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Chapter Text

There were many things that Draco had dreaded when the Wizengamot decided that part of his punishment would include attending Hogwarts to complete his NEWTs. Facing his classmates. Returning to a place that had so many painful memories. 

He had not expected having to see a werewolf every day. Not so soon after living with Greyback. Not ever.

Yet, known werewolf Remus John Lupin had been brought back to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. One of the classes, along with Muggle Studies, that Draco was specifically required to take.

Thankfully the eighth year students had been given single rooms, and his privacy charms were top notch by necessity. The inevitable nightmares were no one's business.

"Hello again," Professor Lupin had started the class and everyone else in the room had made fond noises, a few laughing. Potter was scowling, which was a surprise. Lupin and Potter had seemed to be on good terms in third year, and it was Draco’s understanding that Lupin had been part of Dumbledore’s Order.

Surprisingly, the professor looked better than he had 5 years ago. Despite having lived through another war, he appeared to be healthier, the lines on his face were less pronounced, and he stood up straighter. Draco keenly remembered sneering at the man who looked to be on death's door at the Welcome Feast of his third year. 

A healthier werewolf made him nervous. In third year, Lupin had seemed harmless and frail. That was no longer the case. No matter how nice his facade was, Draco knew well the horrors he was capable of.

"Because our numbers are so small, and we've all gone through a tremendous amount of trauma in the past year, I have decided that we shall have a repeat of our first lesson together - boggarts." The mood changed with this announcement. A few people, like Longbottom, looked excited. Others, like Granger, looked hesitant.

"Unlike your third year, I will not be asking you to face your fears in front of your classmates. The boggart is in my office. You have the option to go in alone or with a partner. I am aware that the horrors we face today will be more extreme, and it is my belief that facing these is an important step in moving forward," the man explained and, for the most part, the class seemed bolstered.

Weasley and Potter, of course, volunteered to go first. Three years ago, Draco would have audibly gagged while his friends sniggered. Now he was the only Slytherin standing and the entire room seemed to shoot him nasty looks should he dare think about setting a toe out of line.

Draco, however, did not want to mock the Gryffindors. No, he wanted very badly to fake being sick. He should have got some of those Weasley products that ginger duo had started hocking in fifth year. 

Not that he would be able to walk into their shop without being hexed to oblivion. He'd heard that one of them had died in the war. They would not be fond of an ex-Death Eater.

Slowly the rest of the class was called in. They returned with varying responses. Some people had puffed their chests out with pride, others looked shaken. They were allowed to leave after they finished, though most stayed to cheer on their classmates.

"Mr Malfoy," Professor Lupin's voice called to him, "Would you prefer–" 

"Alone," he said too quickly. Not that anyone would have been willing to join him. He was the last one left, the room had notably begun emptying. Maybe Granger would have joined him, actually, she was unbearably good like that. Despite what happened at the Manor, he could swear she whispered a soft "Good luck, Malfoy" as he walked past. 

He would prefer not to even have the professor in the room, actually. Could his boggart turn into the fear of this moment? It was the least mortifying change he could think of. 

"Your boggart used to be Lord Voldemort," Lupin noted after closing the door to his office. The furniture had been moved to the side, leaving empty space in the middle of the room. A small wardrobe sat at the opposite end, shaking slightly, "Do you think it will be the same?”

Draco shrugged. Everything he had ever feared was dead or in Azkaban.

"If you'd like to talk about it, you can. I imagine you've seen horrors even your classmates couldn't imagine," Lupin offered, and Draco sucked in a breath. It was kind and genuine, a tone Draco only heard from his mother. He shook his head. 

With a flick of the professor's wand, the wardrobe opened.

To Draco's absolute mortification- Remus Lupin stepped out.

Only it was a monstrous version of the man: hunched over, hands like claws, teeth bared, face contorted with a vicious glee. His clothes torn. Blood smears everywhere. The boggart let out a guttural howl.

What Lupin would be if he were to become like Greyback. 

Draco wanted the floor to swallow him up. While the boggart was frightening, he was now more afraid of what would happen to him now that his prejudice was laid bare.

"Do you feel up to attempting a Riddikulus? Don't worry about humiliating me, after what I did with Neville's boggart in third year, I believe turnabout is fair play," Lupin offered, and his voice was light. A hint of laughter, as if he found this situation amusing. Draco finally turned to look at him and was surprised to see his eyes bright, he was looking at the snarling boggart curiously.

"I don't understand," Draco said feebly, because this was not the reaction he had expected. Part of him had wondered if he'd somehow be expelled for insulting a teacher, for proving that he would never be anything more than hateful Death Eater scum.

"The Riddikulus charm, to defeat a boggart, I can explain–"

"No," he interrupted, then cringed as he realized that he had, "I know how– why aren't you mad at me? You should hate me."

"Draco…" the man said softly, looking at him with utmost concern. Lupin stepped towards the facsimile of himself and took care of the boggart with ease. It still turned into a moon - which Draco now believed had to be some sort of trick on the professor's part - and secured it back in the wardrobe, "You thought I would hate you for being afraid of me? I'm a werewolf."

"You're… on the right side, and I'm…" he looked towards the door. Nothing was blocking his access to it. The professor was standing several feet away and in no way moving to stop him from bolting. 

Lupin waved his wand and two chairs shifted from where they were pressed against the wall, now sitting more comfortably in the middle of the floor. They didn't block his way out and were positioned so he could sit in either and have a full view of the door. It felt considerate in a way he was not prepared for, and found himself sitting down once invited to. A bar of chocolate was levitated into his hand, then the wrapper undid itself so he had no excuse not to take a bite.

He did, and pretended there were no tears in his eyes as he blinked them away rapidly.

"I'm not sure if you're aware, but I was bitten by Greyback," Lupin began. Draco flinched at the name, but the smooth sweetness of the chocolate gave him something pleasant to focus on. "I was four years old, he broke into my bedroom one night," the man continued, the story harsh and bitter despite being decades past, "He got worse with age. I cannot begrudge anyone for fearing any werewolf, even myself, after living with that monster."

Draco shuddered at both the memories and the professor's understanding. He managed to take another bite of the chocolate, focusing on his breathing. He had faced the worst the Dark Lord had to offer with a blank, empty stare. He would not be reduced to tears by this unassuming, mild mannered man.

"How do you get the boggart to turn into a moon?" Draco asked, once he was feeling able to speak.

Professor Lupin's face brightened. The lines softened, the bags under his eyes seemed lighter, and he looked considerably younger. Draco took another bite of chocolate.

"No one's asked me that before, I've always wondered if anyone would realize," Lupin said, sounding inordinately pleased, "I'm afraid I won't teach you until you can face the boggart properly - but ten points to Slytherin nonetheless."

Draco managed to make it back to his dorm room without incident, where he promptly broke down, overwhelmed by thoughts of chocolate and kindness and bright honey eyes.

—

"Mr. Malfoy, speak with me after class."

It was two weeks into term and the eighth year DADA class was being dismissed. Draco managed to withhold a smirk, carefully schooling his expression to look chastised. While he wasn't going to cross any lines that would put him at risk of Azkaban, his behavior had been terrible and he was surprised he hadn't been given detention already. A thrill went through him at the thought of the professor getting him alone to punish him.

The classroom emptied quickly, there were only about a dozen eighth years. Potter and Weasley gave him a dirty look. Granger tutted in disappointment, which surprisingly made him feel guilty. 

It was too late now, he was committed, and he walked up to the desk, looking up shyly through his pale eyelashes, "Yes, professor?"

Lupin didn't turn to look at him as he directed the chalk to lay out the blackboard notes for the next class, "Your behavior was unacceptable today, and I'm sure it comes as no surprise you have detention."

Draco rolled his lips together, attempting to look contrite while ensuring his mouth didn't turn up.

"You will serve it on Saturday with Hagrid starting at 6am," Lupin continued, turning to look at Draco. His face was impassive, not a flicker of disappointment or any other emotion.

"Hagrid? But– I–" he squeaked, feeling the blood drain from his face.

"But - you-" Lupin mimicked, not cruelly but without room for argument, "will hopefully think better next time you decide to act out," he gave a curt nod and walked to his office door, "I have lessons to prepare for. Goodbye, Mr Malfoy."

Draco stared at the closed door in disbelief. Professors usually had students serve detention with them for acting out in class. He had expected to do lines in the man's office, a few hours having Lupin to himself, stealing glances.

The memory of his only detention with Hagrid made his blood run cold. He was no longer the naive, spoiled brat who believed werewolves to be the worst thing in the forest.

—

The detention was awful. Waking up early hadn't bothered him. Death Eaters didn't exactly get the luxury of sleeping in if the Dark Lord wanted something, and nightmares meant he was barely sleeping on a good day. Even the note reminding him of the detention and noting 'wear clothing you don't mind getting muddy' had been alright, because it was in Lupin's looping handwriting and was more consideration than he had really been shown for a long time.

No, the moment he stepped past the first oversized pumpkin on the path to the hut, he remembered that night. Death Eaters at Hogwarts, all his fault, Rowle setting fire to the hut, the trapped dog's terrified howls… the same dog Draco had clung to in first year once they'd gotten out of the forest, crying for his mother into the soft fur. 

Fang found him again that morning, curled into a ball next to a pumpkin far larger than he was, breaths coming in panicked gasps. As he had seven years ago, Draco collapsed against the comforting mass and sobbed while the dog sat there panting lazily and drooling on him. 

"Alrigh' then lad," Hagrid's gruff voice came and a massive hand patted him roughly on the back. He winced, curling in tighter as his mind filled with fear. "Got a cuppa for ye, go on."

Draco managed to look up and saw a giant, steaming mug of what looked like tea. He could smell sweet honey and cast a cleaning charm over himself to clear the tears and snot and dog drool as he took it with shaking hands, sloshing the liquid over himself.

"Ih's alrigh', lad," the half giant said soothingly as Draco managed to take a sip of tea before throwing up onto the grass. This time the groundskeeper cleaned up the mess, the Wizengamot had returned his right to use a wand following his help in the war. Hagrid sighed heavily, taking a seat on the ground, "I were all ready ta be cross with yeh, Draco, bu' I en't, nah' really, so take yer time. There's a lad."

As he gulped in air, Fang leaned heavily against him. He managed to let out a long breath and tried another sip of tea. This one stayed down. Soothing his stomach and warming him. He stared at the castle, trying not to hear the screams of students and cackles of Death Eaters.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, his voice raspy and throat sore. Another sip of honeyed tea helped ease the pain, and his sobs started again at the thought that he didn't deserve to feel better, "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Ah know, lad," the groundskeeper said gravely, settling his hand on Draco’s shoulder gently this time and the weight was comforting, "Yeh did wha' yeh could in the end."

The small glimmer of redemption that had kept him out of Azkaban.

"I'm sorry father sent you to Azkaban in second year," he said gently.

Hagrid's face darkened then the mood passed and he gave a soft laugh, "More angry over wha' he tried ter do ter poor Beaky."

The hippogriff. Of course. Who, Draco was horrified to discover, was living on the school grounds. As part of his detention, Hagrid made Draco approach the beast - "Properly this time. I'll leave yeh tah make yer own way ter Pomfrey if yer a prat again" - and after accepting Draco’s bow, he had to feed the monster a ferret of all things. It was mostly black, at least, and he squinted suspiciously and wondered if Hagrid knew about the incident in fourth year. 

Draco was also required to feed the thestrals, a process that had him throwing up again in part because it necessitated going into the forest, in part because of the raw meat, in part because the sight of them reminded him of the death he’d seen. Hagrid used his magic to fetch another cup of tea, and Draco realized glumly how awful it was that the man had been forbidden this for so long. Didn't seem fair, really. Why had he ever believed a word his father had said?

It was 8am when he was released from detention. He wasn't sure if it was meant to be that short or if Hagrid had just taken pity on him. He suspected the latter. The castle was quiet and sleepy that early on a Saturday, and he slunk into the eighth years' shared common room and into the blessedly empty boys' shower, managing to cast his strongest locking and privacy charms on the door before stepping under the hot water and collapsing again, curling into himself.

When he made it back to his dorm, it was to find a school owl sitting on his window ledge and waiting patiently for him. Tied to its leg was a bar of Honeyduke's chocolate and a note in familiar, looping handwriting that simply read 'well done'. 

—

"Mr. Malfoy, speak with me after class."

It had been two weeks since the disastrous detention and Draco flinched at the words. His mind raced as he tried to find some misstep he'd made that could have led to this. He'd been on his best behavior, even outside of class, hadn't done anything other than study. Maybe badness was so deeply ingrained that he couldn't help it, the thought made his palms sweat, wondering if he could talk his way out of whatever punishment the professor contrived and –

"Are you alright?" Lupin's voice came again, closer this time, gentle. 

"I didn't do anything," Draco said desperately, ignoring the snigger it brought from Weasley but privately relishing in the sharp "Ronald!" from Granger as she ushered him out of the room.

"You aren't in trouble," the professor said, his voice laced with a hint of a laugh and he had a bemused smile on his face. Draco felt his cheeks warm at his outburst, grateful that the room was now empty. "From what the other professors have told me, you've been the model student."

This sentence caused a lump in his throat and his voice was thick when he managed to squeak out, "You've been asking about me?"

"I hope that doesn't bother you. Someone needs to, and Horace seems keen to pretend you don't exist," Lupin explained. This was true, Slughorn could barely look at Draco. If he wasn't hoping to do a potions mastery, he would have quit the class, but he knew he deserved worse. It was nowhere near as bad as Severus had treated Longbottom or Potter.

"You don't need to," he said quietly, deflating, "I won't cause any trouble, really."

"Draco, I've kept tabs on you because I'm concerned for you. Someone needs to make sure you're okay," Lupin said, his voice was stern, a lightly scolding quality that might have made him flinch, but combined with the words it made his chest feel tight.

"Oh," was all he could manage. 

"I asked you to speak with me because Professor Slughorn has asked me to collect some ingredients from the forest. You're quite skilled with potions, so I imagine you'd be able to help. I'd like to know if you'd be comfortable accompanying me." As he spoke, the professor walked through the room, cleaning up and making preparations for the next class. He was using his cane again, the full moon had been the week before. That class had been taught by Sirius Black in the professor's absence, who looked at Draco with a mixture of disdain and pity.

Draco chewed his lip, "Did Hagrid tell you what happened?"

Lupin turned to look at him, casting that considering gaze that left him feeling exposed and seen in a way he still didn't know what to do with. "He was quite impressed, he said you did very well and you should be proud of yourself."

"He did?" Draco asked, his jaw dropping. 

"This isn't required in any way, if you aren't comfortable–"

"I'll do it," Draco said firmly, surprising himself. The professor raised his eyebrows at the outburst and smiled warmly at him. Draco tried not to think that facing the forest was worth it if it made Lupin smile at him like that.

—

Saturday morning and he was once again tromping to the edge of the forest in dragonhide boots, jeans his father would hate that he owned, and his coat buttoned up to his throat. It was a more reasonable hour, at least, 9 am. Early for a weekend, but he appreciated it because it meant he could navigate the castle without the dirty looks or hexes.

As he walked, his chest fluttered with an excited giddiness that he hadn't felt since fourth year. It was foolish and he tried to berate himself, but he found himself enjoying it. Unlike his hopeless crush on Potter, which had driven him to ever stupider and crueler acts, fancying Lupin was pushing him to do better. 

When the urge to curse someone out or hex them or throw a punch rose, he remembered the way Lupin had reacted to his misbehavior in class. He imagined disappointing the man, which served to throw a bucket of ice water on his rage every time. 

His grades were doing better again, and he had something to look forward to. Even if it was just the defense classes he knew would be ending when he graduated. It was something.

Which was why his heart stuttered and he probably failed miserably to hide the look of mortification when he approached the meeting point not far from Hagrid's cabin and saw Sirius Black there, making Professor Lupin laugh, bumping their shoulders together. 

As if keyed into Draco’s emotional distress, Fang came over from the house at a lolling gate and leaned heavily against Draco. Hagrid gave a wave, apparently permission for the dog to join them. Draco’s lip tugged up slightly at the memory of his 11 year old self desperately claiming the dog and being told he was a ruddy coward. Which was alright. So was Draco.

"Hello professor," Draco said primly, his impartial mask back in place, "Mr. Black."

"Sirius, please, can't stand being reminded I'm one of that lot," the man insisted with a grimace. It was a sentiment Draco understood, but still bristled. The Blacks were his mother's side of the family and as unreasonable as it was, hearing her rejected like that stung.

"Padfoot," Lupin said sharply and Black laughed then mimed zipping his lips before transforming into a familiar large, shaggy dog.

"That's Potter's dog. From King's Cross," Draco said blankly, then sighed heavily, "Of course."

"We were under the impression you already knew he was an animagus," Lupin said with a small frown, "You said something to Harry about it."

Draco furrowed his brow and tried to remember. It would have been fifth year. Sixth year was when he smashed Potter's nose in, a memory that made him wince. Fifth year, though, he shook his head, "I just knew he had a pet dog and was bending the rules. As usual. I don't know how it would have gone if I'd known. Mother was still furious that father refused to push for a trial for her cousin, just because he wasn't a Death Eater. I rarely saw them fight, but they had a proper row after he escaped."

A strange series of emotions flashed over the professor's face, too quickly for Draco to recognize them, and the dog made an odd noise.

"It's no matter," Lupin said, waving the subject away with his hand, "He's here to help ensure your safety. As a dog he can pick up smells and sounds better than us, and as a wizard he's quite skilled in dueling."

They began making their way into the forest, and the ghosts of his mistakes weren't as overwhelming this time. Fang stayed close to his side, and the feel of dog drool soaking his jeans was strangely comforting. His cousin was much friendlier to him in dog form as well, nudging under his head for pets and yipping playfully at Fang, who was too old to join in but gave amused huffs. After about ten minutes, Padfoot spent most of his time running ahead. 

"Fang is quite fond of you," Lupin noted after the black dog had run ahead the first time.

"He just feels sorry for me," Draco sighed. Every interaction he had with the dog had involved him sobbing his eyes out. This one was still threatening to. The professor frowned.

As they walked, Lupin explained the list of what they were looking for. They were all familiar and some Draco knew where to find thanks to sixth year when Severus had, a few times, dragged him to the forest hoping to get Draco to open up to him. Because Severus wasn't a coward like Slughorn and had harvested his own ingredients.

His eyes caught on a patch of Deadlyius mushrooms that Severus had taught him how to harvest and a lump formed in his throat.

Lupin was a few feet ahead when he realized he'd stopped and the man retraced his steps before following Draco’s gaze. "We aren't after any mushrooms for Horace, but if you need them for yourself I can wait."

Draco looked at him and frowned, "They're Deadlyius."

"I'm aware," he replied with a small laugh, "I'm quite poor with making potions but I've been foraging most of my life."

"You don't have a problem with me collecting dangerous mushrooms for myself?" Draco asked, his brow furrowing.

"Are you planning to use them to harm anyone?" It wasn't an accusation, if anything he sounded amused by the idea.

"No," he said, unsure how to handle being believed so easily.

The professor's easy smile faltered and his voice softened, "You aren't using them to harm yourself, either?"

The question caught him by surprise, it sounded like genuine concern. It was hard to believe anyone would care if Draco had started hurting himself. The only person he imagined would be upset if he killed himself was his mother. As he looked into the honey eyes, he realized someone else might care, too.

He shook his head.

A flicker of relief passing over the professor’s features before it was hidden. "Then I have no reason to object. Do you need a jar to collect them in?" he said amiably.

"Thank you, professor," Draco said quietly once he could trust his voice not to falter. He'd brought his foraging supplies, the kit that Severus had provided him, including materials to hold what was collected. But he took the offered jar as if it were something to treasure, pretending he could feel the warmth of the older man's hand on it.

As he pulled on his gloves he found himself speaking, words tumbling from his lips as he looked at the mushrooms, "Severus taught me to do this. He brought me here, during sixth year. I don't know what I thought he was doing - but I hated everyone that year, I didn't trust him," he set to work, hands skillfully wielding the knife, doing the least damage to the rest of the patch while getting the most of the ingredient. Treating the jar with a wandless preserving spell, remembering his godfather dismissing fools who waste their time fumbling with a wand.

"Then Potter started speaking his praises after the war… now I wonder what would have happened if I'd listened to him," he felt raw. Potter's defense of Severus had evoked a strange sense of betrayal in Draco, he couldn't explain it, he wasn't sure if he was angrier that Potter suddenly cared about Draco’s godfather or that Potter still looked at him like scum. He never dared find out the details, if Severus had helped Potter more than he’d helped Draco… he didn’t want to think about that.

Lupin said nothing until Draco had secured his things back in his bag and begun walking, his face burning.

"When I was younger than you are now, I joined the first war. It tore us apart," Lupin said, his eyes tracked the forest, spotting and settling on the black dog that was sniffing something and wagging his tail excitedly. "We didn't know who to trust. Harry’s parents are dead because we trusted the wrong person."

"Wormtail," Draco spat, disgust for the slimy man, who had been allowed in his family's home, laden in the word. 

Lupin laughed darkly, "Yes," he shook his head, "I know well the danger of trusting the wrong person, and also of not trusting the right one," his expression turned mournful as he watched the dog, and Draco wondered about the story behind it.

"You were in an impossible situation. Many will tell you they would have handled it better. No one knows what they would have actually done in your position," Lupin said, turning to meet Draco’s gaze. 

His mother had said this to him but, well, she was his mother. She was quite biased. Draco had never dared to believe her, but Lupin was a good man. He’d fought on the correct side in both wars, despite being a werewolf who was shunned by most of their world. It didn’t come off as an empty platitude, either.

It would take most of the day to collect the ingredients. Lupin had brought lunch for them, sandwiches and pumpkin juice from the kitchens. Draco might have looked forward to the break, except it meant his cousin returning to human form.

Draco was nervous about having the human Sirius around but with Lupin vouching for him, Sirius immediately relaxed and started talking about his memories of Draco’s mother and aunts from when they were young, specifically the more embarrassing ones his mother would never have admitted to herself. Draco found himself laughing for the first time in years and Sirius promised to write to him from time to time before saluting and returning to his dog form as they set off again.

Much of the day was spent in silence, something Draco had hated as a child but now found comfortable. The forest seemed different than it ever had, his fear had ebbed with the calming presence of Lupin and the two dogs, and he was able to appreciate the gentle noises of the forest denizens. The kind of quiet that came from being far from people. 

“You shouldn’t come back on your own,” Lupin warned at one point. Draco had stopped and appreciated the breeze on his skin. “I’m regarded as a creature of the forest, there are quite a few beings that would target you if you were on your own. More so if they recognize you.”

Draco scrunched up his nose at the reminder that Lupin was not exactly human, he had nearly forgotten about the lycanthropy. It also sent a chill through his spine, the idea that he’d been observed without realizing it by these vague ‘beings’. Fortunately the warning came as they made their way back to the castle, if it had been on the way into the forest he may have fled. As it was, he just huddled closer to Fang. 

“You’re taking Muggle Studies this year?” Lupin broke the silence again as Hagrid’s hut had come into view through the trees, and Draco snorted at the question, as if he had a choice. “When I was in school it was absolutely rubbish.”

“I–” Draco started, staring at him in disbelief, because he was one of the good people who liked muggles. If it turned out that Professor Lupin was secretly a muggle hater, he really wasn’t sure how to handle that.

“My mother’s a muggle, so I thought I’d take it for an easy grade,” he explained, looking amused by Draco’s reaction. Draco relaxed to hear that, the world making sense again. Lupin shook his head, “It was awful, barely accurate, incoherent, I’m still convinced the professor never spent a full 24 hours among muggles."

“I wouldn’t know how to tell,” Draco said blankly. His grades in the class were terrible, which he suspected was partly the professor’s bias against him. Most of it was difficult for him to understand, not least because it meant going back against everything he had ever been taught. Something he did not dare allude to, and was grateful for the few brave purebloods in the class who would raise their hand and ask the questions Draco had. 

“No, of course not, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Lupin said with a wry smile, “If you’d like, you can use my office hours to help you learn about the muggle world.”

“I would really appreciate that,” Draco said, feeling his mouth going dry as he wondered if he’d actually bring himself to take him up on the offer. 

They parted ways at the edge of the forest. Lupin was going to Hogsmeade with Sirius, and Draco went back to the castle. It was busy this time, the students active and enjoying their Saturday evening. Draco pulled up the hood of his coat, went to the kitchens to grab food, and made his way back to his dorm room, managing to avoid anything that would dampen his mood after what had been a lovely day. 

When he got to his room, a different school owl was waiting for him with another bar of Honeyduke’s chocolate and a note that read ‘Thank you for your help.’

Chapter Text

It took several weeks to ask Lupin about muggles. He knocked on the door to the professor's office with one hand, the other wrapped around the strap of his bag so hard that his knuckles were white. 

“Ehm, professor? We’ve started covering muggle medicine, and, erm…” Draco wasn’t sure the politically correct way to word ‘it sounds completely insane how are they still alive’.

“There are things they have to do, given the lack of magic, that can seem quite barbaric," Lupin explained kindly, gesturing for him to come in and sit down, "However their focus is to reduce harm and their methods can be valuable to wixen in certain circumstances."

Draco took a deep breath and nodded, sitting down and fidgeting with his fingers as he tried to filter out a lifetime of bigotry and find the words to communicate without insulting.

"It's okay to make mistakes here, Draco, I know what your background is. I won't judge you for missteps while you're learning," Lupin said and Draco felt his stomach make an odd, swooping motion at it. 

He nodded, keeping his gaze on his hands, "It's just, erm, some of the things the book talked about… and the, ehm, instruments they use, like… bloodletting and –"

Professor Lupin held up a hand to stop him, his face carefully neutral, "I see. Do you have your textbook with you?" Draco fished it out and handed it to him.

Professor Lupin frowned, taking the book and opening to the title page. He groaned as if in pain, closed it, and massaged his forehead before looking over at Draco, “This book is two hundred years old."

This didn't mean very much to him, most of their textbooks were at most new editions of books that had been written a century or more ago. 

"Muggle medicine has made massive leaps and bounds since then. Frankly anything more than fifty years old would be woefully outdated, and ideally it would be from the last decade," the professor leaned his head back, and Draco found his eyes following the curve of his neck. He looked down as the man sat up straight.

"May I borrow this?" he asked, and Draco nodded silently. "I'm going to speak to Minerva, after everything this is disgraceful…"

He continued grumbling under his breath and pushed away from his desk, walking over to his bookshelf before calling over to Draco, "Is there a branch of magical healing you find particularly interesting?" 

"Removing curse scars," he answered without thinking, then felt the blood drain from his face as he realized the man was covered with them, "I didn't– not because–"

"It's alright, Draco," Lupin insisted with a kind smile and small laugh. His fingers trailed over a few books and he pulled out a strange binder. It had three rings down the middle of it and the professor flipped through it, manually pulled the rings open, and pulled out a few sheets of what Draco recognized as muggle paper.

"This is an example of modern muggle medicine," he explained, handing a small pile of papers to him. They were secured with a bit of metal wire in the corner that was bent in on itself. It was an article about different ways muggles used to reduce scars. He skimmed through it, not understanding what a laser or silicone were and wondering about the different medicinal creams and massage.

"I'm guessing they don't work on magically caused scars," Draco said softly, feeling a degree of loss.

"Werewolf scars are different to others. I don't know what you faced, but it may be worth trying," Lupin said. He didn't ask for more information and the urge to tell him everything rose. 

"Professor… I know it's not the same…" Draco squirmed in his seat and winced at himself, "Did you ever accept the scars? Can you… look at them?"

"Some days are still difficult," the professor admitted, "I sincerely hope that, whatever caused yours, it is no longer present in your life."

Draco gave a small snort at that. Harry Potter had always been present in his life in some form or another, it was hard to imagine that would ever change. Unfortunately, Lupin caught this reaction and his face darkened.

"I'm not in danger," Draco insisted, "It's- it's from the war. Someone on your side. It doesn't - I deserved - it was self defense."

Sort of. He hadn't had the stomach to cast the Cruciatus at that moment, not that Potter knew that. 

"That's an incredibly difficult position to be in. I'm sorry," Lupin said, and Draco felt his chest seize up at someone expressing sympathy for it. 

“In some ways I suppose it's like the bogart,” Lupin mused, sitting back in his chair while Draco read over the paper. Draco looked up at him curiously and Lupin ran a finger over the scar that went across his nose, “Taking something terrible and turning it into something positive.”

“I wasn't able to do that,” Draco noted wryly. He grimaced, “Either time. I couldn't think of a way to make You Know Who funny in third year, either.”

“You had a particularly different bogart for a child,” Lupin said quietly. He took out a piece of muggle paper and began folding it. “I didn't let Harry face the bogart because I believed his would be Voldemort, if I'd known that was your greatest fear, I wouldn't have made you face it.”

Draco nodded. That had felt cruel, but Draco had seen indignities everywhere at that point in his life. 

“All we can do is our best with what life has dealt us,” Remus offered, passing over a crudely folded origami wolf. Draco found himself smiling at it as he picked it up off the table.

—

After the first visit had gone so well, Draco returned to Lupin's office hours once a week. Lupin was incredibly patient with Draco’s ignorance and he brought in slim books printed on slippery shiny paper – muggle magazines, apparently – that talked about the current muggle politicians and celebrities and ‘movies’ (some sort of moving picture with sound) and music. It was fascinating. For the first time, the muggle world was something Draco was genuinely interested in. He even dared to check out a few muggle books from the library, receiving a raised eyebrow from Madam Pince.

It was something he looked forward to, until the day that he found himself cornered by the Chosen One on his way to Lupin's office. 

“What are you playing at, Malfoy?” Potter demanded.

It made him think of his sixth year. It was not a pleasant memory. The scars stretching across his chest twinged and he swallowed thickly.

“I'm going to Professor Lupin's office hours,” he explained.

“Why? You've been going every week. What are you up to?” 

Great. Potter was tracking him again. At least this time he genuinely wasn't doing anything wrong.

“Professor Lupin offered to help me with muggle studies,” Draco answered honestly.

“As if you care about muggle studies,” Potter spat, “I don't know what's going on, but you'd better leave Lupin out of it. You may not have deserved Azkaban, but I don't trust you, Malfoy.”

Fortunately, that was all Potter wanted to say, as he turned on his heel and strode off.

Draco stood there for a few minutes, debating what to do. He yearned to see Lupin again, but pissing off Harry Potter was a bad idea. 

“I'm bothering him,” Draco mumbled to himself, “He's just too polite to say it. It's best not to see him outside class.”

He slunk off to his dormitory. Best to keep his head down and just get through the year. 

—

"Mr. Malfoy, speak with me after class."

It had been a month since Draco had been to Lupin's office hours, and he flinched at the request. Potter sent him a scathing look, which Lupin seemed to notice. Draco once again found himself mentally tracking every move he'd made, trying to find some misstep that would cause him to be punished. 

Once the classroom was empty, Draco made his way up to the front of the room where Lupin was directing the chalk in preparation for his next class.

“I think you should do a detention with Hagrid again,” Lupin told him, turning to face him.

“I haven't done anything wrong,” Draco said defensively, his heart pounding in his chest with fear that something had slipped through the cracks that he hadn't even realized.

“No,” Lupin agreed and Draco sagged with relief, “but I think it would be good for you.”

Draco frowned, “Good for me?”

“You've become more withdrawn, the way you were at the start of the year. The detention with Hagrid, I know you found it difficult but it seemed to do you good. It won't be formally called a detention, of course, you aren't in trouble, Hagrid has agreed to let you help him on Saturday,” Lupin explained.

He thought back to the detention. It had been miserable, but he supposed he could see Lupin's point. He had felt lighter after it. 

He nodded his agreement, and a few days later found himself once again trudging to the small hut on the outskirts of the grounds. The Scottish weather was cold and wet. Frost covered grass crunched under his boots and he was grateful for warming charms.

This time he made it to the cabin without having a panic attack, which was good as Fang was nowhere in sight.

“‘E won’ be goin’ ou’ til it's warmed up,” Hagrid explained, gesturing to where the dog was laying in front of the fireplace, soaking up as much of the warmth as possible. Draco wouldn't blame him, but felt a lurch of nerves to realize he had to do this without the dog's comforting presence. 

Hagrid had made Draco a large mug of tea, which he drank while listening to what they would need to do that day.  Now that the first frost had come, they needed to clear the beds of old plants and mulch them, something made much easier with magic. A few cold-sensitive forest denizens needed to be checked on as well. 

The gardening reminded him of his mother, who took pride in the Manor gardens. Or, she used to, before Death Eaters took over and the gardens turned to ruin. It was bittersweet, thinking of happier times and remembering why they were in the past.

Tromping through the forest was almost familiar as well, between Snape and Lupin, and he found himself thinking fondly of the last time he'd been there. He still kept close to Hagrid, aware of the dangers that lurked.

“Alrigh’, ye’ve done well, get yerself to the castle, get some lunch in you,” Hagrid said as they made their way out of the castle, and Draco was startled to realize that he'd managed the entire morning. He cast some cleaning charms on himself before making his way back, where he took lunch from the kitchens to avoid the Great Hall.

That night, Draco found himself able to sleep better than he had in a long time.

—

At his next Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Lupin once again asked Draco to stay after. He asked how the morning with Hagrid had gone, noting the groundskeeper had been pleased for the help. He also gave Draco a muggle book, Cosmos by Carl Sagan.

Initially, Draco hadn't expected anything of it. He had been quite proficient with astronomy when he took it, back when he could stand to be at the Astronomy Tower. Surely there was nothing muggles could add.

He had been mistaken. So, deeply, immeasurably mistaken.

The muggles had created tools that let them see so far into the universe. They had unearthed a depth to the heavens that Draco had never dreamed existed. Not only was it remarkable, but the book contained color photos. It was breathtakingly beautiful. He found himself overcome by it, reading over passages again and again in an attempt to truly comprehend the magnitude of space. 

As he read over the book, he found himself doing something he hadn't done since taking the dark mark. 

He started to draw.

Sketches of nebulas and galaxies and far off planets he could never hope to touch. 

It was unsteady at first, two years without practice, but he found his rhythm and his hand continued moving as the visions and emotions flowed out of him.

Once Draco had begun drawing again, it was like floodgates had opened. He managed to buy a notepad and set of drawing pencils from Tomes and Scrolls, although he rarely dared enter Hogsmeade, and began filling his every spare moment with art. 

He drew everything he could see, which was mostly his dorm room and parts of the library as he was reluctant to spend time in the school at large. He yearned for his mother's gardens. Technically, he could visit the greenhouses, but he didn't think anyone would be happy with the reformed Death Eater skulking around.

An idea came to him, and it made his stomach flutter with excitement.

—

“Professor, can I speak with you?”

It was the end of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Potter's warning rang in his ears, but he gripped the strap to his school bag and tried to summon up courage he didn't have.

Lupin gave him a surprised look, perhaps a hint of a smile, and nodded as he went about preparing the room for the next lesson.

“I wanted to ask– is it really so dangerous for me to go into the forest on my own? Is there any way to do it safely?” Draco explained nervously. 

“I can't in good conscience say there is,” Lupin said with a frown, “What do you need from the forest?”

“I– I've started drawing again and… wanted to…” as the words came out, they felt childish. Draco looked down, feeling foolish, his cheeks burned.

To his surprise, Lupin responded with a warm, “That's wonderful.”

“Really?” Draco asked, glancing up.

“Yes, it's good to hear you're getting into something like that. The weather isn't the best for it, but I'd be happy to accompany you,” Lupin said amiably, “The only difficulty will be making sure Sirius is available…”

“Does he need to be there?” Draco asked.

Lupin frowned at him, “I thought it would help you feel more comfortable, I'm aware that you have opinions on werewolves.”

Draco looked down, ashamed to realize this was the reason that Lupin had arranged for Sirius to be there the first time. 

“I don't mind,” Draco said quietly, “I don't… I don't think you'd hurt me, I… just know you could. I'm not afraid of you, but… of the monster I know you could become.”

Lupin paused for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Are you sure? It's important to me that you feel safe,” Lupin said cautiously.

“I'm sure,” Draco said, before shyly adding, “I feel safe with you.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, then Lupin looked away from him, “Are you available on Saturday?”

Draco wondered what else he could possibly be doing. 

“Yes, professor, thank you.”

—

That Saturday, they made their way into the woods alone. This time, Lupin followed Draco’s lead, letting him scope out things he wanted to sketch. It was a relief to be out of the castle, away from the judgemental looks and painful memories. 

At first he was very nervous, as he didn’t want to inconvenience the professor more than he already had. But Lupin seemed to genuinely enjoy the time in the woods and was gently encouraging. 

It wasn’t the best time of year for it. All the deciduous trees were barren, there were no flowers or mushrooms, the first snow had fallen. Compared to the dreary stone walls of the castle, it was a welcome change. 

After a few hours during which Draco had filled over a dozen pages with sketches, they made their way back to the castle.

“Do all half bloods know so much about muggles?” It was a question that had bounced around Draco’s head for awhile, he wondered if his housemates had hidden their knowledge out of fear and it made him feel uneasy.

Lupin took a moment to consider the question, “I don’t think I came to Hogwarts with as much knowledge of muggles as most half bloods had,” he said carefully, “I was bitten young, and kept away from muggle and magical society alike.”

Draco frowned to hear this, watching him curiously.

“After the war, I found that I had an easier time amongst muggles. The limitations of my condition still made it difficult to keep employment, but I wasn’t regarded as a beast,” Lupin continued quietly, “I learned to live with muggles for my own security. Many half blooded wixen, and even muggle born, estrange themselves from the muggle world and end up nearly as ignorant as pureblooded wixen.”

It hung heavily in the air. Draco felt guilty for the fear he’d had for the professor in the past. He remembered how cruel he had been about Lupin’s frayed robes and ghastly appearance at the start of third year.

Neither of them spoke until the castle was in sight between the snow-laden trees.

“You know,” Lupin mused, “you might find the same acceptance amongst muggles.”

“I was a Death Eater,” Draco said, aghast, “They should despise me.”

“Muggles don’t know what Death Eaters are,” Lupin pointed out with a soft chuckle, “You’d be surprised how many muggles think your dark mark looks ‘cool’.”

Draco gripped his forearm and stared at him in disbelief, then shook his head. He put it out of his mind. He was only studying muggles because it was a requirement of his parole, after all.

—

For the next week, Draco kept a close eye on Potter just in case the man decided to make good on his threats. Potter showed no change in how he treated Draco, however, a polite indifference. Apparently however Potter stalked Draco did not extend to the Forbidden Forest, or perhaps he took the weekend off now. 

As he was paying the man more attention, he was surprised to notice that Potter had an edge of antipathy towards Professor Lupin. This was entirely unlike third year. Draco remembered scoffing and being jealous and angry at how well Lupin and Potter had gotten on. But has Draco watched him, he realized that there were no warm smiles for Lupin and when he answered questions in class it was with an air of irritation. 

Draco thought back to the start of the year and was startled to remember that Potter had been distinctly chilly towards Lupin even then. 

For the first five years of Draco’s time at Hogwarts, his world had practically revolved around Potter. In hindsight it was mortifying, of course, but it was strange to realize just how much he had stopped paying attention to Potter this year.

It made him intensely curious what Lupin had done to lose the esteem of the Chosen One. He imagined it was something he’d likely never know, he simply wasn’t close enough to those involved. Then Professor Lupin asked Draco to assist him in collecting ingredients once more before the end of the fall term. 

There were only a few hours of the day with enough daylight for it, so they went out in the late morning. The Scottish winter had started in earnest, the snow was thick on the grounds. In the forest it wasn’t quite so bad, the trees blocking most of the snowfall from reaching the forest floor, but Draco was particularly grateful for warming charms as he trudged through it.

He managed to get through most of the excursion before the question finally spilled out of him, “Professor… why is Potter so angry with you?”

Lupin gave a dark laugh that was out of character for the usually amiable man, “I'm afraid the answer will make you think less of me.”

Draco couldn’t imagine what could make him think less of the man, and stayed silent.

“During the war…” Lupin said, sucking in a breath, “there was a young witch that joined Dumbledore’s Order,” he looked at Draco and winced, “Your cousin, in fact.”

“Andromeda’s daughter.”

“Yes,” Lupin said, “I could not tell you why, but she became quite taken with me.”

Draco pressed his lips together, jealousy flaring in his gut.

“I refused. For a year. Then… After Dumbledore’s death, I was… pressured to stop denying “my” feelings. I was distraught, alone, and desperate and - against my better judgment, we were married,” Lupin stopped, leaning heavily on his cane as he looked up at the nearly white December sky. 

Draco said nothing, not sure what to say and desperate to hear the rest.

“Within a month, she fell pregnant,” Lupin’s voice went grim, “I never wanted to be a father. I hadn't even wanted to marry her. To my eternal shame, I tried to run, to abandon my wife and child. Harry was the one who made me realize how vile my actions were.”

“I don't think that's fair,” Draco murmured, feeling the need to defend this man.

Lupin looked at him curiously and Draco felt his cheeks warm as he realized he may have spoken out of turn.

“I suppose… I'm not the best judge… but, well, I had a similar problem with Pansy… My cousin should have moved on,” Draco explained, clearing his throat. It had been deeply unpleasant. Pansy had grown up imagining she would marry Draco, only for Draco to end up fairly uninterested in women. It had taken awhile for Pansy to make peace with this and, thankfully, the witch had decided Draco’s friendship was worth her time even if he couldn’t offer her anything else.

“I suppose,” Lupin murmured, “But I had made a commitment.”

Draco shrugged. It hardly seemed like fair circumstances, if so many people had pushed him into it. 

Lupin frowned and continued walking, Draco trailing alongside him. 

“We divorced almost as soon as the war was over. She finally realized I could never love her as a husband's meant to,” Lupin said bitterly.

“Why is that?” Draco asked, keeping his voice steady and neutral even as his heart thudded in his chest. 

There was a long pause during which Draco feared the professor had decided that was the end of things, before the man said, “I'm afraid my preferences do not lie with the fairer sex.”

“Neither do mine,” Draco noted as casually as he could manage.

Lupin nodded. 

Draco supposed it wasn’t much of a secret, really.

“How does my cousin, er, Sirius feel about it?” Draco asked, “He seems to be on good terms with you.”

Lupin glanced at him, “After the battle at the Ministry, at the end of your fifth year, Sirius was in a magical coma. We weren't able to revive him, he woke up after the Battle of Hogwarts. If Sirius had been around, he would have put a stop to the whole mess. He isn't happy with my choices, but he's known me for nearly 30 years and is unsurprised. He dotes on Teddy and takes him half the time, he's essentially taken over the role of his father while I've been demoted to uncle.”

“That's good,” Draco said, “It wouldn't do Teddy any good to grow up with a regretful father.”

“No,” Lupin agreed sadly, “He deserved better from me, though.”

“He has better. I’m sure Sirius can provide better than you ever could,” Draco pointed out.

Lupin gave him a startled look before sarcastically saying, “Thank you for your honesty.”

“I'm glad you told me,” Draco said, ignoring this, “Mother has been in touch with her sister. We'll be staying with Andromeda for a week over the holidays. I'm glad I heard about this from you.”

“Andromeda’s opinion of me may not be kind,” Lupin noted.

“No.”

“It is possible that you'll see Harry during that time, he's Teddy’s godfather,” Lupin added.

Draco burst into a fit of laughter because, of course. Of course his cousin’s child would somehow be tied to Potter. When had anything in his life not been related to Harry Potter?

“Are you alright?” Lupin asked, alarmed, making a movement as if he were going to reach out to Draco then thought better of it.

Draco shook his head, waving the professor off, and scrubbed his hands over his face, “I’m fine. Sorry. It’s just…” he shook his head, “It’s nothing.”

Lupin nodded uneasily, taking out a square piece of muggle paper and quickly working it through the folds. He held it out to Draco, a small arctic fox. Draco smiled softly.

Chapter Text

The winter holidays used to be Draco’s favorite time of the year.

Before the Dark Lord had taken over, Malfoy Manor was always lavishly decorated for the season. His parents hosted a ball and they attended feasts and parties with other pureblood families. 

He tried not to think about those times. As a child, they had been joyful, but he now recognized the prejudice laced into them. Many of the people whose parties he had attended were followers of the Dark Lord, people he had now seen committing atrocities.

Returning to the Manor after his trial had not been pleasant. It would take time to scrub the amount of darkness that had stained its walls. 

Draco had considered asking to spend the holiday somewhere else. Perhaps his Aunt Andromeda would take pity on him and let him stay with her. But he couldn’t do that to his mother, and he also couldn’t bring himself to risk the rejection. He knew that Andromeda had rejected the family when she was younger than Draco, and her willingness to reconnect with her sister and nephew was incredibly tenuous after her husband had died during the war. 

It was with a heavy heart that he packed his trunk and braced himself for the train journey back. He intended to be one of the first ones there, seclude himself in the rearmost compartment behind a Notice-Me-Not charm. It had worked on the way here, he had faced some venom but had mostly been left alone.

Headmistress McGonagall perhaps took pity on him, as she allowed him to arrive while the train was still preparing, before the other students would be boarding. Draco was able to make his way to a compartment in peace, ignored by the workers, and sequestered himself for the long journey. He had smuggled on a few sandwiches and a pitcher of juice from the kitchens, he knew the trolley wouldn’t be open for him.

After the train arrived, he did not rush to get his things together. Instead he continued reading Cosmos and listening to the din of students excitedly rushing off. 

The rumble of footsteps slowed and the crowd on the platform began dispersing. He looked out and was unable to spot his mother, which worried him.

When he finally made his way off the train, there was a small handful of stragglers. He found himself approached by a witch with vibrant, bubble gum pink hair and an oversized trench coat over her Weird Sisters shirt. Draco blinked, not expecting to see his cousin.

“Wotcher,” she said brightly, “Good to see you. Had me worried for a minute there that you’d missed the train.”

Draco shook his head, “I wanted to avoid the crowd.”

“I don’t blame you,” Dora said, sucking the air through her teeth, “Has it been alright at school at least?”

“Headmistress McGonagall makes sure I’m safe,” Draco said, hoping to side step the question, “My studies are going well.”

Dora gave him a sympathetic nod that irritated his pride, not that he had much left.

“We figured it would be safer for me to pick you up,” Dora explained to him as they walked to the apparition area of the platform, “Mum’s having you both for dinner. You can bring your trunk, it’s no bother.”

“That’s kind of her,” Draco said quietly.

He had only seen his aunt twice over the summer. There hadn’t been much time for it between his trial and the start of school. The sisters had been very stiff with each other. The second meeting went better, as Dora was able to be there, and her vibrant energy helped cut through the weight of the Black family’s history. She had also brought Teddy, and seeing the way Narcissa and Draco interacted with the babe helped Andromeda soften towards them.

To Draco’s disappointment, Teddy was not there that evening. He was spending the night with Sirius, something he apparently did quite often. The dinner conversation ended up quite focused on Draco’s studies. Andromeda and Dora seemed to carefully avoid asking Draco what he intended to do after school, likely aware that his options were likely to be far more limited than he’d once believed. 

“You’re required to take muggle studies, I believe,” Andromeda noted carefully, “How are you finding it?”

There was an edge to her voice, and Draco wasn’t surprised this was a test. 

“It’s been a struggle,” he admitted, “apparently the curriculum is very outdated, and the practices of the Georgian era seem particularly strange to me.”

Draco realized his mistake at the reaction his two relatives gave him. While Narcissa had a neutral expression, not understanding anything muggle related, both Dora and Andromeda exchanged a glance and looked at him, properly baffled.

“How would you know it’s outdated?” Dora asked.

Draco cleared his throat and kept his face as emotionless as possible, “Professor Lupin offered me some help. He was not impressed with the textbook we were using.”

Dora raised an eyebrow and Andromeda looked disgruntled.

“You’ve gotten extra help with muggle studies?” Dora asked, “That sounds like you’re taking it seriously.”

“I’m trying to,” Draco mumbled, looking down at his plate.

Dora regarded him for a moment before smiling brightly, “Best way to learn is by doing. There are some lovely Christmas markets in the muggle world, you should go with me.”

“You want to take Draco into the muggle world?” Narcissa asked, concerned, “He was a Death Eater, won’t he be hated?”

“They don’t know what Death Eaters are,” Dora pointed out with a laugh, “Statute of Secrecy, remember? They didn’t even realize there was a war.”

“Of course,” Narcissa said stiffly, clearing her throat.

“He’ll be fine, Cissa, I think it’ll do him some good,” Andromeda added.

As much as Draco wanted to refuse, he knew that there was no way to do so without looking horrible. He accepted the invitation as graciously as he had been trained to do, and silently dreaded the experience.

—

The next day, Draco found himself being dragged to Leicester Square, right in the heart of muggle London. He had a pocket full of the muggles’ strange, paper money and an outfit that Dora had deemed acceptable for the muggle world. 

They had apparated into an empty side alley, and at first Draco was doing alright. The Christmas Market was a series of temporary structures set up in the pedestrian area. The smell of spiced drinks wafted through the air. As they made their way into the crowd of people, Draco felt his anxiety creeping up. 

At a stall that was selling gingerbread creations, Draco caught sight of a small, blonde child in a long navy coat, pulling on her mother’s hand and eagerly pointing at the cookies. The mother looked down with a fond smile. It reminded Draco so much of himself and his mother that the sight wrapped around his throat. 

If the Dark Lord had his way, all of these people would be dead. Draco had been part of attacks against them. 

The tightening sensation around his throat increased, he couldn’t take in a breath, the world was spinning.

“Shit,” Dora hissed, and she put an arm around him and he found himself being guided out of the way of the crowd, “You’re okay, Draco, you’re safe, it’s okay. Take a deep breath for me, alright? Can you do that, here, breathe in with me–” she took a deep breath in and he did his best to follow the movement. It came shakily and took effort, but he managed to suck in some oxygen. 

As the spinning cleared, he realized they were standing between two of the stalls in the market, the painted wood on either side of them, blocking the view of the passersby. 

“Excuse me,” a voice called their attention and they looked over to see a woman at the door of one of the stalls. She was wearing a brown apron decorated with holly leaves and berries and holding out a strange, clear container filled with liquid, “Here, he looked like he could use this.”

“Thank you,” Dora said, taking the offered container then holding it out to Draco, “Drink this, it’s water.”

“Why would she give me water?” Draco croaked, shaking, eyeing the strange bottle warily. He tried pulling at the top, but nothing happened.

“Because she saw someone in trouble and wanted to help,” Dora said kindly, taking the bottle. With a firm twist she caused the top to make an unpleasant cracking noise, but it was open. It looked more like the top of a jar than anything he’d ever drank out of, but Dora seemed to think it was safe and he trusted her. He took a hesitant sip. The water was cool on his tongue and tasted no different to an aguamenti and he found it did help clear his head.

“I didn’t think this would be too much for you,” Dora said, “I’m sorry about that, we can get you back home.”

Draco shook his head, “No… I– I think– I’d like to stay.”

Dora raised her eyebrows, “Alright, if you’re sure. Let’s start by getting some food into you.”

“Does– does this stall sell any?” Draco asked nervously, pointing to where the woman had gone back to working.

Dora ducked around the stall to take a look then came back, “They’re a mac’n’cheese stall.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Draco said blankly.

“Cheesy pasta,” Dora deadpanned with the attitude of someone who couldn’t believe Draco had never had mac’n’cheese but was too polite to say so.

She ordered him a bowl of plain mac’n’cheese which was, indeed, macaroni noodles in a cheese sauce. For herself, Dora ordered something called ‘barbecue brisket’ that she said sounded good. The woman who had given him the water smiled and said he was looking better as she passed the bowl over to him, and Draco thanked her with all the stiff formality of his upbringing, which she seemed amused by.

As they walked away, Dora cursed as she stumbled and accidentally spilled half her bowl down herself. She managed to surreptitiously use her wand to clean up the worst of it, waving off offers of napkins and insisting it wasn’t that bad.

“An auror using magic in front of muggles?” Draco asked quietly, raising an eyebrow.

Dora chuckled, “We do that all the time, just gotta make sure they don’t see.”

The food was not unpleasant. The warmth was welcome in the cold December air. It was plainer than he was used to, but it had been the plain option. He could see the appeal, he supposed. A full stomach helped him to feel better, at least, and he was able to take in the market. The crafts were particularly curious to him, as they’d been accomplished without magic, and he watched with fascination at the few stalls where an artisan was working on their craft in between selling. 

As the crowd once again got too much for him, Draco made his way out of the thick of it and found himself standing in front of the permanent store fronts. They weren't entirely dissimilar to Diagon Alley, albeit less exciting. The pictures didn't move, instead he found himself staring at a larger than life image of a woman smiling right at him. He moved on, and found that next door the window was full of drawings. Flowers and birds, a few symbols he didn’t recognize, all beautifully drawn.

“They sell art here?” Draco asked his cousin once she caught up with him. 

She gave him an odd look and said, “Sort of. It’s a tattoo studio.”

“Tattoos,” Draco said, “like Sirius has?” 

Draco found himself opening the door and walking into the studio. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but was surprised by how small the room was. The walls were decorated with hundreds of designs, similar to the ones outside, as well as a few large photos of finished tattoos. There was a black leather couch against the wall and a counter with a young woman standing behind it. She was like nothing Draco had ever seen, her hair was a wild array of colors, shaved along the side of her head, her ears and face were full of metal and her arms were even more covered with art than even Sirius’s.

“Great timing,” the woman said cheerfully, “Cat’s just finishing up with a client, she’ll be free in a mo’.”

“Cat?” Draco asked, blinking.

“The artist?” the woman said with a small laugh, “What brings you in?”

“I just…” Draco gestured somewhat helplessly, feeling foolish.

“Happened to be passing by and got the urge,” Dora explained for him, looking deeply amused by this turn of events.

Draco nodded, his cheeks burning, “Cat’s a very good artist.”

‘Cat’, it turned out, was a woman named Catalina whose hair was set into greying dreadlocks that were decorated with silver beads. She had tattoos covering her dark skin up to her jaw, and Draco was startled to realize she likely had more tattoos that Sirius did. He supposed, given her career, this made sense. He wasn’t sure if tattoos were common for muggles or not, everyone at the Christmas Market had been bundled up. 

The woman was warm and amused by the sheer ignorance Draco had about tattooing despite how he’d showed up in her shop. She explained the process and showed him the tools she used, and Draco found himself asking if she knew how to draw a Narcissa. Catalina pulled out a flower reference book and flipped through to a page on them, and she said she could do a simple flower with some stars on his right forearm that day. 

As she set her work station up, Dora pulled Draco to the side, looking concerned, “Are you sure, Draco? These things hurt.”

“Have you ever been on the receiving end of Aunt Bella's crucio?” Draco asked flatly, and Dora froze. Draco gave her a half smile, “I’ll be fine.”

As Draco settled into the chair which had been covered in a clear plastic wrap – muggles seemed to like clear plastic very much – he did have a flicker of concern that his bravado was baseless. He didn’t actually know very much about the muggle pain tolerance. Given their lack of healing spells, it was possible that they could endure considerably more than Draco gave them credit for.

The machine turned on, creating a soft buzzing noise that reminded Draco of an insect, and he looked away as the metal tip touched down to his skin.

He winced. It was unpleasant, but not intolerable. As he had suspected, it was nowhere near as bad as being under Bellatrix Lestrange’s cruciatus.

Dora held his hand, watching curiously. After he got used to the sensation, Draco was able to look down to where the solid black line was covering over the sketch she had made on his arm. To his dismay, it was quite smudged with black. Catalina used a strange, papery sort of towel to wipe some of it away, but the smears stayed.

“That’s quite messy,” Draco said, frowning.

Catalina smiled at him, “Don’t worry, we wash away the extra ink. Only the lines in your skin will stay.”

Draco nodded uncertainly, letting out a long breath and looking back up at the ceiling. 

Once she was finished, Catalina put a foam on his skin and wiped it away and, to Draco’s relief, nearly all of the black smudges went with it. Because of how pale Draco’s skin was, it showed the angry redness around the tattoo quite clearly. The image of the flower and stars showed up crisp and clean against it.

It was wholly unlike when Draco had taken the Dark Mark. He certainly had no say in the design. He had been 16 and both cocky and terrified and the agony of it was something he would not soon forget. It had branded him as connected to a wizard that he now recognized as a madman. 

The flower honored his mother, the witch who had risked everything to keep him safe. It had been designed just for him, entirely to his liking. 

Catalina went over the instructions for how to care for it and Draco listened raptly. She wrapped the tattoo in a special film to keep it safe, telling him when to take it off and start cleaning the tattoo properly. She included a special green soap and a jar of ointment in the cost of the tattoo, and Draco looked at them curiously. 

By the time they left the shop, the early darkness of December had fallen. The market was still abuzz with activity, but Draco hoped his cousin wouldn’t mind going home.

Dora pulled him into a side alley and took out her wand, “Here, I'll heal that for you.”

“No,” Draco said urgently, pulling his arm to his chest protectively, “Thank you, but I want to do it properly.”

He wasn’t sure if he could articulate why, but it felt important. The ritual of washing it and applying the ointment over the course of weeks felt like a part of having the tattoo. He wanted the pride of knowing he had healed it himself, the way hundreds of muggles before him had. 

“Really?” Dora asked, perplexed, “Wash it three times a day and put up with the pain and itching?”

“I've faced worse,” Draco said with a shrug.

Dora gave him an odd look then nodded, “I'm proud of you, cousin, you're taking this seriously.”

—

The Tonkses had plans to spend Christmas at the Burrow. From the sound of it, this would be a very large gathering of essentially everyone who had been on the right side of the war. Unsurprisingly, Draco and Narcissa were not invited. Draco was relieved by this, as he had no desire to see the Weasleys and even less desire to see Potter. 

Andromeda was still willing to celebrate the holiday with her sister and nephew, though, and would have a smaller gathering on Christmas Eve. It was the first time that Draco saw Teddy during the holiday, and he got the boy a toddler's potion kit with Dora's blessing. Sirius was there as well, wearing a father Christmas hat and grinning brightly. He had a few sharp comments for Narcissa but mostly got along. 

To Draco’s absolute shock, Sirius gave him a present. It was a muggle CD player that had been charmed to work in Hogwarts as well as a few CDs. One of classical music, something called ‘ABBA gold’, and the greatest hits of some unspecified queen. Draco was both confused and curious.

“Word to the wise, cousin,” Sirius said conspiratorially, “Don’t tell Hermione this can work at Hogwarts. She’s adamant it’s not possible.”

Draco could not imagine a scenario in which he would have a conversation with Hermione Granger, but he agreed nonetheless. 

—

The rest of the school holiday was considerably less enjoyable. Dora went back to work, so didn’t have time to see them. Andromeda and Narcissa had exchanged letters, but the sisters had apparently reached the limit of how much time they could spend together and stay cordial. They stayed at the Manor, and Draco spent much of his time in his room drawing while listening to the music Sirius had given him. 

Pansy, Blaise, and Theo all visited at various times. None of them had returned to Hogwarts, and Draco had not been very good at writing them. Pansy had managed to get an internship in France, where she was not known as the witch who tried to give Harry Potter to Lord Voldemort. Theo was also working on the continent, although he was vague about what he was doing. Blaise had gotten a position with the Ministry thanks to his mother’s connections, the Zabinis had refused to choose sides during the war and that had apparently worked out for them. 

That summer, Draco had dreaded returning to school. Now he found himself yearning for it, if only to get away from the Manor again.