, or relocated to a rehabilitation centre in Northern France. We have both French and British security to ensure the public’s safety.”

Wicklespurt’s voice returned. “Breeze Wizard Wireless has been told that there is extra security standing by.”

“Scrimgeour approaches the dock. His wand is raised, ready to signal to the dementors and other Wizengamot members to begin the unwinding process. Azkaban is, of course, protected by many layers of containment spells dating back to when the fortress was converted into a prison. There’s—” Wicklespurt stopped speaking. The hiss of the wireless echoed through the common room. “The dementors are flying from the prison’s windows. It’s quite the sight. You can feel the dread from them even from here. We must be a kilometer away from them, on shore.”

Another pause. They sit and listen to the static. “He’s speaking to the ferryman.”

Wicklespurt gasped. Everyone in the common room went quiet. “Oh no. Oh no.”

Students turned to each other to whisper.

“The dementors are approaching us. You- you can feel it. Deep in your chest. Oh my. The--” he let out a relieved breath. “--the aurors have cast patronuses over the crowd. My poor heart.”

Winklespurt collected himself and return to reporting, his voice strong and steady again. “Prisoners cannot be relocated directly from the island until the anti-apparition wards are removed. Scrimgeour is casting the spell to remove it now.” Some students clapped and whooped. The static hum of the radio droned on.

“Scrimgeour lowered his wand. It’s done. Now we can move on to the second part of the process—"

The radio broadcast was interrupted by someone screaming.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I can’t believe—figures are apparating to the crowd. They have robes in black. They appear to be Death Eaters! My word! They’re shooting! Oh, what—”

“The patronuses have fallen. This is terrible. The people—oh no. There’s someone approaching the docks. Everyone’s fleeing but he’s approaching it. The dementors are still swooping.” Wicklespurt’s voice could be heard of screaming. “It’s He Who Must Not Be Named! Ladies and Gentlemen, He Who Must Not Be Named is here!”

The common room gasped. Urquhart stood up and whooped, only to get aggressively shushed. One of the younger girls started hyperventilating.

Wicklespurt kept reporting, professional and quick. “The Dark Lord is freeing the prisoners! The dementors are working for him! The Aurors… they’re turning. They’re… fleeing. And it- he- they—" Wicklespurt stopped. Draco heard screaming and pops of apparition and wind on the microphone. “I have to leave.”

Then, static.

The room sat. No one made a sound. Everyone sat leaning toward the radio.

Finally, Mr. Wicklespurt returned. “We are back in studio. Ladies and Gentlemen, the Ministry has lost control of Azkaban. We will report when we know more. I- Oh, Merlin.”

The broadcast cut to commercial.

Everyone started talking at once. Some kids ran out of the room.

“Where’s Snape? I have to go home.”

“T-that can’t be! The Aurors will catch them…”

“Does this mean I can see my uncle again? He was going to be rehabilitated anyway…”

“Other than Highbrooke, we are the closest wizarding thing to Azkaban.”

All the scared chatter in the common room was overpowered by loud laughter. “All you mudbloods better watch out!” Crabbe yelled. Everyone’s heads whipped around to Crabbe. “The first thing I do when I see my dad again is take the mark.”

Unlike everyone else in the room, Nott was the only one who was still. He looked as shocked as Draco. He sat on the couch, head cast forward but his eyes alert.

“I have to tell my brother,” one of the Ravenclaws said and ran out of the room. More people got up and left the common room.

Across the room, Urquhart laughed. “I bet they’re scared.”

Draco felt sick.

Chapter Text

Classes were not cancelled. They should have been. Every lesson was absolutely useless. Students talked over each other and the teachers all gave up halfway through.

The students were kept in the dark. Someone swore they overheard the teachers whispering about panic in Hogsmeade. Some said lockdown, some said evacuation. No one was sure. There were very few wizarding villages in Scotland, and Hogsmeade was by far the largest.

Draco only went to class because he didn’t know what else to do. He felt sick all day. He couldn’t tell if it was a bad feeling or just dread. He needed to know if his mother was alright. She was right there! And what about his father? Would he run?

Slytherin house was in complete disarray. No one could find Snape. Instead, Slughorn was desperately trying to keep a grasp on the students.

The owlery was closed. The owlery was never closed. But for now, no letters were allowed in or out until they understood the situation better.

Draco spent all of his classes staring at walls and casting Tempus every five minutes. They sat waiting for news. Any minute now, the teacher would give an update on the situation.

Any minute now.

Draco followed the crowd when the final bell rang, unsure what else to do. It had been hours and they heard nothing. The students were eager to get to the Great Hall for dinner, but Draco was too full of worry to be hungry.

Someone called his name. It took a moment for it to register in the crowded hallway. He turned. Potter was running toward him. Behind him, Ginny Weasley stood looking annoyed.

Oh, Draco thought, he just snubbed her to come talk to me. For the first time all day, Draco felt something other than dread.

“Malfoy!” Harry said, reaching him. “Do you know what’s happening?”

“No more than anyone else,” he said. The pair of them were getting strange looks from everyone. They hadn’t spoken publicly the entire year. Draco didn’t even care. Too much was happening.

Draco lowered his voice and leaned in to talk to Harry. “Go grab the last of the Felix. You need all the luck you can get.”

Harry shook his head. “I already did.” Draco was impressed that Harry for once was thinking ahead of him. “It’s not there!”

“What?” Draco gapped.

“I looked everywhere. I can’t find it.”

“Potter, I swear to Merlin if you lost it—”

“I tried to accio it. It’s not there.” Potter’s eyes were wide with stress. His shoulders were tense. He drummed his fingers on his wand as he spoke.

Once Draco processed what Harry said, the bad feeling came back with a vengeance. The rest of the hallway faded into background noise. All Draco could hear was his heartbeat. Everything else was distanct. Wicklespurt’s description of the Azkaban release played through his head. His parents were there. He thought he was going to get his father back! Were they alright? Were they even still alive?

Fear and the need for certainty caused Draco’s feet to move. He backed away from Harry. “Where are you going?”

“I just—” Draco never finished his sentence. He turned and ran back to the dungeon.

Draco needed his crystal ball. It didn’t matter if all it showed him were lies, he needed something, no matter how unreliable. Screw quitting. Draco needed to know now, and nothing else would be able to tell him anything even remotely useful.

Draco ran full tilt, passing crowds of students making their way to the Great Hall. He ran in the opposite direction, toward the dungeons. Students cleared out of his way.

In third year, before he even knew what he was doing, he saw a dog and a wolf chasing a rat. In fourth year, he told Harry about the fourth task and that he had to win alone, possibly saving Diggory’s life. In fifth year, he warned Harry about Sirius’ death. He dreamed about the Death Eaters marking him before it could happen. Then, he did the impossible and brought Sirius Black back.

He still didn’t know where the predictions came from, but he didn’t need to know. For the first time, he didn’t care. This is desperation, he realised as he ran through the door of the empty common room. He would take anything, whatever vision he could get. He just couldn’t let his mind circle over the possibilities.

He barged into the sixth-year dorm and rushed over to his trunk, sinking down in front of it. It flung itself open in front of him. Wandless magic. He dropped his wand beside him on the floor and reached in.

He threw out the sweater he usually covered his crystal ball with. There was nothing beneath it, just more clothes. Draco grabbed those too and pulled them out. It was here somewhere. He shoved some books to the side, only to cast them out too.

Draco started to panic. Where was it?

“Looking for this?”

Draco looked up. Theodore Nott, flagged by Crabbe and Goyle, stood in the doorway. Theo held his crystal ball in one hand like a Quaffle. In his other, he held his wand, pointed at Draco.

Draco sat frozen in the middle of the mess. “What are you doing?”

“Haven’t you heard? Our dads are free,” Nott said. He passed the crystal to Goyle and reached in his pocket for something else. Nott held up an empty vial.

Draco’s eyes went wide. The Felix Felicis. Nott took it. “I figured if they got a lucky break, so should I.”

Draco’s blood ran cold. Then he lunged for his wand.

Crabbe was quicker. “Immobulus!”

Draco froze. He couldn’t move. He wanted to scream but couldn’t.

“Good move, Crabbe,” Nott said. “Now how do we get him out of here?”

Goyle answered. “Wormtail told me a way.”

Wormtail? When did Goyle meet Pettigrew? Draco felt dawning horror as he realised Goyle’s Christmas must have been like his Summer.

Nott gave the orders. “Both of you, grab what you need, quick. Crabbe, you carry him. Goyle, with me. Everyone should be in the Great Hall.”

Draco’s face pressed in the carpet while the boys ran for their trunks. He heard the telltale whines of shrinking charms.

Draco felt himself being picked up. The world tilted and he would have been sick if he could have moved. Instead, he was stuck with his face pressed into Crabbe’s shoulder. All he could see was wool and a bit behind Crabbe. They didn’t even bother grabbing his wand.

They left the dorm only to run straight into Urquhart. Any hope that Draco might have had that he’d help him was dashed immediately.

“Flitwick’s guarding the front door,” he said.

Nott took it in stride. “Goyle, where are we going?”

“Wormtail said Whomping Willow has a passage.”

The Whomping Willow?? Draco’s terror ramped up ten-fold. They were idiots. He was going to die of blunt force trauma in a failed kidnapping.

Nott took it in stride. “Head to the exit by the greenhouses. We’ll loop around then.”

“What about Davis?” Goyle said.

“Leave him. He’d just turn us in,” Nott said. “I never liked him anyway.”

The hallways were remarkably empty. He couldn’t move his head, but he saw glimpses. Every time they ran into someone, Draco felt his heart leap in hope. But Draco didn’t have luck on his side. Nott did. Every single person they ran into joined them.

Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Urquhart, some Ravenclaws Draco didn’t know, even a Hufflepuff. Draco thought there were seven of them total.

Draco couldn’t see much, frozen as he was. He tried to recognise the students by their voices.

“I’m here,” said another voice, joining them. Eight.

“Thomas,” Nott said. Draco’s eyes would have widened if they could move. Dean Thomas? But he was a halfblood!

“We have to hurry,” Dean Thomas said. “Seamus is trying to warn them.”

Nott cursed. “Not so lucky then,” he muttered. “We have to move quickly—"

“Hey!”

The small crowd Nott gathered turned at the sound of Harry Potter’s voice. Draco just managed to get a glimpse of him and Ginny Weasley, before he was stuck facing the ceiling again. Harry had his wand in one hand and a piece of parchment in the other. Draco had never seen Potter look so furious. “Let him go!” Ginny Weasley stood behind him, ready to attack.

A bright light appeared, brightening up the entire ceiling, before flying off. One of them j=had cast a patronus, no doubt sending for reinforcements.

A Ravenclaw launched a curse. Draco thought Potter deflected it. He didn’t know. All of Snape’s dueling training this year was put to the test. Potter had the advantage, being one of the only ones with some skill at wordless casting.

Crabbe, who held him, didn’t run ahead. He stood behind Nott, keeping the Slytherin group between him and Potter and Ginny. He couldn’t cast while holding Draco. “C’mon, c’mon,” Crabbe muttered, clearly eager to join.

Dean launched a crucio, and Draco heard Potter yelp. It must have only lasted a second, because Potter countered quickly.

“Dean!” Ginny yelled. “What the fuck?”

“Expulso!” Dean cast in response.

Draco heard a scream. He couldn’t see. Draco saw the Ravenclaw girl stumble back, before launching forward and out of sight again. The light from spells danced across the ceiling.

Crabbe couldn’t join the fight, his hands occupied with holding Draco.

“Expelliarmus!” Draco heard the clattering of a wand and one of them curse.

For a moment, Draco thought he was saved. Potter and Ginny were winning, even five on two. Nott swore.

“Goyle, here!” Draco felt Crabbe move beneath him. He got a view of the battle as Crabbe handed him off to Goyle. Ginny and Harry held their ground. Held sideways as Goyle adjusted, Draco could just see the hallway if he looked all the way to the side.

Crabbe stepped forward and started chanting. Draco’s eyes went wide. Fiendfyre! Draco wanted to scream at him—Of all the idiotic things to do!--but he couldn’t. Draco couldn’t move. At this angle, Draco could just barely see Potter’s reaction.

Potter whipped around at Crabbe. “Sectumsempra!”

Draco didn’t recognize the spell. For a moment, it looked like nothing happened. Crabbe stopped mid-spell. Then, the blood started. Like Crabbe had been flayed, a thousand cuts littered his skin. Every single one started bleeding at once.

Crabbe looked down and screamed. He fell to his knees. Potter froze. He looked shocked as he stared at Crabbe. Urquhart used the moment to immobilize Ginny. She froze midspell and fell over.

Now it was just Potter. Draco could hear Nott let out a low laugh. “Six on one, Potter.” Nott cast a spell and Harry stumbled back, away from Ginny.

Footsteps, fast like running, came up the corridor. Everyone turned to look.

Severus Snape turned a corner and came upon the group. Crabbe laid on the ground. Blood pooled around him. He just kept bleeding. Harry had his wand drawn, looking between multiple opponents. Urquhart was near Ginny, ready to grab her and run.

Snape’s eyes darted around each member of the hallway. His eyes only darted to Draco and Ginny before flitting to Harry and then back to Nott.

Snape’s gaze darted back to the six Death Eater students with their wands out—Crabbe lay bleeding and Goyle holding Draco—before landing on Draco, immobilised in Goyle’s arms.

“Professor—” Potter said.

In a moment’s decision that only a Slytherin could make, Snape aimed his wand at Potter. “Depulso!” Potter flew backwards across the hallway, landing twenty feet away from them. Snape whirled on the rest of the boys. “Go!” He shouted, already magicking up a stretcher for Crabbe, trying to stop the bleeding. Draco saw another patronus fly off as Goyle turned and ran, this one a doe.

Nott yelled. “Don’t forget the girl!”

Urquhart scooped up Ginny before he turned tail and ran.

“What about Crabbe?” Goyle said.

“Leave him! He’ll slow them down!” Nott yelled.

Draco couldn’t see what happened after that. His face pressed into Goyle’s shoulder.

They ran. Draco felt them run upstairs and then exit out by the greenhouses into the snow. Draco felt the cold, but couldn’t shiver. It bit him through his uniform. He caught a glimpse dark sky, sun already set, and gentle snow falling around them.

“You can deal with the willow?” Nott asked.

“Yeah,” Goyle huffed by Draco’s ear.

Draco had no idea what was happening, but he was handed off again. Goyle cast some spell, then they were running. The group descended down and things went dark. Completely dark except for wandlight. Draco couldn’t see the sky anymore. “Quickly!” Nott cried. Draco thought they were in a tunnel of some kind.

He heard heavy footfalls and heavy breathing. They ran for forever, it seemed. Draco still couldn’t move, still couldn’t even shiver. Then, he heard the sound of shoes on wood. “Pass him up!” Someone called. He felt himself being lifted up and handed off.

Draco was able to see for only a second. They were in an abandoned building of some type. Peeling wallpaper. Torn furniture. Dust everywhere.

“Where are we going?” Dean Thomas asked, panting.

He didn’t get an answer. They were interrupted by the sound of shouting coming up the tunnel. They all turned toward it, wands ready. The movement let Draco see a different corner of the room. He saw Ginny Weasley, immobile, held in Urquhart’s arms.

Draco wanted to scream, but his vocal chords were frozen.

“I’ll be back,” Urquhart said. He and Ginny disappeared with a pop. Just a moment later, he was back without Ginny. He grabbed Goyle then and apparated him out, before returning and for Draco and whoever’s arms he was in.

By the time the voices made it to the shack, they were gone.

*

Draco was conscious but still physically frozen when they appeared at… wherever they were.

Stone walls surrounded them. It wasn’t cold anymore. They were inside some sort of manor or castle, though it lacked the decorations that Malfoy Manor had. This manor—or perhaps just this room—was barren, utilitarian.

Draco caught a glimpse of a window. He saw bare tree branches with no snow. Draco didn’t get to take in the view long before he heard a door open.

“Sir,” Nott said. Draco couldn’t be sure if he bowed or nodded. He was once again pressed up against someone’s shoulder—the Hufflepufff, he thought—unable to see.

“They’re in the hall,” whoever Nott called ‘Sir’ told them. “They’ll be waiting for you. Make yourselves presentable.” A pause. “Who are they?”

Draco could hear Nott’s grin. “Hostages. Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley.”

Another pause. “Today is a fortuitous day. Two pureblooded traitors returned to us, and several new young followers. The Dark Lord will be most pleased. Come.”

They walked. Draco wished he could close his eyes. He caught a glimpse of Ginny, her eyes also open. Though their bodies were frozen, they made eye contact. Then the people carrying them moved and they lost it.

The hallway grew loud as they came to a large room. It sounded like either a mob or a party. Draco didn’t know. Black robes flashed by him with half-crazed faces he half recognised. Members of the old families, he knew. They cheered as the teenagers marched by. The group broke into cheers and applause.

The students marched to the front of the room. Whoever held Draco and Ginny laid them on the ground. Draco was just starting to be able to move again. His limbs hurt as he adjusted himself somewhat. He managed to turn so his chest was to the floor. Behind him, the students dropped to their knees messily.

The hall grew silent. A quiet, gravelled voice in front of them asked, “Whose idea was this?”

The Dark Lord.

The students didn’t answer. No one in the hall dared make a sound now that the Dark Lord asked a question. Eventually, Nott spoke up. “It was mine. I’ve had the idea for months. It only needed a big enough distraction.”

“You laid in wait,” the Dark Lord said.

From the floor where Draco laid. He managed to lift his head enough to see the bottom of the Dark Lord’s robes. A giant snake curled around him. It hissed at him. Draco ducked his head again.

Nott’s gulp was audible. “Yes, sir.”

“Tell me more.”

“I got the idea months ago. Malfoy—Draco Malfoy—is our roommate, Crabbe and Goyle and mine. He’s been having secret meetings with Potter and Dumbledore all year. I knew that I could use our closeness to get him if it became necessary… if we had the chance.”

Draco tried not to be sick hearing how Nott plotted against him.

“We were almost caught by Potter and Weasley here, but we got away from Potter and took Weasley with us. They’re dating.”

The Dark Lord hummed. “Where is the young Crabbe?”

Nott spoke confidently. Draco didn’t know how. “He got hit by some cutting curse. Snape stopped to heal him. He’s still at Hogwarts.”

“The young Crabbe is in Dumbledore’s hands,” the Dark Lord muttered, “but Snape has once again proven himself loyal.”

“Crabbe doesn’t know anything,” Nott said. “I planned the whole thing, and Goyle was the one that knew the way to the secret passage. Crabbe can’t tell them anything useful.”

Voldemort stepped forward. The hall remained quiet. Draco listened as the Dark Lord’s footsteps brought him closer to wear he laid.

“This is a day that will go down in history,” the Dark Lord said from above. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried through the room. “And your names will go down in history with it. The wizarding world knows all of us are free and they cower at what we can do.” Then, out of nowhere, he snapped, “Nott!”

“Yes, my Lord.” A voice said quickly. That wasn’t Theo, Draco realised. That was his father.

“You should be proud of your son. Be like him, if you can. His loyalty serves us well.”

“Yes, my Lord. I am very proud,” Nott Sr. said. “If only every son could do as well as mine.” Nott sounded like he meant it, even as Draco felt a boot connect to his stomach.

“Give our youngest heroes the best rooms and reward them handsomely for their efforts, for we asked nothing of them yet and they eagerly proved themselves anyway. I reward my followers’ dedication.”

Cheers went up in the crowd. “Young Theodore Nott,” the Dark Lord said. “You have proven yourself capable. I give you any reward you ask for. Say the word.”

“Anything?” Nott asked.

“Anything you ask, I will find a way to provide,” the Dark Lord said.

“I want to be head of House Nott,” Theo said. “Now. I don’t want to wait until I am seventeen.”

“Hmmm… And what do you think of this, Nott?” the Dark Lord said.

Draco could hear Nott Sr.’s gulp. “If it pleases my Lord...”

Draco could hear the Dark Lord’s smile. “Consider it done.”

“T-thank you, my Lord,” Theo said.

The Dark Lord’s robes swooshed as he gestured to the crowd.  “Welcome the next generation of followers.”

He didn’t so much as raise his voice, but the Death Eaters cheered and stomped loud enough the ground shook underneath them.

“We have waited many years, but our time has come. The Ministry has proven itself useless. The wizarding world is in panic. The time is ripe for us to take back our control.” The Dark Lord paced. Draco watched his feet as he moved away. “We will rid the world of those muggle interlopers, but first you must cleanse your own houses. Too many of you have grown complacent. Too many of you have given away your authority. Because of your failures, you may be forced to fight your own families.”

The room grew quiet again.

“The fight will be hard. Many of you will die.” There was a pause. “But not tonight.”

The Dark Lord stepped away from Draco. He let out a breath. “Tomorrow, we will properly initiate our new members. Tomorrow, we will fight. But tonight… tonight, we celebrate!”

The crowd went wild. Draco heard the telltale pops of house elves arriving with liquor.

“Malfoy,” the Dark Lord called. The crowd died down again, their attention back on the stage. Draco flinched the little bit he could. “Put the traitors away.”

A new person approached them.

Draco could move again, though barely. He looked up and saw his father for the first time in over a year. His face was blank, but his hair was untamed and the circles under his eyes were dark. The lines around his eyes deeper than Draco remembered. He knew his father. He knew every expression his father made, from laughter to tipsy to loving to annoyed but trying not to show it, but he’d never seen his father this scared before. Draco was sure no one but him could tell.

 “No no no no!” Ginny cried beside him, her shrill voice buried by the crowd.

Draco laid on the floor and watched his father’s carefully blank expression as he pulled out his wand. He pointed it at his son.

Panic filled him. “Fa—"

“Stupify.”

Draco’s head and body slumped. He lost consciousness. 

*

Chapter Text

Third Year

Draco has to do Sprout a favour and ends up in the Divination Classroom. Professor Trelawny tells him that he has the gift. Okay, whatever, Draco thinks, then immediately uses this as an opportunity to be annoying and plays along. However, when he gets in front of a crystal ball to give Potter a prediction, he sees a black dog. Everyone assumes Harry’s going to die because Draco isn’t even in the class and he saw the grim too. However, Draco looks longer and also sees a wolf and a rat. When Draco tries to leave, Trelawny gives him a crystal ball to keep.

Fourth Year

The Triwizard tournament is on! Draco gets approached by Harry. Harry asks if Draco can use his crystal ball to give him a clue on the second task. Draco agrees to do so privately. They meet up, and Draco manages to predict that each of the tasks will have to do with an element: Fire for the first task, Water for the second, Earth for the third, and Air for the fourth. Harry reminds him that there are only three tasks, but clues in that maybe he should put the egg in water.

Draco spends the rest of the year trying to figure out what the ‘fourth task’ could be. He uses the crystal ball for answers. He approaches Harry the day of the final task and tells him that he can only see Harry winning, and that every other future just leads to more people dead. Harry takes his advice. Later, Cedric Diggory returns to the judges and tells everyone Harry disappeared. When Harry finally returns, he accuses Draco of colluding with Voldemort to get him to the cup. Draco denies it. Harry does not believe him, or is too angry to see sense.

Fifth Year

Draco and Trelawny are besties! Woo! He’s been hiding from Umbridge and the Inquisitorial Squad by hanging out with her.

Trelawny, as it turns out, is completely sane. She just likes to act crazy for funsies. Also, her great aunt who had the gift was persecuted and later murdered because of an unhappy client. Now, she hides at Hogwarts where she gets paid to do nothing except not give predictions to evil people.

Draco enjoys her company, but is frustrated that he doesn’t understand how divination works. He reads in the library but none of it makes sense.

He’s having tea with Trelawny when she asks Draco what is in his teacup. (And what he’s been doodling on all of his homework.) It’s a black dog. Again. He's also seeing archways. It makes no sense, but messages for Potter rarely do. (Draco is really frickin’ sick of the spirits or whoever using him as Potter’s messenger boy.)

Fine. He’ll pass on the message.

Draco approaches Harry, who initially suspects him of trying to trick him again. Draco passes on the message, “Don’t let the dog go through the gate.” Harry is confused, but like okay? Whatever, about it.  

Draco later learns that Sirius Black died at the battle of the Ministry.

The Summer Before Sixth Year

Part I – Draco escapes the Manor, Revelations

Draco’s been at home, with his mother, alone all summer. Oh yeah, and all the deatheaters. They’re at Malfoy Manor, too. That’s not great. Also, Draco’s father is in Azkaban after the battle of the Ministry.

Draco wakes up from a dream where he sees the dark lord—Voldemort himself—summon Draco to do a task and give him the dark mark. Draco grabs his mother and they both nope out of there. They flee on broomsticks, somehow landing in a tiny village where Trelawny just happens to be. What are the odds! (Pretty good when you’ve got a pair of psychics.)

Narcissa and Draco stay with Trelawny in her rental cottage. Through their conversation, they piece together Draco’s last prediction to Harry probably predicted Sirius Black’s death. Narcissa reveals that Sirius died by falling through the Veil.

Draco does another reading in his tealeaves which is—once again—about Harry fucking Potter. He reads the teacup, and through some fancy schmancy divination deductions, he comes to realise that Sirius Black is not dead but trapped.

Part II – An Outside Option

Now that Draco knows that Sirius is Not Dead, Draco has to figure out where he is. He does research on the Veil, as well as several connected topics, and hypothesizes that the Veil isn’t what people think it is.

Draco’s working hypothesis is that The Veil is not a portal to some sort of death realm at all. He thinks it has to do with memory. His working hypothesis is that the Veil works like a pensieve for everyone’s memories. Specifically, based on the fact that people hear their dead loved ones calling them from it, he thinks that it is a kind off holding space for the memories of the dead before they are forgotten.

(For readers who are confused, it’s based on the idea of second death from Egyptian mythology where people die multiple times: Once when their body dies, once when their name is spoken for the last time, and once when no one is alive who remember them anymore, etc. The Veil represents people who are dead but are not forgotten. Ie. “they are gone but not forgotten,” or “they live on in our memories.” I know this is confusing but magic.)

 Draco—because I made him OP in this—is able to make his own working model of the Veil. He goes in so that he can pull Sirius Black back out.

The Realm of Remaining Memories

Draco enters the Veil, ie. ‘The Realm of Remaining Memories’. Inside, there are no walls, windows, doors, etc., only grey fog. He quickly finds that if he thinks of something that doesn’t exist anymore or someone who has passed, an image of them appears before him. Draco sees his deceased grandfather and quickly finds out that he is not really his grandfather. He responds much like an AI who is impersonating his grandfather would: saying what he would have likely said or repeating things he did say, but not actually his grandfather.

Weirdly enough, Draco runs into the memory of Regulus Black, who is weirdly cognizant? Draco never met Regulas, so he’s not sure why he’s appearing to Draco. Regulus tells Draco that he has to check in with Kreacher and make sure he destroyed the horcrux. Draco readily agrees, despite not knowing what that is or what creature he’s referring to. Regulus also asks Draco to tell Sirius that he is sorry and that he wishes he was a better brother.

Memory-Regulus then leads Draco to a small cottage where a party is taking place. There, he finds real-Sirius Black surrounded by the memory of his dead friends.

Draco approaches Sirius. Sirius expresses his condolences that Draco is dead too. Draco tries to explain that he’s not dead, but Sirius won’t listen. As far as Sirius is concerned, he fell through the Veil and is now in the afterlife with all his dead friends.

Sirius refuses to listen to Draco until Memory-Regulus shows up, halting the party. Sirius yells at him and refuses to speak or listen to him.

Draco grabs Sirius by the shoulder and begs him to listen. He asks Sirius if he wants to live or not, to see Remus and Harry or not, to get revenge on Voldemort or not. Sirius looks around at his dead friends and agrees. Draco grabs Sirius and pulls him along to the archway and back to reality.

The Summer Before Sixth Year, Part III – Grimmauld Debrief and Drama

Draco and Sirius return to the living room of Trelawny’s rental cottage. Tonks and Kingley are also there. As aurors, they were there to investigate the sudden surge of underage magic caused by creating the Veil replica. Trelawny takes the opportunity to destroy the doorway and burn Draco’s notes.  

They are taken to Grimmauld Place. Sirius still knows the location and gets through the Fidelius charm, proving he is still the real Sirius. He doubly and triply confirms it by being an Animagus and knowing things only Sirius would know. Remus Lupin is ecstatic to have Sirius back (wolfstar ftw), as is Harry.

Draco passes on Reglus’ message to as some creature to destroy some thing. This makes perfect sense to Sirius, who summons Kreacher. Kreacher explains about Voldemort asking Regulus to borrow Kreature and hiding an evil locket on an island in a booby-trapped cave. He explains the Regulus and he went back later and exchanged the locket, but that Master Regulus was killed by the inferi. Regulus told Kreacher to destroy the locket, but Kreacher couldn’t. Sirius orders Kreacher to bring them the locket. Kreacher does, and the evil aura around it affects Draco and Trelawny so badly that Trelawny leaves and refuses to get involved further.

Once Dumbledore is certain that Sirius Black is alive and indeed is not a fake, he asks Draco how he did it. Draco outright refuses to tell him. Even though Sirius Black was never actually dead, Draco realises that he doesn’t trust Dumbledore with the knowledge of the Realms. He refuses.

Sirius and Dumbledore have a falling out. Dumbledore wants to keep Sirius hidden in Grimmauld again, and Sirius explodes.

Draco and Narcissa do not join the Order. They leave Grimmauld to the sound of arguing. They’ll have to hide from the deatheaters elsewhere.

Sixth Year

Sixth Year, Part I – Lawyers, Sirius’ Grand Reveal

Draco and his mother have a problem: Lucius is still in Azkaban. Regardless of his guilt (because he is guilty), they love him and want him free. They’re also trying to keep a low profile since they defected from the deatheaters. Draco and Narcissa meet with their lawyer, Fiddlewood, who says there’s not much he can do unless the political situation changes. Scrimgeour is the Minister of Magic, and he is known for his tough on crime policies, which appeal to people because Voldemort is loose and people are scared.

At the platform to return to Hogwarts, Narcissa spies old Mrs. Shunpike in the crowd and promptly ditches Draco. She has a plan™.

Further, upon getting back on the train, Draco discovers that everyone knows that Sirius Black is alive. Sirius caused a big scene and erased any doubt that he is dead. Sirius Black did this, presumably, to tick Dumbledore off for trying to keep him in hiding and because he’s tired of being cooped up. Let the man LIVE.

The problem is, to literally everyone except Draco, Narcissa and Trelawny, it looks like Sirius Black is back from beyond the grave. Literally. Rumours fly about how he’s not dead and who is responsible. Draco is wise and keeps his mouth shut.

Sixth Year, Part II – Rumours and Roommates, Trelawny Talk #1

Draco Malfoy is back in school (woo!). All his roommates except Blaise hate him. Since his roommates are either neutral (Davis, Zabbini, and Nott) or Deatheater supporters (Crabbe and Goyle), they don’t talk to him. Crabbe seems very eager to fight to the death for Voldemort’s sake. Crabbe seems reluctant. Davis and Nott are a bit more unknown, at this point. BUT Nott does say that people are only neutral until it’s obvious who’s gonna win.

Also! Draco visits Trelawny. Dumbledore is also there, and they give Dumbledore the ol’ “Of course we don’t know each other!” They pull it off, because Dumbledore still thinks Trelawny is crazy. Draco pretends he’s there for a prediction about his father. Dumbledore finally leaves, telling Trelawny to be careful. Trelawny tells him she’s always careful because she teaches the most dangerous subject in the school. After he’s gone, Draco tells Trelawny he’s quitting divination. She takes this surprisingly well. She encourages it, in fact. They say they will still be friends and he will still visit for tea.

Sixth Year, Part III – Attention, Shunpike Scandal, Draco and Harry Talk

The Prophet has arrived again and—guess what!—it’s not Sirius Black on the cover. It’s Viola Shunpike, begging for the release of her grandson, Stan, who was wrongfully imprisoned in Azkaban. Now, because Stan Shunpike works the Knightbus, he’s probably one of the few people in wizarding Britain who literally everybody knows. People are angry. People start questioning whether there should be an Azkaban in the first place. It’s about here that Draco realises not just Dumbledore but Hermione and Harry all watching him with varying levels of interest. (Dumbledore is suspicious. Hermione wants to know wtf Draco did to bring Sirius back. Harry… probably wants something? Draco’s not sure why Harry’s staring at him.)

What does Harry want? Good question! Harry tracks down Draco privately and 1. thanks him for bring back Sirius and 2. asks if he can talk to Sirius. He reveals that Sirius is not coping well with being alive. He also accuses Draco of being a good person (the nerve!) and doesn’t get why Draco won’t just join the good side since he obviously disagrees with Voldemort. He asks him again to talk to Sirius. Draco says he’ll think about it.

Sixth Year, Part IV – Meeting with Sirius, and Slytherin Azkaban Speculation

Draco can’t get over Harry calling him a good person. He figures he needs to get rid of Potter before Potter decides they are friends and forces Draco to pick a side. Draco writes Sirius a letter asking to meet up during Hogsmeade weekend. He never gets a response. Alright, whatever. He writes to his mother, who reveals that she’s busy. The Azkaban Abolitionist movement is losing steam now that Stan Shunpike is last week’s news. People are still supporting Scrimgeour because they’re scare. She’s taking Skeeter with her to Azkaban that day to try and get an interview with Lucius (or maybe just an important meeting or luncheon or something. Either way, Narcissa’s busy).

So, Draco goes to Hogsmeade alone and who should be there except a sad looking black dog. Draco’s ticked, but they go up to the cave and have a conversation. Sirius tries lying and saying he’s doing great, but Draco tells him to cut the crap. Sirius reveals he’s been dealing with a lot of survivor’s guilt and that he finally felt at home amongst all his dead friends. Draco feels guilty and—after swearing Sirius to secrecy—reveals that Sirius was never dead and explains about the Realm of Remaining Memories. He explains that he didn’t abandon anyone, living or dead, and that he was just trapped, like in Azkaban all over again. He also explains that none of the people he saw there were real.

(Draco would never explain it this way, because he’s a wizard in the 90s, but think of it like a pensieve with an AI function—based on real memories but also totally unreliable. It’s like a magical AI impersonating your dead grandma!)

Sirius eventually believes him, thanks him, gets himself into a better head space, and lets Draco know that he owes Draco a favour. Draco asks him for help with the Azkaban Abolitionists so that he can get his dad out of prison. Sirius is reluctant, but eventually agrees.

On the way back, Draco runs into his roommates on the path to the castle (Nott, Davis, Crabbe, Goyle). Goyle asks him how the abolitionist movement is going, since they know his mom is behind it and they want their dads out of Azkaban too. (Davis doesn’t have family in Azkaban and looks uncomfortable. Nott’s dad is in Azkaban but he insists his dad can rot there for all he cares.) Draco reveals to them that the Abolitionist movement is looking pretty dead, and they are all upset. They start yelling at Draco to take their anger out on him, and he returns to the castle.

Sixth Year, Part V – Azkaban conditions, Blaise transfers, and Trelawny Talk #2

Sirius gives an interview with Skeeter! He doesn’t talk about how he is alive, just that he is thankful he is. Instead, the feature focuses on what it was like in Azkaban. Sirius & Skeeter paint it in the worst light they can, revealing details about imprisonment that makes people gasp. Dumbledore is clearly not happy about this.

Around this time, Blaise also reveals that the war pressure is getting to be too much for his precarious neutrality. He doesn’t know how Draco sleeps in a room with Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise is neutral and even he doesn’t feel safe around them. Blaise reveals he’s transferring to Beaubatons. Draco understands, even though he’s losing his only ally in the dorms.

Draco meets with Trelawny and she says she has some things to explain about Divination. Draco reminds her he quit. She says that they won’t be doing any, but she wants to explain the theory because, “he seems like a very dangerous person to leave in the dark.”

Trelawny explains that a single prediction can ruin your life, and you won’t even realise it until years later. She uses the metaphor of chess: every pawn is important, but people don’t realise how important they are until the end of the game, when they start regretting earlier decisions. She continues that every person in the castle is merely a pawn. Draco thinks she is talking about Dumbledore, but Trelawny corrects him. She explains that every person is simply a pawn for the spirits, ie. The things giving them their predictions. She says that the lower levels of Divination are about interpreting what the spirits tell us, and that the upper levels are about interpreting why the spirits tell us things. She concludes by giving Draco a copy of the Quibbler.

Sixth Year, Part VI – The Quibbler and other mysteries

Draco hates the Quibbler. He can’t make heads or tails of it. As far as he can tell, it’s all nonsense.

Eventually, he runs into Luna. Draco knows that Luna’s been a bit… strange since the death of her mother Pandora. Luna starts going off about nargles and magical creatures and Draco can’t make heads or tails of it. But she brings up Thestrals and how only those who have seen death can see them. Draco becomes intrigued. He asks about her mother’s death. Luna says that Pandora died in an experiment gone wrong. Pandora wanted everyone to be able to see the world like her father did. Draco tries to ask questions and only gets non-answers.

Luna is about to leave when she turns to Draco to ask him a question about Harry. “Who’s that man who is always with Harry?” Draco has no idea who she is talking about. He presses her, and she says he is quiet, short and has a shifty face. Draco does not know anyone like that and tells her so.

Confused by the whole thing, Draco asks Harry wtf is up with Luna. Harry says that’s just how she is and not to worry too much about it. Then he asks Draco how he should go about getting a memory from professor Slughorn. “Don’t you have a vial of Felix Felicius?” “Oh yeah!”

Sixth Year, Part VII – Slughorn’s Christmas Party!

Harry finally uses the Felix Felicius! His goal is to get Slughorn’s memory to help with the horcrux hunt. (They know Voldemort made more than one but are unsure how many.) After taking the potion, Harry wants Draco to go the Slughorn’s Christmas party too. Draco refuses at first but eventually goes because he is bored. Slughorn is clearly reluctant to have a death eater’s son there, and Slughorn also outright avoids Harry to avoid awkward questions. Harry, the lucky duck, shrugs it off and lets himself get tipsy.

Draco meets a couple who knew Pandora Lovegood and listens into the gossip. Apparently, she was a brilliant witch before she married her strange husband. They explain that The Quibbler wasn’t always bad. It used to be quite good, actually, as an alternative magazine. The mourn that The Quibbler isn’t what it used to be, since The Prophet has gotten so bad. They descend into gossip and Draco leaves the couple.  

After that, Draco returns to where Harry has gathered an audience. In his semi-drunken state, Harry brings up the fact that he slayed a Basilisk in his second year. The entire party is shocked at this, and the whole party takes a field trip to the second-floor girls’ bathroom. On the way, Ginny and Dean Thomas fight and break up. Once in the Chamber of Secrets, they realise how much the Basilisk corpse is worth and that Harry is rich(er). Slughorn realises how cowardly he’s been and gives Harry the memory. Harry and Ginny rush off to watch it, and Draco decides that’s enough for one night and goes to bed.

Sixth Year, Part VIII – Fallout from Felix

Draco is stuck alone with Theo Nott in the dorms for Christmas holidays. He met his mother in Hogsmeade for Christmas dinner, and they discuss the Abolitionists. According to Narcissa, parents are furious with Dumbledore for hiding a Basilisk in the school. She thinks she can use their anger to force a Wizengamot vote on the Azkaban Abolitionists. If that doesn’t work, she vows to use less than legal means to free her husband.

Draco gets one of the original copies of The Quibbler from the library. It’s nothing like the modern Quibbler. It’s full of research articles and opinion pieces and is quite cutting edge for the time.

In the long space between Christmas and New Years, Draco talks to Nott. Nott can’t speak out against the death eaters because he’ll get disowned if he does. Nott is stuck waiting until August when he turns seventeen to contest his inheritance. If he is anything other than supportive of the death eaters, he’ll get nothing. Nott reveals that he doesn’t really have an opinion on the war, he just has to not mess up. Draco offers him whatever help he can and recommends he befriend other neutral friends, just in case. Nott agrees and is later seen with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan.

Harry is finally getting positive attention from his classmates for being a rich, boy hero with a heart of gold. And he got a girlfriend! Wow!

But he must have been running his mouth to Dumbledore because the next thing Draco knew, he was called to Dumbledore’s office to give him a reading. Draco predicts that Dumbledore has two fates before him. The first fate he saw was Dumbledore acting pridefully and hiding information, leading to his own destruction and the destruction of everyone around him. The second fate showed Dumbledore acting with humility and being able to work with others. Dumbledore ponders this and then dismisses Draco.

Draco leaves Dumbledore’s office. He’s heading back to the dungeons when he hears someone following him. After calling for Harry to stop hiding, Draco doesn’t get a response. He realizes it wasn’t Harry. He rushes back to the dorm.

Sixth Year, Part IX – Harry Horcrux Reaction, Trelawny Talk #3, and Azkaban Release Gone Wrong

The Wizengamot voted! The Abolitionists won! The Ministry is going to shut down Azkaban and either free or transfer the prisoners!

(Draco’s thrilled! There’s no way this could go wrong!)

Draco is excited to tell Harry, but Harry is angry and upset when they meet up. Turns out, Dumbledore has been hiding very important information, specifically the fact that Harry is a horcrux. Draco finally asks Harry what a horcrux is and is appalled.

Draco wants to get the hocrux-thingy-majiggy off of Harry. Harry says the only way to do that is for him to die. Harry starts weighing the pros and cons of that while Draco tries to slap some sense into him. Harry is under the illusion that if he died, Draco could just bring him back to life. Draco stomps on that theory. Draco begs Harry to stop being irrational, ask Sirius and Remus for help, and to try to find literally any other option.

Later, in Trelawny’s tower, Trelawny warns Draco that he is in danger. Draco tries to dismiss her, because the spirits lie all the time and blah blah blah. Instead of disagreeing, Trelawny tells Draco that he is just as capable of picking his fate as everyone else is, and someone else has chosen to go after him.

Finally, it is time for the Azkaban release. The Slytherins gather around the wireless to listen to the report. It goes…. Badly. Very very badly. Death eaters show up. They take control of the dementors and start freeing the prisoners. The Aurors try to fight, but they flee too.

Everyone panics.

Sixth Year, Part X - SHTF

After the broadcast, word spreads that all the prisoners are out of Azkaban, but no one knows anything else. The school is in a panic. Draco runs to his crystal ball, hoping for any information on if his parents are safe. He can’t find it, but gets confronted by Nott, Crabbe and Goyle. They know he’s been doing divination for Potter and Dumbledore. They stun him. They plan to deliver Draco to the dark lord as a hostage.

Turns out, Nott stole the other half of Harry’s Felix Felicius potion. Powered by good luck, they pick up other students in their quest to escape the castle. Crabbe learned of the passage to the Shrieking Shack from Peter Pettigrew over Christmas vacation. On the way there, they encounter Harry and Ginny. They fight. Harry and Ginny look like they might win before Harry uses Sectumsempra on Crabbe. In the panic, Ginny also gets stunned and kidnapped. Snape stumbles on them at that moment and choses to assist the baby death eater’s escape so that he can help get Crabbe to the hospital.

The baby deatheaters get to the tunnel and to the shack where they apparate away from Hogwarts.

They arrive at a death eater stronghold, some type of manor. All of the death eaters are there. They are brought before the celebrating death eaters and the dark lord.

Theo Nott explained to the dark lord how he plotted, and the dark lord is pleased. He offers Nott any reward he wants, and Theo asks to be made head of Nott house now, even though he is not seventeen yet. Voldemort makes Nott Sr. agree. Voldemort does a big speech about having big plans for their conquest. The death eaters celebrate, and Voldemort makes Lucius Malfoy secure the prisoners by knocking them out.

Chapter Text

Draco woke slowly. His arm hurt from laying on it weirdly. He tried to adjust to something more comfortable, only to bang his elbow on something hard. In shock, his eyes snapped open. He wasn’t in his bed. He was on the floor. Why--?

He jolted, finally remembering it all. Hogwarts, the Azkaban prison break, racing for his crystal ball, Nott and his goons… He’d been kidnapped. Right out of his dorm.

Automatically, his hand when to his wand pocket. Empty. He had no wand. He had no wand.

Panic quickly set in. Merlin’s tits, he was in trouble.

Draco didn’t have time to go over everything. The last thing he remembered was being dragged in front of the Dark Lord. And then his father—

He quickly pushed down that thought. He didn’t have time for that right now.  

Where was he? How long had he been there?

He looked around. He quickly took in sloping ceilings and windows. There was no furniture at all. There was nothing in it except stone walls and—

“Weasley,” he breathed.

Ginny Weasley laid on the floor not far from him. Like him, she was still in her school uniform. The Gryffindor tie fell awkwardly to one side, mimicking how her hair fanned out on the floor. Her eyes were closed. She could have been asleep.

“Shite,” Draco said. His heartrate picked up. Was she dead? For all he knew, she could be. He rushed to her side and put a hand to her neck. She wasn’t cold, and he found her pulse quickly.

Relief flooded him, only to disappear just as quickly. They were both prisoners. This room was their prison cell.

There were two doorways. One was shut and glowing a very faint blue colour: an advanced locking charm. He’d have better luck trying to tunnel through the walls than get through that spell. Especially without a wand. The second doorway sat near separating a bathroom. The door itself was removed. Draco could see where the screws had been on the door frame.

No privacy then, he thought.

The ceiling slanted in each of the corners to make way for the roof. The only light came from various dormer windows, one on each of three walls. The forth wall held only the locked door.

Were they in an attic? Some sort of tower? Oh Merlin, Potter was going to have to rescue his princess from a tower, wasn’t he? And Draco would be there to witness it. Yuck.

He forced himself to stand up. His legs didn’t hurt, at least. He walked over to one of the windows.

The landscape outside was white but not as snowy as Hogwarts had been in February. He saw mountains and jagged rocks. An icy stream of snow drifted over their peaks. As much as their room was chilled, outside looked cold.

He pressed his face against the glass and looked down at the long drop to the ground. If Draco had to guess, he’d say they were in an old castle, with a wall circling multiple buildings. Their tower was by far the tallest. He couldn’t see any trees anywhere, just bare mountainside.

Outside the thin glass, a crow cawed.

Great, he thought. A death omen. That’s just what I need right now.

Behind him, he heard a groan. He turned as Ginny stirred. He watched her turn her head before she jolted too. Like him, her hand went right to her wand pocket. She patted at it, finding nothing.

Her head darted around, panicked, and landed on Draco. The determined glint in her eyes wouldn’t fool Draco. She was clearly terrified.

“Where are we?” Ginny asked.

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “Some castle. Our prison cell.”

Draco returned his attention to the window. He counted the windows on the smaller buildings surrounding them. “I think we’re on the fifth floor, in some kind of tower keep.”

Behind him, Ginny panicked. She started going through the same process Draco just finished.  She stood. She ran and tried the magically locked door, pulling on the handle to no avail. The doorknob rattled. He heard rather than saw it.

He sat back down on the floor and put his head in his hands.

They were prisoners. This wasn’t like last summer at Malfoy Manor, when Draco was able to sneak out, grab his mother and some brooms, and fly away. That was Draco’s home. This… Draco didn’t even know where they were. They were trapped.

Behind him, Ginny pummeled the locked door. Like a caged rabbit, she ran to the bathroom. Draco heard the sound of drawers dramatically opening and shutting.

“Shite,” Ginny said. Then, when turning to leave, “The bathroom has no bloody door!” This was followed by an impressive string of curse words.

“When I get my hands on Dean, I’m gonna- oh I’m gonna—” Ginny never said what she’d do. She was seething too hard. She made a complicated hand gesture, like she was wringing his neck in her mind.

Finally, Ginny made it to one of the windows. She looked down.

To Draco’s surprise, she took off her cardigan and wrapped her hand.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked.

“I’m going to climb down,” Ginny said. She raised her fist and beat it against the glass.

“It’s five stories down!” Draco said.

“So?!” Ginny grunted between punches.

“You’ll freeze!”

Ginny ignored him and kept punching the glass. Idiot girl. The glass shook but did not break. It glowed a similar blue as the door when hit. “I’m not gonna be a damsel stuck in a freaking tower. Especially not with you.”

Draco wasn’t even offended. The feeling was mutual.

After the fourth or so hit, Ginny jumped back from the window with a scream. Draco’s eyes snapped to the window.

The temperature in the room dropped as a dementor floated slowly into view. It stopped right in front of where Ginny had just been standing. Its dark robes billowed around it as it peaked into their room, almost curiously. Its face was hidden in the gloom and its hood. A cold, skeletal hand ran against the glass.

Draco didn’t dare move. Ginny backed away slowly and cowered from the window. The dementor tilted its head, running its hands over the glass again. It scratched against the glass. Draco counted the seconds. He could feel his heart pounding against his ribs.

The dementor took its time. It tilted its head the other way. Then, finally, it seemed to lose interest. It turned away from them.

Eventually, it floated off.

Draco and Ginny both breathed heavily. Once sure the dementor was gone, Ginny broke the silence.

“What do they want with us?” Ginny asked in a small voice.

Draco shrugged rather than answer. All of the answers he could think of were bad.  

A moment passed. Ginny asked quietly, “What do we do?”

Draco—sick off her talking—said, “You shut up and you do what they tell you. Unless you have some other way to get out of here without your wand.”

“Me?” Ginny said. Her fear disappeared into anger. “You’re the one with the divining powers, or so you claim. Oh, Draco told me this! Draco predicted that! Guess what, Ginny, if you tell Draco what you had for lunch, he can tell you what time you’re going to take a shit!” Ginny sneered at him. “You get us out of here!”

“What am I supposed to do?” Draco snapped.

“I don’t know!” Ginny snapped back. The words echoed gently in the empty, stone room.

They sat silently fuming at each other.

Draco’s anger only lasted a minute before the fear took over again.

They were truly trapped. They were stuck alone in a tower and there was nothing they could do about it.

“Shite!” Draco said again. He stood again. Now it was his turn to pace the room while Ginny glared. He tried to keep his breath even as he ran over possibilities in his head. There had to be some sort of solution.

There must be a solution.

He just had to think harder. But there were too many things to think about. So many factors that mattered that he had no idea about. Where were they? What happened to his mother? Where was his father?

His pacing picked up speed.

Ginny spoke, her voice impressively even. “Harry knows we were taken, right? So, someone has to be looking for us.”

“You,” he corrected thoughtlessly and nodded. He wasn’t even bitter about it. He would hold onto whatever hope he could get. “The entire Order of the Phoenix is probably looking for you. We’re just going to have to wait it out.”

Ginny’s eyes narrowed. She pursed her lips and didn’t say anything.

*

They didn’t talk to each other after that.

Draco knew it wasn’t Ginny’s fault that they were both trapped together, but that didn’t mean he liked the girl. Judging from the way she avoided him, the feeling was mutual.

The room wasn’t large, but they managed to avoid each other. At one point, Ginny walked around knocking on the walls. What was she going to do? Tunnel through with a spoon? It was made of stone! Even if she did, she’d have to scale the outside of the tower in Winter. Not to mention the dementors. Risking her life was one thing, but her soul was another.

Eventually, Ginny gave up knocking on the walls and sat down too.

The tower was shockingly quiet.

Draco had grown used to the noise of Hogwarts: the chatter of the portraits, the footfalls of students, the crackling of fires… He knew all the sounds of the school. The noises were a constant hum that faded into the background and let him know where he was and that he was safe.

There was none of that here.

Of the few sounds in the tower, none of them were familiar. The wind sometimes whistled around the tower, high-pitched and whiny.

What he wouldn’t give for the crows to be any other bird, but even they were welcome background noise.

Worse of all were Ginny’s random sighs and footsteps. He did his best to ignore her, but it was impossible in a space so small. With nothing else to focus on, he had no choice to pay attention when she switched windows or started knocking on walls.

He put his head in his arms and tried to ignore her.

Only the dementors were soundless. They sometimes creeped up to the window to peak in at them. He knew they were there by the sudden cold and unnatural feeling of dread. At least, the dread was usually because of the dementors.

All this did was make both of them a terrible combination of bored and terrified. Draco had too many thoughts and not a damn thing he could do with them.

He thought about Nott.

Part of him couldn’t believe that Nott had betrayed him. The other part of him—the logical and pessimistic part—wondered how he could have ever thought otherwise. Nott was a Slytherin. Banding together in times of crisis was their thing. They lifted each other up and cast the weakest out together. Draco struggled to understand that he was the one cast aside.

He thought about his mother.

Where was she now? She had been right there with all the deatheaters as they escaped! Was she hurt? Was she looking for him?

He stopped his mind before he could let his mind wander further in directions he wasn’t ready to go. Speculation wouldn’t help him now.

He thought about his father.

His father was likely in this very castle now. His mind kept replaying the last moment he saw him: how he stood above Draco and Ginny and attacked them on his master’s order. Draco remembered his father’s face, how scared an uncertain he looked. Surely, that was an act.

Draco had always been taught that family came first. His father couldn’t outright attack the Dark Lord in front of a crowd. He must be bidding his time. That must be it.

Any minute now, his father would barge down the door and sneak them out. Draco imagined it. Lucius would appear in a swirl of his best dressing robes, wand drawn and dangerous. He’d sweep Draco and Ginny away before any of the real deatheaters knew what happened. And then they’d be safe. Ginny could go back to the other Weasleys and his mother would cry and wrap them both in her arms. Then, his father would renounce the Dark Lord and they’d all flee to France together.

Draco clung desperately to that hope.

*

The sun set left them with only the barest bit of twilight leaking through the windows. The only other light was the soft blue glow of the locked door. The slow-encroaching darkness left both of them yawning. Draco laid on the cold floor and hoped the chill wouldn’t keep him from sleep. He pillowed his head on his arm and curled up.

His eyes were closed when he heard it: distant voices and growing footsteps. From the sound of it, a whole crowd of people approached.

As they got closer, Draco sat up. Ginny did, too, on the other side of the room.

The door’s glow brightened in a flash. The lock clicked and the door swung open. Draco and Ginny squinted away from the sudden light flooding into the room.

At least four deatheaters stood in the doorway. All their wands shone blindingly white light at them. Their deatheater robes blended with the dark shadows around them.

The first stepped into the room. They immediately shot a binding spell at both of them. Draco felt his arms and legs glue themselves together.

He couldn’t move.

He panicked. Not again. The last time that happened was when Nott and Crabbe and Goyle kidnapped him. He was just as helpless now. His heart beat crazily. What were they going to do to him?

“Grab the girl,” the deatheater—a woman—said.

The others did not hesitate to follow orders. The marched over to Ginny.

Draco lay on the ground, ignored. Relief flooded him as they ignored him, only for a flash of guilt to overwhelm him. He didn’t have time to dissect his emotions as he watched the crowd surround Ginny.

“Wait—” Ginny said as a wand was pointed in her face. Draco’s heart froze with fear, only for the deatheater to cast a levitation spell on her. Ginny let out as a scream as her body rose from the ground. She still couldn’t move.

Draco watched in horror from where he was frozen on the ground.

Ginny let out another scream as another deatheater grabbed her weightless form. He slung her over his shoulder as she screamed obscenities at him.

“Shut her up,” said the woman.

With a wave of another wand, Ginny’s screams cut off abruptly. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Ginny’s mouth gapped like a fish as he mouth twisted in terror.

“Right, let’s go then,” said the woman. As quickly as they had come, she turned to leave.

Fear gripped Draco as he realised he was about to be alone. “Wait,” he said only to be ignored. “Where are you taking her?”

The group did not respond, if they noticed him at all. They all made their way back down the stairs.

“Wait!” Draco called, panicked. “Wait! Come back!”

The group disappeared down the stairs and the door swung shut. Once again, it flashed a bright blue before fading into its regular hue.

All at once, Draco’s body unfroze. He collapsed onto the ground as he regained control of his limbs. He forced himself to his feet and rushed at the door, banging on it.

“Wait!” he cried. “Bring her back!”

He pounded on the door. His fists ached but he kept it up. Finally, he stopped. The silence and darkness surrounded him.

He was alone. Worse, Ginny wasn’t.

He started gasping for air in the dark room. Every worse fear started ran through his head. Torture, abandonment, initiation, murder, assault--

He tried to stop his thoughts. Ginny was a hostage, a valuable one. They couldn’t do anything too bad to her. Right?

No, that wasn’t the least bit true. They could do whatever they wanted.

The mental image off Ginny beaten and bloody seared itself onto Draco’s mind before he could stop it.

What would she be like when she came back? What if she didn’t come back?

Draco had spent so long being mad at Ginny that he hadn’t worried about her. Now, he sat alone in the darkness with his only companion hauled off to God-knows-where to do God-knows-what.

He hoped they just wanted information out of her.

He tried to be logical. Logic had never failed him. His emotions were wild things, better tamed and controlled. He needed to ignore them. If he gave in to them, he wouldn’t be able to think. He’d be useless.

I already am, whispered a little voice in his mind. He pushed it aside.

Instead, he ran over the facts in his head.

They’d been kidnapped straight out of Hogwarts. Every convict out of Azkaban was here, in this castle.

Draco had no idea where they were, how many people were here, who he could trust, or if he’d ever be allowed to leave. The closest thing he had to an ally was Ginny, who hated him and was gone.

And, he remembered, his father. He was here. His heart glowed a little bit with hope, despite the image of his father’s scared face the last time Draco saw him. He could get them out. Draco’s father was probably planning their escape right now.

But with the Dark Lord there, he had to bide his time. Draco nodded to himself even as the sinking feeling in his stomach made him want to throw up. He pushed aside all doubt and clung onto his hope. His only hope.

Unless… unless Ginny was right and they weren’t that far from an apparition point, or somewhere with brooms. They didn’t have wands, or even a way to escape this tower, but maybe they could start a plan. They just needed a way out.

The problem was Draco couldn’t see any. They couldn’t scale the tower. They couldn’t walk out the door. They didn’t even have wands.

What could they do? Was their only option really to bide their time?

Harry Potter and his friends will try to rescue us, he thought. He nodded to himself and sat back on the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees. The Order of the Phoenix has to be looking for Ginny, at least.

He really, really hoped they wouldn’t be dead by the time they got there.

All they could do was wait and see. In the mean-time, they just had to stay safe, and the only way for Draco and Ginny to be safe was to cooperate.

He’d give the deatheaters whatever they wanted. He’d do anything they asked. He’d play

the part of a good little prisoner for as long as he had to. Anything to stay alive.

Somehow, he didn’t think Ginny would be cooperative. She was too much like her boyfriend for that. She was probably just as brave as him and just as stupid. He didn’t know about Ginny, for sure, but he knew that Potter would rather die fighting than go against his moral code.

Luckily for Draco, his moral code was a lot more flexible when things like pain and death were involved.

Draco had never been brave. He’d never had to be. He didn’t know how. Draco barely even knew what to do, let alone how to be brave while doing it.

Potter would know. Instinctually. He’d be brave and moral and find some sort of incredible but stupid solution. He could face the Dark Lord single-handedly. He could kill a basilisk. He was the Triwizard Champion that hunted horcruxes and took down governments in his spare time.

Draco wasn’t that. Draco was a Slytherin. He could slink in the shadows and wait it out with the worse of them.

Draco couldn’t be brave, but he could be patient. He hoped that was enough.

*

Ginny returned hours later.

By that point, the moon had long risen and moved halfway across the sky. Draco managed to get something like sleep when footsteps jarred him awake again. The door opened and the woman from earlier shoved Ginny into the room. Draco didn’t have time to react before the door was shut and locked again.

In the darkness, Draco couldn’t make out her expression, but Draco couldn’t find anything immediately wrong with her. She made her way slowly to the wall that she sat at earlier and resumed the same position with her arms around her knees.

“What happened?” he asked.

She crouched in on herself and Draco’s fears all skyrocketed when she didn’t answer.

“Ginny,” he tried again.

“Nothing happened,” she said. Her voice was flat.

“Nothing?” Draco gapped. She’d been gone for hours! “Ginny…”

She huffed. “Not much to say. They sat me down. They asked me questions. And now I’m back.”

Questions?

She was interrogated, he realised, relieved only for a moment. He didn’t know how much of her flat attitude was exhaustion or how much she was trying to minimize it. He’d never heard this tone in her voice before. She’d always been lively at Hogwarts, always sharp and attentive. She was magnetic. He’d never seen her this… flat before.

“That’s it?” Draco said. He heard the worry in his own voice.

He watched as she huffed a breath and then nodded. “Yeah. No torture or anything, but… they had Snape use Veritaserum.”

Draco held his tongue for as long as he could. “Did you answer them?”

Ginny shrugged. “I had to.”

“What did you tell them?”

Ginny let out a weary sigh. She must have known he wouldn’t stop until she answered. “Tom asked me about my relationship with Harry, what I knew about the Order… and what I knew about you.”

“Me?” Draco said.

Again, Ginny just shrugged.

Draco took this in. He wasn’t sure who Tom was. He quickly ran through a list of purebloods in his head. He can’t think of anyone named Tom. He filed the name away for later. Perhaps someone to keep track of.

Asking about the Order and Harry Potter made sense. The fact they wanted to know about him was worrisome. No one wanted to be the centre of the Dark Lord’s attention.

What was the Dark Lord planning to do with him? He was a prisoner. A blood traitor. They both were, but he was the one that betrayed and abandoned the deatheaters. As much as he was glad they didn’t make an example of Ginny, he feared he might become the Dark Lord’s example.  

“What did you tell them?” Draco asked finally.

Ginny made a frustrated noise. The flatness in her voice disappeared. “That’s none of your damn business! Draco, they gave me Veritaserum. I told them the truth. I didn’t have a choice, and I am not going to run over every question they asked me now. It’s late. I’m going to bed, or floor, or whatever. Sleep.”

With that, Ginny turned her back to him and laid down on the floor.

Draco knew there were a thousand more things to say, but he couldn’t think of a single word. They were both tired. There was nothing they could do then they can’t do in the morning. He turned again to Ginny’s still form before he laid down too.

He rolled onto his side, facing away from her. He pillowed his head in his arms and hoped that somehow the morning would be better.

He closed his eyes and hoped sleep would stop his racing thoughts.

Whatever happened, this was his life for the foreseeable future. He had better get used to it.

Chapter Text

Draco didn’t sleep well. How could he? He was captive in a room with no blankets or bedding. He gave up on sleep long before the sky outside the window started to turn grey. When he heard Ginny shuffling, he got up to use the bathroom. When he was done, she sat leaning against her section of wall, no longer feigning sleep either.

Their gazes briefly met before they went back to ignoring each other.

This is fine, Draco told himself.

The day dragged on. The sun rose and they both watched as the light moved from one window to another. Hours passed. They languished in their room. Ginny sat on the same section of floor that she had the night before.

Every time Draco thought of something positive to try and keep the misery at bay, he’d feel a chill and look up to see another dementor fly by.

Draco was lonely. He was angry. He was miserable.

At least they were being fed. A house elf arrived to bring them meals. Draco couldn’t help but be thankful. Ginny even thanked the elf. It was the first words she said that day. The small creature blushed and shuffled nervously before popping away.  Ginny’s smile dropped when the elf disappeared.

Draco desperately wanted to ask Ginny what she told the Dark Lord. He knew that she had taken Veritaserum. None of what happened was her fault. But his mind kept going through scenarios.

She knew that he and Potter had been meeting, he’d given Harry predictions, and they’d talked.

Draco had never spoken to Ginny before. He’d never told her any of his secrets. But he was sure that Potter had. He had no idea how much Ginny knew.

What he feared most was that she told the Dark Lord that Draco was involved in Sirius Black’s undeath.

How, just this past August, he managed to escape the deatheaters and used the mystery of the Veil as a distraction from his problems. How he discovered that the Veil wasn’t a portal of death afterall, but something else entirely. How Sirius was trapped in a land of memories for Draco to save.

Instead, he was stuck in what Draco called The Realm of Remaining Memories. It was like a magical penseive. It could create figments of people based on how they were remembered, but only so long as someone alive remembered them, and only what that person remembered. There was no way to know if anything the figments told we reliable, the same way that penseive memories were inadmissible in court.

How was Draco supposed to explain that Sirius Black was never dead?

All the Dark Lord would need was some hint that he was involved in Sirius’ supposed miraculous revival and he’d demand answers. The man was obsessed with immortality. The horcruxes proved that. And this sure as hell looked a lot like immortality.

The Realm had to stay secret. Draco knew it in his bones. The Dark Lord couldn’t find out that Draco had used Divination to single-handedly outsmart years of research by the Ministry’s best Unspeakables. He couldn’t afford to be an interesting hostage.

Besides, would the Dark Lord even keep hostages if he thought he could interrogate the dead?

No, Draco concluded. Not if they weren’t valuable. The Dark Lord could not find out.

But what if he already had?

Draco’s eyes flicked to the girl looking miserable across the room.

He remembered Hermione and Harry glaring at him across the Great Hall. How much had Harry told them? How much had he told Ginny?

Ginny’s eyes flicked up and met his gaze. They both looked away quickly. She wasn’t talking about what happened, and he wasn’t willing to ask. He’d have to settle for not knowing.

He turned away from her and tried not to let the mystery eat him alive.

*

Hours later, there was a knock at the door.

Draco and Ginny both sat on their designated floor sections and stared at it. Considering they were prisoners and the door was locked, they weren’t sure what they were supposed to do about it. After a moment, the door’s magic flashed. It swung open.

When Ginny saw who it was, her lip curled and her shoulders rose. She reminded Draco of an angry cat.

Dean Thomas entered looking none-too-confident. The deatheater behind him told him gruffly, “Ten minutes,” then shut the door behind them. The door flashed blue again, once again locked.

Dean stood there awkwardly. “Hey, Ginny.”

“You,” Ginny hissed, eyes locked on Dean. She stood up so she could back away from him.

Neither of them paid Draco any mind. Draco leaned back and prepared to watch.

Dean walked further into the room. His eyes surveyed their cell, and his lips pressed together in worry. He looked only briefly at Draco before returning to Ginny.

“What do you want?” Ginny snapped.

Dean’s face twisted into something deeply uncomfortable. He ducked his head and braced himself. “I came here to apologise.”

Draco hadn’t expected that. Ginny mustn’t have either. Her eyebrows shot up, before an expression of suspicion settled on her. She waited.

Dean continued. “I didn’t think they were going to take you. That wasn’t part of the plan. You have to believe me, we never meant to kidnap you,” he said, looking at Ginny.

Draco’s mouth dropped open. “What about me?”

Dean spared Draco a glance before turning back to Ginny, his face contrite. Rude.

Ginny also ignored Draco. She crossed her arms and steeled herself. “So, you’re not sorry you joined the deatheaters? You’re just sorry I got hurt in the process?”

Dean hesitated. His right hand went straight to his left forearm.

Ginny saw it too. Her eyes widened in realisation. “What the fuck Dean?!”

“Ginny…” Dean said as if Ginny was some sort of child throwing a fit.

“You got a fucking darkmark?” she yelled.

“I—” Dean started like he was going to argue. He didn’t. His hand just tightened on his arm. If that wasn’t proof, the expression on his face told them everything they needed to know.

Ginny seethed. “I can’t believe you! After all the times you talked about wanting to do something meaningful in your life, you picked Voldemort?” Draco and Dean both flinched.

“Ginny—"

“You’re a halfblood! What the fuck were you thinking?! Idiot!”

“I can explain—"

“How, Dean? What could have possibly possessed you to think Let’s join the murder cult! That sounds like a good idea!” Ginny demanded. “You know how those people treat my family. How could you join them? They hate people like us. You know that they’re after Harry. He’s your friend! I’m your friend.”

Ginny’s eyes filled with tears, emotions catching up to her. She was practically shaking, either with rage or from the whole situation.

Dean, shockingly, let her yell. He finally spoke when she ran out of steam. “Ginny… Harry’s not going to win.”

Ginny flinched. The mood of the room shifted, like all of the anger was replaced by fear. “What?” she asked.

Dean sighed. “Look, I’ve been talking to Nott—”

Draco snorted. Both of them turned and glared at him.

Dean continued. “I’ve been talking to Nott, and he’s right. The…the Dark Lord is going to win.” Dean forced the words out. Draco watched him tighten his grip on his left sleeve. His skin was unusually pale.

Ginny shook her head. “How could you say that?”

“Because it’s true!” Dean argued, yelling back now. “You’ve seen Dumbledore this year. He’s weaker than he’s ever been. He’s old. Really old. And when he’s dead, there’s nobody who can stop him.”

“Harry—”

“Harry’s sixteen!” Dean snapped.

“He’s your friend!” Ginny yelled right back.

“So? He can’t stop a war. He’s just some kid. I know. I shared a room with him.” Draco fought down the feeling of deja vu as Dean continued. “He still has nightmares, you know. Sure, he’s good at Defense, but what else?” Dean looked at Ginny as she struggled to find words. “He can’t fight a war. He can’t take on a whole army!”

“He’s your friend!” Ginny argued with tears in her eyes.

“What about my family?” Dean shot right back.

“Your family? You mean your muggle family?” Ginny sneered. “The muggle family that Voldemort wants to destroy?”

Dean shook his head. “He granted them clemency.”

“What does that even mean?” Ginny snapped.

“It means that he’s showing them mercy. They’ll be safe so long as I help… my Lord.”

Ginny faltered, eyes widening. For the first time this whole conversation, she didn’t look angry or confused. She looked like she understood something the rest of them hadn’t. When she spoke, her tone was urgent and her voice was quiet. “Where are they?”

Draco’s gaze snapped back to Dean. Dean wouldn’t meet her eye.

“Dean, where are they?” Ginny said again.

Dean shrugged. “At home. They have some people keeping an eye on them.”

Draco sat up and joined the conversation. “They’re under surveillance?”

“They’re under guard!” Dean said.

Draco sucked in a breath. “He made them hostages.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Dean said.

Ginny stood shaking her head. “Harry’s going to stop them,” she promised. “Harry’s going to stop you.”

“Ginny,” Dean sighed. The boy Draco had known since he was eleven looked a decade older all of sudden. Draco only saw the grey under Dean’s eyes as he met Ginny’s gaze. “Harry used Felix Felicius on you.”

Draco’s eyes went wide at what Dean was implying.

Ginny glared. “That’s not how that potion works.”

“Isn’t it?” he asked. “Sure, he didn’t imperio you but he still manipulated you.”

Ginny clenched her jaw and shook her head. “Felix Felicius is not a love potion.”

“But if he had to use it to get you to date him—”

“My emotions are my own, Dean.”

“We broke up and you started dating him within the hour.”

Draco interrupted. “Didn’t Nott have to use Felix Felicius to get you to join?”

Dean pulled his wand and pointed it at Draco from across the room. “Shut up, Malfoy!”  

Draco did. Ginny didn’t move to stop Dean. Instead, she steeled herself and went still. Her lips went flat and her eyes darted between Dean’s wand and Draco.

Seeing this, Dean Thomas lowered his wand. Ginny didn’t relax. He sighed and stepped toward her. “Look, Ginny—”

Whatever poor excuse he was going to make, they never found out.

There was another knock at the door. Dean backed away from Ginny.

The door again glowed brighter. Unlocked, it swung open.

In walked Theodore Nott.

Nott stood up perfectly straight as he entered the room. He looked calm and more relaxed than Draco had seen him in months. Draco couldn’t take his eyes off him. Drawn by his gaze, Theo looked down at Draco. Draco swore the corner of Theo’s mouth tilted up slightly before he looked back to Ginny and Dean.

You bastard, thought Draco.

“Are you done yet?” Nott asked Dean. His voice was bored and superior.

Dean stepped back from Ginny. He gave her a long, searching gaze. Whatever he was looking for, he must not have found it. “Yeah, I’m done.”

“You’re a coward, Dean!” Ginny yelled. “You too, Nott! I can’t believe I thought you were cute!”

Nott’s eyebrows shot up, looking pleased at this information. Dean did not.

Draco had more important things on his mind than their relationship drama. Like the fact that they were deatheater prisoners with no means of escape. Their lives were on the line!

Draco stared at the source of his imprisonment. Rage boiled in him.

“How could you do this, Theo?” Draco asked, trying to remain calm.

“How? It was surprisingly easy.” Theo shrugged.

Draco shook. He found it hard to think properly. He wound up repeating Ginny’s words when he couldn’t find his own. “I thought we were friends.” Draco hated how true those words rang.

Theo looked taken aback and genuinely affronted by this assessment. “We weren’t friends. We were roommates and partners in potions, but we weren’t friends.”

Draco knew that. Draco should have known that all along. And yet he still felt betrayed. Stupid.

Nott stood there, shaking his head. “Draco, this wasn’t an impulse decision. I’ve been thinking about this for months.”

“Joining the deatheaters or turning me over to the Dark Lord?”

Nott shrugged. “It was a win-win.”

Draco shook his head. “After all you said about not turning out like your father—"

“Yeah, I’m sure your father’s very proud of you,” Ginny snarked.

Theo did not look at all bothered by this. “I’m the head of House Nott, as decreed by the Dark Lord himself. My father doesn’t matter anymore.”

Ginny must not have made the connection before. She screeched, “You sold us out for money?!”

“It’s supposed to be mine,” Nott spit, as if that justified anything. He turned up his nose at her. “You wouldn’t get it. You’ve always been poor.”

If Ginny was able to kill someone with just her eyes, Nott would have been cremated already.

“Now, thanks to Felix and you two being so easy to kidnap, I’m the new head of the Nott family, and I control the Nott fortune.”

Draco shook his head. “The Wizengamot won’t let you take control as an active death eater.”

“Sure, they will.” Nott shrugged. “It never stopped our fathers, and Voldemort is working to control the Ministry as we speak. Besides, I’m a minor. I acted under duress, for the good of my family name. They’ll forgive me. I’ll be fine.”

“What about us?” Ginny spit.

“You? You’ll be fine. You’re purebloods.”

“We’re blood traitors,” Draco pointed out.

Theo sighed and pointed at Ginny. “You’re a girl and a pureblood. Anyone would be an idiot to off you.” Ginny did not look reassured. She turned rather green. Theo looked down his nose at Draco. “Don’t ask me what he wants with an idiot like you.”

Draco didn’t have the energy to care about being insulted.

Before anyone else could say anything, the door behind them flashed, again, unlocking. The group turned. The hooded deatheater from the hallway stepped aside as someone else stepped forward.

This time, Severus Snape entered. He wore his usual dark clothes and a bitter look. His eyes narrowed on Dean and Nott. He looked even more serious than usual.

Draco wanted to be happy to see him. His teacher, his godfather, his head of house. But it was like all his emotions were put on hold as he processed the scene in front of him. He took in Snape’s scowled face. The lines were deeper than normal and he looked even less approachable than usual. Snape’s eyes narrowed on Thomas and Nott.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded of Thomas and Nott.

Both boys looked like they were caught. “Uh…”

“You are supposed to be in the library with the others,” Snape said.

“We could have studied at school,” Dean said.

Snape was unmoved. “Unfortunately for you, you will also study here.”

Nott sneered. “You can’t just treat us like children!”

“As the one the Dark Lord put in charge of all of you children, yes I can.” Draco had never heard Snape so serious before. “Neither of you are of age and, thus, can’t use magic until the Dark Lord has control of the Ministry.”

(Draco suddenly realised why Dean and Nott had to get that other deatheater to unlock the door for them. They were powerless here, too.)

“Urquhart can do what he wants!” Dean said.

“He is seventeen, an adult, and thus not my responsibility,” Snape said.

“I’m Head of my Family!” Nott cried.

“So are half the people here. If you think I care, you are more stupid than anyone gives you credit for.” Snape stood straight before them and glared. “Both of you, return to the library. If I catch either of you wandering off again, I will revoke your wands myself until I know you are capable of following orders. Neither of you will be able to assist with anything more important than reading the weather forecast until I say so. Understood?”

Both Nott and Dean mumbled.

“Understood?” Snape asked again.

“Yes, sir,” the pair mumbled.

Snape huffed. “Get out of my sight.”

Nott and Dean ducked their heads and left. Snape followed behind, still with his wand drawn, watching them closely as they retreated.

Before he left with them, Snape turned around.

“Draco,” he said.

Draco straightened at being addressed. He met his Godfather’s gaze and hoped.

Hope met cold disinterest. “I am here to escort you. The Dark Lord is ready to see you now.”

Fear consumed what little hope he had.

Draco forced himself to his feet and followed.

Chapter Text

With no choice, Draco stood up. Snape motioned with his wand that Draco should walk in front, so Draco did. He cast a glance back at Ginny. She looked scared. As much as they hated each other, Draco didn’t want to leave her either. At least together, they had someone to rely on.

“I’ll be back,” Draco said, not knowing if they were empty words.

Snape motioned again for him to move, out of patience. Draco steadied his nerves the best he could and walked into the hall. Another death eater was waiting there. McNab, Draco thought by the build under the cloak. Draco followed him as the other death eater followed behind him.

The tower was large and its steps were uneven stone. Draco made sure not to trip on the descent. McNab led him down the stairs and outside.

Draco squinted against the bright light and the blinding snow. They were only outside for a few moments, as they walked between buildings, but the wind was bitter. The path was tramped down with footsteps, Draco assumed Nott’s and Dean’s. They followed them into the next building, also large, stone, and imposing. Draco guessed it was the main building in whatever compound they were at.

This new building was better heated than the tower. Or maybe it was the lack of dementors. Either way, Draco felt his limbs relax into the warmth.

They took him down the hallway. He was eventually led up another flight of stairs into a room. Large, paned windows covered one wall, and a bookshelf covered another. Someone had removed all of the books. The shelves sat bare. It might have been an office, at one point, but it was empty except for a round table in the centre and two chairs sat facing each other.

Draco took an inadvertent step toward the windows. He could just make trees out in the distance. He barely made it two steps towards the windows before the door swung shut behind him. He whirled to see the flash of a locking charm.

This was it. Ginny had been interrogated. Now it was his turn.

Except… no one was here.

He was alone. They had left him there.

Snape had left him.

The shock of it hit Draco like a bludger.

Snape had a good pokerface. He was good at pretended that he didn’t care about anything or anyone. But Draco had never once thought that applied to him. Not until now.

Was this intentional? Was he meant to escape? Draco looked around the room for any clues but found none.

No, clearly his godfather had chosen a side. Draco remembered him helping Nott during their escape. If there was ever a time for Snape to stand up for his godson, it was when he was being literally kidnapped.

Great, another adult for Draco to be disappointed in. He was getting quite the collection.

The silence in the room stretched. For the first time in weeks, he was out of his tower. And he was alone. Draco didn’t know what to do now that no one was watching him. This taste of freedom was almost too much for him.

Draco ignored the table for now, and went to take in the view. Maybe there were some sort of town nearby or a forest he could run to if he got the chance to escape. Instead, he saw the side of one of the mountains that surrounded them.

As Draco stood staring at the mountains, a foreboding feeling took over him. Dread set into his chest. He knew in an instant that the feeling was foreign.

Something was coming; something wrong and evil and unnatural.

The door clicked and opened behind him. Draco whirled.

The Dark Lord Voldemort stepped into the room.

His wand was undrawn and his hands were free. He looked completely at ease with his robes swirling around him.

He smiled at Draco.

The Dark Lord’s smile was snakelike and wrong. His skin was pale and hairless. Draco’s skin was pale too, but he had things like freckles and veins and a flush to give him colour. The Dark Lord didn’t. Where his skin wasn’t bone white, it was grey from shadow or green from veins. His eyes may have once been brown, but they had an almost reddish hue to them. Most disconcerting of all was the lack of nose. Instead, he had two slits for nostrils and a void in the centre of his face.

Draco could feel the foreboding feeling coming off of him in waves. It didn’t make him feel sick like the horcrux did, but he knew that this was death magic. He was sure of it.

Every instinct in Draco screamed that this creature was venomous and to get away.

Snape closed the door behind him. Draco was trapped.

The Dark Lord stood calmly. Draco was perturbed to note he was smiling a little. He forced himself to breathe normally.

“Draco Malfoy,” the Dark Lord said. “I have heard so much about you.”

It was at this point Draco realised that they had never actually met. Draco had seen him only in his dreams and visions. Never, in any of them, had the Dark Lord been pleasant. Even when he was captured, he’d been paralyzed, unable to look up at his face.

The Dark Lord looked at him with his attempt at a pleasant expression.

First impressions were important, his father always taught him. He knew he had to appear calm. Draco forced his shoulders back and replied as evenly as he could. “I have heard much about you, too.”

The Dark Lord smiled. His teeth were sharp. “I’m sure. I was so excited to meet you last Summer. I’m sure you understand my… disappointment over your disappearance.”

Draco tensed.

“Now, I can see why it was important in the grand scheme of things.” He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he motioned at the table. “Have a seat.”

Draco stood frozen for a moment before he followed the orders. The chair creaked as he sat. He had no wand, so he sat on his hands to keep them from shaking. Across from him, the Dark Lord sat as well.

Voldemort snapped his fingers. The next moment, a house elf appeared with two cups and a teapot. It set them on the table with shaking hands before disappearing as quickly as it could.

“If you would,” Voldemort said, with perfect pureblood manners. Draco reached forward and poured them both cups.

The Dark Lord sat perfectly still and relaxed while Draco poured. “I was so looking forward to having you as one of my death eaters. I thought you had so much potential. I was upset when you disappeared.” Draco flinched under the weight of his disapproval. He almost spilt some of the tea. He steadied himself and set the pot down carefully.

Draco didn’t reach for his own teacup until he saw the Dark Lord take a sip. That didn’t mean it couldn’t be poisoned, Draco knew. If the Dark Lord took the antidote before-hand, it wouldn’t affect him. A tiny part of Draco’s mind whispered that poison might be his best chance at escape.

The Dark Lord raised his non-existent eyebrows when Draco didn’t drink from his own cup. He waited.

Draco had to decide. He was dead either way, he realised, poison or no poison. He lifted his cup and took a sip.

It tasted normal. Just regular green tea.

The Dark Lord carried on. “I was so upset when you left. I thought I had a traitor in my midst. Who was telling others my plans? Then, I found these in your room, and it made sense.”

The Dark Lord snapped his hand that wasn’t holding the cup.

The door opened again. Draco looked up as Snape entered the room, on queue. In his hands were the Divination books that Draco left behind fleeing the manor less than a year ago.

Oh no.

Snape set the books down on the table and then stepped back. He stood back from the table and kept his gaze ahead, waiting for order. Draco wished he could say he took comfort in his presence. He didn’t. Snape looked positively bored.

“Fate is such a funny thing,” the Dark Lord said, drawing Draco’s attention back. “I lost the first war because of a prophecy. I don’t intend to make the same mistake twice.”

The Dark Lord set down his teacup and focused fully on Draco.

“What is your name?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Draco Malfoy,” Draco said automatically, the words forced from his lips.

His eyes widened. Not poison. Veritaserum. All the dread Draco felt doubled. He could feel himself going pale.

The Dark Lord studied his face. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

Then, the questions began.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Who are your parents?”

“Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.”

“When was the last time you spoke to your father.”

“Fifth year,” Draco said. “The Christmas before he went to prison.”

The Dark Lord nodded at this, as if Draco passed some kind of test.

“You and Harry Potter are friends?” the Dark Lord asked.

“Not really,” Draco said, glad the Veritaserum wasn’t making him argue. It was true, despite what Harry might think.

“That’s not what Nott and Weasley said.”

Draco didn’t know what to say to that. It wasn’t a question, so the magic didn’t force him.

“He tried to save you,” the Dark Lord pointed out.

“He’s an idiot Gryffindor. Of course, he did,” Draco responded.

The Dark Lord studied him. “Interesting,” he said.  "Tell me, Draco, are you loyal to Dumbledore?”

Draco scoffed. “No.”

"Are you a member of the Order of the Phoenix?”

“No,” Draco said.

“Have you ever been a member of the Order?”

“No,” Draco answered.

“Are either of your parents members?”

“No. Never.”

Voldemort nodded again. “Sirius Black is your cousin, correct?”

Draco swallowed his fear. “Yes.”

The Dark Lord met eyes with Draco. “How did Dumbledore bring Sirius Black back from the dead?”

Draco panicked, but the Veritaserum forced the words out. “He didn’t,” Draco said, truthfully.

“You don’t believe he did?” the Dark Lord asked.

Hadn’t he just answered that? The question confused Draco. He had to take a moment to process. Completely accidentally, his confusion gave him time to fight the Veritaserum. It was about belief, not truth. He didn’t believe that.

“I don’t believe that,” the potion forced Draco to say. He knew Dumbledore didn’t bring Sirius back.

He barely had time to look to see the Dark Lord’s reaction before he asked the next question. “What did Dumbledore do to bring Sirius Black back to life?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” The words forced their way out of his mouth.

“How is Sirius Black not dead?!” The Dark Lord yelled.

“Because he’s not dead,” Draco said, automatically, honestly.

The Dark Lord seethed. “What does Dumbledore know that I don’t?!”

“A lot, probably,” Draco said.

“My Lord, if I may,” Snape interrupted, “I do believe that veritaserum works best when you ask yes or no questions.”

The Dark Lord glared at Severus. Draco shook, afraid that he was about to see his godfather murdered before his eyes. That didn’t happen. Instead, the Dark Lord turned back to Draco. He pondered his words before asking, “Do you know what Dumbledore knows about immortality?”

“No,” Draco said. “I know he was once friends with Nicolas Flammel?”

The Dark Lord grunted. “Do you know anything about immortality?”

“No,” Draco said honestly.

“Do you know what Dumbledore knows about necromancy?”

“No.”

 “You had a meeting with Dumbledore recently, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Voldemort said, leaning forward, completely ditching asking yes or no questions.

“He wanted a prediction,” Draco said.

“Oh yes, your predictions. Miss Weasley mentioned that too. As did Nott. He said you’d had at least one secret meeting with Dumbledore. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Draco said.

“How many meetings with Dumbledore did you have?” he asked.

“Just one.”

“And what did you tell him?” the Dark Lord asked.

Draco swallowed, not wanting to answer, but the words were pried from his mouth. “I told him he was a danger to everyone around him. I told him he would destroy everything around him because of his pride.”

The Dark Lord paused and studied Draco.

In the prolong silence, Draco broke out in a cold sweat.

Then, the Dark Lord laughed. Draco stared in shock as the Dark Lord shook his head. “I could have told him that.”

Draco was too shocked to say or do anything.

The Dark Lord’s smile dropped. He continued to look at Draco. “Do you really think that you are a seer?”

“Yes,” Draco said, not liking this line of questioning.

“What have you seen?” the Dark Lord asked curiously.

Draco gulped. The words came from his lips regardless of his fear. “A lot of things.”

“Be specific.”

“I saw a wolf and a dog chasing a rat in third year. I saw four Triwizard tasks in fourth year. I saw Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour and Victor Krum die in the final task. I saw a black dog that shouldn’t go through an archway in fifth year. I saw myself being summoned to your side and taking the dark mark—”

“Enough,” said the Dark Lord. Draco shut his mouth.  “Have you seen me lose?”

Draco thinned his lips, trying to fight the potion. The Dark Lord knew what that mean. The corner of his mouth ticked up. Draco was forced to say it anyway. “No.”

“Then why do you oppose me?”

Draco didn’t have an answer for that, but the veritaserum forced him to say, “I don’t know.”

“Do you disagree with me? That muggles are dangerous and a threat to our society?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

The words surprised Draco. “You scare me.”

Voldemort paused at this. “Good. All my best followers are.” He took another sip of his tea. Draco became very aware of the quiet while he waited for the Dark Lord to finish.

He did. He lowered his cup and returned his gaze to Draco. With a quirk of his lips, the Dark Lord asked, “Will you join me?”

“Nnnnnoo—if I have to,” the words came out of Draco’s mouth unbidden.

The Dark Lord laughed. “A true Slytherin, doing what you must to get to the top. You could have been a great death eater if you hadn’t left. Loyal, hardworking, reliable. But now… now I know what you’re capable of.”

The Dark Lord picked up his teacup once again. He raised it to his lips and drained it. The individual tendons on his neck flexed as he did. Once he was done, he held the cup towards Draco. “Tell me: What do you see?”

Feeling strangely out of himself, Draco took the cup. He looked up at the Dark Lord, hardly believing he was serious. The Dark Lord wasn’t laughing. His face was carefully blank.

Finally, Draco looked down at the cup.

The Dark Lord’s teacup was a mess, like nothing he’d ever seen before. The tea grounds must not have been ground properly because large chunks of leaves stuck to the bottom and peeled off as Draco turned the cup. How had he even drunk from it?

The potion made him speak. He didn’t have time to think of all the symbol’s interactions before the words came from his mouth.

“There is an arrow pointing at me. That means I’m going to give you bad news,” Draco said.

The Dark Lord nodded and looked at him expectantly.        

Draco gulped. “A dragon. Large and sudden changes. Or possibly a snake, for arguments.”

The Dark Lord tilted his head, not taking his eyes off of him. “Interesting.”

“And… that looks like a crown. It means power, or recognition.”

Finally, Draco ran out of things to say about the teacup. He set it down on the table and tried not to shift in his chair.

Voldemort seemed unimpressed. Draco felt himself sweat.

Draco tried to explain. “You asked what I saw.”

The Dark Lord hmmed.

“Divination is in the interpretation,” Draco tried. He had no idea if the Dark Lord heard him. He had turned his attention to the window beside them. Draco snuck a look, but he didn’t see anything more interesting than the mountains outside. “It will not work under veritaserum. Just saying what I see in the cup won’t work. Symbols change. Meaning changes—"

The Dark Lord stood then. Snape began, “My Lord—"

“A seer led to my downfall in the last war. Perhaps a seer will lead to my victory in this one,” he said. He turned to Draco. “You will return to your room. We will summon you when you are needed. Be ready.”

With that, the Dark Lord turned and left the room.

*

Snape returned Draco to the tower. They didn’t speak. Draco didn’t know what to say, and it seemed Severus had nothing to say to him.

Just outside the tower room, Snape finally spoke. “Let’s hope that the Dark Lord finds you useful.”

Ginny stood as soon as he entered. “What happened?” she asked.

Draco was shaking, but the Veritaserum hadn’t worn off yet. “He asked me questions,” he answered.

He made his way to the nearest wall and let his legs give out beneath him. He slid down and sat.

He didn’t know, Draco thought. The Dark Lord thought that Dumbledore brought Sirius Black back from the dead. He didn’t know it was me.

Draco had no idea what this meant for him. He was left with more questions than answers. And fear. Lots and lots of fear.

But he’d been right there in front of the Dark Lord and hopped up on Veritaserum, and somehow the question never came up. Voldemort asked him point blank how Dumbledore brought Sirius Black back from the dead, and Draco said he didn’t. And, somehow, Draco hadn’t spilt his own secrets.

He was safe. It was hilarious.

Draco laughed. He was shaking and he was scared and he was so relieved. Ginny looked at him like he was mad. He buried his face in his hands and laughed harder.

Ginny, despite still hating Draco, bit her lip. She took a space on the floor next to him, not quite touching.

Eventually, Draco’s laughter died. The room fell quiet again. He realised he was back to being cold.

Beside him, Ginny said, “We’ll find a way out.”

He didn’t dare open his mouth in case the Veritaserum hadn’t worn off yet. He couldn’t crush her hopes.

They sat together in their cell and watched the light on the floor move for the rest of the day. She didn’t try to speak to him again.