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As Draco stomped in formation through the double doors into the Great Hall at Hogwarts, he couldn’t help but feel envious of the life he almost had. His father’s decision to send him to Durmstrang rather than allow him to study under Professor Dumbledore had been a festering wound in their relationship since he returned from his first term.
His time at the Institute had honed him into an adept dueller. He was top of his class, commended by all his professors and respected by his classmates, but those things felt hollow now that he sat at one of the four long tables filling the room.
At least Karkaroff had instructed them to sit at the Slytherin table. It was the house that he had been destined to join as a Malfoy. Every generation of Malfoys for the last four hundred years had been sorted into the snakes. He should have been as well.
Viktor Krum sat a few seats down, garnering the focus of nearly all the students in the hall, but it didn’t stop the pug-faced girl situated next to him from trying to strike up a conversation with Draco.
“It must have been so cold that far north,” she said with an overabundance of concern. “If only you had someone to keep you warm.”
If the food hadn’t been so delicious, he might have gagged. It was just another thing to resent his father over as he made his comparison between the schools. Hogwarts felt like home in a way Durmstrang could never replicate. It was too cold and unforgiving.
Draco was already struggling to recall the name of the girl—something floral, he thought—but he had learned she was his age. He supposed it was a small mercy that he didn’t grow up having to endure her fawning all over him during every meal.
“Who do you think the Goblet will deem worthy of being the Hogwarts Champion?” he asked in hopes of changing the subject.
She seemed a bit taken aback by his abruptness, but recovered quickly. “Well, limiting it just to the seventeen-year-olds means a smaller pool. Cassius Warrington is the best chance for Slytherin. Cedric Diggory is a name I heard about from Hufflepuff, but he is mostly known for being pretty. I would rather him over that girl, Angelina Johnson, from Gryffindor. I wouldn’t be able to root for the Hogwarts Champion if they turned out to be a bloody lion.”
The witch continued to list off other students as Draco eyed up the competition. The Beauxbatons had settled with the Ravenclaws, shivering in their blue silks. He knew better than to underestimate them, unlike many of the snickering students around them. Beauxbatons’ curriculum was notoriously rigorous and produced some of the best wizards and witches in Europe.
After scanning the room, his eyes finally landed on the farthest table, where the rowdy Gryffindor students were stuffing their faces. His eyes settled on the black-haired boy with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
“Is that Harry Potter?” Draco blurted out before he could censor himself.
The witch—Pansy, he finally remembered—followed his gaze before rolling her eyes. “Yes, and he is the worst. He and his friends get into all sorts of trouble, and they never get punished for it. I guess it pays to be Dumbledore’s favourite.”
“How much trouble could one student get up to at Hogwarts?” he wondered aloud.
“He snuck a baby dragon up to the top of the astronomy tower in first year,” Pansy said bitterly. “And everyone thought he was the Heir of Slytherin during our second year when students started being petrified by a monster. As if he would ever willingly let any harm his precious little mudblood. Third year, he snuck down to Hogsmeade even though he didn’t have a permission slip, and when I tried to tell Professor Snape, he somehow beat me back to the school.”
Draco kept from flinching at the slur. He had a lot of practice doing so with how often Lucius spewed it at him during his holidays at the manor. There had been a time when he believed in blood purity, but it ended along with Draco’s respect for Lucius as a parent. His father was prone to reckless, selfish decisions, and Draco had vowed to himself to be nothing like him.
The boy next to Potter, who was currently ogling one of the Beauxbaton girls, was obviously a Weasley, so he couldn’t be the muggle-born that Pansy had mentioned. He concluded it had to be the girl on Potter’s other side. She seemed unimpressed by the visiting students, her nose buried in a book, ignoring everyone. Her hair was pulled up in a bun, her wand sticking out of it as she nibbled on her lower lip. Draco found it oddly endearing. Potter poked her, and she looked up, somewhat exasperated at him before answering whatever idiotic question he posed.
Draco snorted involuntarily as he heard Pansy say that Scarface had freed a hippogriff after it had attacked her to prevent it from being executed.
“At this rate, Potter will find a way to enter the tournament and be declared the Hogwarts Champion.”
“Gods, I hope not.”
From the expression on Pansy’s face, the witch wasn’t ruling it out as a possibility.
Draco should have put galleons on the outcome. After the names of the three Champions were called, the Goblet unexpectedly shot out another sheet of paper. When Dumbledore called out Potter’s name, the entire hall went quiet. The various Headmasters and professors disappeared for nearly half an hour before returning with the news that Potter would be competing as a second Hogwarts Champion.
In order for Hogwarts not to have an unfair advantage, Karkaroff and Madame Maxine had insisted that a second student be drawn for each of them, only this time, the age limit would be lowered to fourteen.
The eligible Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students had only ten minutes to decide if they would enter, but nearly every one of them raced forward to add their name without hesitation.
Draco knew it wasn’t a desire for eternal glory that compelled him to cross the age line and place his own slip into the fire, but a deep need to prove himself as more than just another Malfoy heir. When his name was announced as the second Durmstrang Champion, it appeared he would be given the opportunity to do just that.
The first challenge was dragons. Though they may have been his namesake, he had felt entirely unprepared to outmanoeuvre them to retrieve the next clue. As Draco stared down the Scottish Silverwing, feeling the heat of its fiery breath, he understood true fear. Through sheer will alone, he collected the egg and took third place just behind Krum and Potter.
Despite having several months to uncover the secrets of the egg, he couldn’t waste any time. Within a week, he had discovered the song that could only be heard underwater, and by the time December had arrived, he had started the tradition of taking the daily plunge into the Black Lake each morning.
He had no idea if any of his fellow Champions had solved it before him, but Krum also began daily swims a few days after Draco, though both refused to acknowledge why they were willing to endure the frigid waters.
As if Draco didn’t have enough to worry about, he now found himself constantly swarmed by teenage girls after it was announced that there would be a Yule Ball. Each time he stepped off the ship, he found them lurking nearby, giggling with their friends before approaching him to waste his time.
Krum had faced the same predicament, but he quickly remedied it by asking the first acceptable witch—a pretty Hufflepuff sixth year—to the dance, and news spread fast amongst the female population.
With the international quidditch star no longer available, they had all shifted their focus to Draco. It was obvious they were all hoping to be the one to catch his eye and be his date to the dance, but little did they know that his eye couldn’t be swayed from the one witch he couldn’t seem to get to notice him.
Hermione Granger, Potter’s muggle-born best friend and the Brightest Witch of Her Age according to her professors and fellow classmates, was clearly the world's biggest swot. The witch practically lived in the Hogwarts library, but that also made her easier to find. Draco hadn’t been opposed to seeking her out after escaping his horde of admirers, taking the empty spot across from her on several occasions.
He was careful to disguise the books he selected on merpeople and other creatures inhabiting the Black Lake in case she ran to Potter with the info, but his efforts appeared to be unnecessary. She rarely ever looked up as he took his seat, and he had never found the courage to interrupt her studying to start a conversation. Perhaps she thought he was mute at this point, which would be a wrench in his plans to become better acquainted with the witch.
He was debating how to approach her during his morning swim when he checked his watch and realised he had beaten the previous record for maintaining his Bubblehead Charm. Rising to the surface, Draco’s head broke above the gentle waves as he oriented himself, a scowl overtaking his features at the sight of the half dozen witches occupying the rocky shore.
They were becoming bolder in their attempts. He saw Pansy was among them, her eyes scanning the surface of the water in search of him. Perhaps they were becoming more desperate with the dance only a few weeks away. With another wave of his wand, he cast his Bubblehead Charm again and dived back beneath the surface.
Thankfully, Draco had prepared for this inevitable event, sneaking his way along the lake bottom until he found the small cove shielded by the swaying branches of a willow tree. Coming up, he scanned the rocks, identifying the one where he had hidden a towel and some dry clothes.
Just as he pulled himself out of the water, there was a sound of a feminine gasp and the rustling of a nearby fern. Irritation rising, he couldn’t contain himself as he stomped in the direction of where the witch who made it was hiding.
“I’ve had enough of you all spying on me!” he shouted as he stalked towards her. “What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone—”
His words failed him as he shoved the branches back to find Hermione Granger curled up against the trunk of the willow. She was bundled up tight with her Gryffindor scarf and matching mittens. Her face was splotchy, still showing the evidence of the tears she tried to wipe away before he could see.
“Granger?” He immediately took a step back, not wanting to frighten her more than he already had. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Malfoy.”
He didn’t believe her.
“No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be here.”
“Well, what are you doing here?” Her voice shifted to an accusatory tone as a way of deflecting his question. “And why are you shouting at me? And where are your clothes?”
He thought the fact that he was still dripping from his swim would be enough explanation for her last question, but he caught her eyeing his exposed muscles, and the realisation that he was finally speaking with her quickly overtook any lingering annoyance from a few moments ago.
“Just out for a dip,” he admitted, a smirk slowly creeping up his face as she continued to stare. “Since the shoreline has been overrun by your classmates desperate for my attention, I thought I might get a bit more privacy here.”
A blush slowly crept up her cheeks, turning them the loveliest shade of pink.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” She looked down at her hands. “I just came here so no one would bother me, either.”
He could feel the cold air stinging against his skin, but he didn’t dare leave her side to collect his clothes.
“Did Potter and Weasel ask you to do their Charms homework again?” Draco prodded as he sat down on the rock, scooting slightly closer to her warmth.
“No,” she shook her head before sighing and looking out across the lake. “Ron asked me to the Yule Ball.”
Fuck. From watching the trio of friends, he had been certain it was Potter who laid claim to Granger, but maybe he had been wrong.
“Aren’t most girls thrilled to be asked to that bloody ball?” He tried to keep his voice level as he shifted his focus to stare across the smooth water of the lake.
“Well, yes, but not as someone’s last resort.”
Draco’s head snapped to her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ron asked me because he couldn’t come up with anyone else to go with, not because he wanted to go with me.”
He could hear the hurt in the statement. She wanted Weasley to have meant it.
“Granger, you're a smart witch. Please tell me you turned the idiot down,” he pleaded.
“Worse!” She buried her head in her hands. “I told him someone else already asked me. I lied, and now I’m going to look like a fool when he finds out.”
It was fate, destiny, luck. Whatever Draco wanted to call it didn’t matter, he had the perfect opportunity delivered on a silver fucking platter.
“You are not a fool, and I am certain you won’t look like one,” he promised as he scooted a few inches closer to her while she wasn’t looking.
“But now everyone thinks I already have a date, Malfoy. If anyone had thought to ask me, they would have heard I was going with someone else. I ruined my own chances.”
“Well, you do have a date. You’re going to be my date,” he declared proudly.
She lifted her head from her hands, her brows furrowed in confusion. “Malfoy, didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to be someone’s date because they pity me.”
“I don’t pity you, Granger.”
“Then why? Why ask me? There are plenty of girls lining up to go to the ball with you. You can have any witch you want.”
Apparently, she thought that fact alone made her ineligible. He rushed to correct the notion.
“Of course, but I haven’t wanted to ask any of those other girls. I wanted to ask you. I’ve been trying to build up the courage, and then I just happened to stumble upon you at the perfect time. What are the odds, Granger?”
“Wait, so all those times you came and sat by me in the library…?” She trailed off, but he just nodded.
“A history of my past failures. I can see your brain turning, trying to overthink this, but the truth is that I like you, and if you let me take you to the Yule Ball, I’ll spend the entire night smiling like I am the luckiest guy in the room, because I will be.”
“But Ron told me your family hates muggle-borns. That was why your father sent you to Durmstrang in the first place.”
Draco's smile slipped into a scowl. “I am not my father. It probably would have taken me longer to figure that out if I had been allowed to come here instead. Lucius is a coward who leeches onto dark magic as a way to hide his own ineptitude, but I have no interest in following the same path. And clearly, blood purity is a shit factor at predicting success, because if it was, you wouldn’t be wiping the floor with everyone in all your classes. You’re brilliant, Granger, and you’d better start believing it.”
“Malfoy, I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes,” he proposed. “Say you’ll go with me.”
He watched Granger weigh her options, holding his breath while she deliberated. The morning chill was finally getting to him, a shiver running through him, but he couldn’t move under her gaze. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded.
His excitement was so overwhelming, he instinctively leaned forward to press his lips to hers. When he pulled back after a few seconds, he saw her eyes had gone wide in surprise. His anxiety immediately spiked, wondering if he had gone too far.
“I’m sorry!” Draco rushed to apologise. “I should have asked. That wasn’t very gentlemanly of me.”
Granger's fingers came up to her lips, shaking her head. “It's alright, Malfoy. I just—well, I've never been kissed before, and I wasn’t expecting it to be so…”
“I was your first kiss?” he repeated, shocked by her admission.
“Yes, so I’m sorry if I don’t know how to do it properly.”
Leave it to Granger to think she could possibly fail at kissing. Sure, there were bad kissers, but he doubted Granger could ever be considered among them.
He inched closer again until their noses nearly brushed. “Hmm, well, they do say practice makes perfect.”
Draco hovered, letting her close the gap this time as she leaned forward to begin their second kiss. Granger’s lips moulded to his, warm and welcoming. His hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer until she was practically in his lap.
This time, when the kiss ended, he had no doubt she had enjoyed it.
“See, you’re a natural,” he commended, earning another blush from the curly-haired witch.
The cold had finally become unbearable, but he still wasn’t willing to let Granger out of his sight. With a wave of his wand, he summoned his towel and clothes, rushing to bundle up against the chill. He checked his watch, realising he was going to be late for class.
“Time’s up, I’m afraid. Can I escort you back to the castle?” He offered a hand to help her stand up.
“I think I can find my way back by myself,” she replied. “But will I see you at the library after dinner?”
“Sure, Granger. I’ll be there as soon as I escape my collection of fangirls, though I think many of them might finally give up once they hear I am going to the dance with you.”
The idea of no longer being stalked through the halls by a band of giggling girls was highly appealing. He debated how to best circulate the information quickly, only to have Granger immediately halt the endeavour.
“Can we keep it a secret?”
“But, why? I’m not ashamed of you, Granger.” He tried and failed to keep the hurt from his voice.
“I didn’t say that, but if you tell everyone you are going with me, I wouldn’t be surprised if your fangirls get jealous and decide to replace my shampoo with flobberworm mucus,” she argued.
“But if we don’t say anything, those witches won’t leave me alone,” he whined.
“Do what I did, then. Start a rumour that you have a date, but leave off that it’s me.” Granger shrugged like the solution was obvious.
It was a compromise, and one he was willing to accept if it kept both Granger and him from being harassed. “Fine.”
“Thank you!” She stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you later, Malfoy.”
“See you later, Granger.”
Draco paced back and forth in the entry hall as students continued to trickle in for the dance. Hermione Granger wasn’t late yet, but each passing minute felt like torture.
He tried to distract himself with others’ petty drama. Potter and his pet, Weasel, had arrived with their dates a few minutes prior. It appeared that they had managed to find a set of twins, but from what Draco recalled, the witches had been sorted into different houses.
“Don’t worry about waiting for her, Harry,” Weasley said as Potter looked up at the grand staircase. “Hermione isn’t coming. We both know she didn’t have a date, and she’s just crying in her room.”
How wrong the wizard was.
Soon after, Professor McGonagall herded Weasley and the last few lingering students inside the Great Hall, until it was only the Champions and their dates remaining.
“Alright, everyone, line up please,” the witch ordered, arranging the various couples. Now, Granger was dangerously close to being late, and Professor McGonagall noticed Draco didn’t have a partner. “Mr. Malfoy, I thought Professor Karkaroff said you had a date?”
Before Draco could reply, Hermione appeared at the top of the stairs and rendered him speechless. Her periwinkle dress draped beautifully, and her hair was smoothed into an elegant updo, leaving just a few curls to fall loosely around her face. As she descended, he recognised the subtle rouge she had applied to her cheeks and lips, but ultimately, she was still his Granger.
He came forward to greet her, brushing his lips across her hand.
“Sorry I’m late,” she whispered as he escorted her back to his place amongst the Champions.
Potter’s mouth had fallen open at her appearance, and Draco tried not to laugh.
“You’re right on time, and you look beautiful, Hermione.” Draco relished the smile that crept up her face at the compliment, wanting to acquire a Pensieve so he could bottle the memory and relive it over and over.
The next few minutes were a blur as the double doors to the Great Hall reopened for the Champions’ grand entrance. They had been awarded the task of opening the dance floor for the evening, a task Draco was happy to oblige, considering he discovered Hermione had also taken dance lessons as a child. Just another reason to consider her the perfect date.
“Is there anything you can’t do?” he marvelled as they spun around the room effortlessly.
“Chess,” she answered easily. “I’m horrible at it. I lose every time.”
He couldn’t contain the laugh that bubbled up into his chest. After several formal dances, the string quartet was relieved of their post as the Weird Sisters took to the stage. The students grew rowdier, packing the dance floor and forcing him closer and closer to Hermione as they swayed to the music. When they both grew too hot, Draco pulled them free, promising to find them drinks.
After locating two glasses of punch, he set off through the crowd to deliver them. He spotted Hermione sitting with Potter and Weasley and walked over to join them. Before he could even reach the table, however, he heard Weasley’s grating voice.
“Oh, Draco, is it? When did you get on a first-name basis with him?” His arms were crossed as he interrogated her.
“Well, he is my date, Ronald. What else would I call him?” Draco could hear the defensiveness in her tone.
“He’s the enemy, ‘Mione. Don’t you remember what I told you about his family? His father was a Death Eater.”
Draco flinched. Of course, the Weasel wouldn’t be happy about Hermione going with him, but he knew that those things couldn’t be said if she had agreed to go with some other bloke. Rather than continue forward, he hung back, waiting to see how this confrontation played out.
“Draco is not his father. And the whole point of this tournament is about building friendships between schools to better improve international magical cooperation.”
Weasley snorted. “I don’t think Malfoy wants to be your friend. Face it, Hermione, he is just using you to get to Harry.”
The idea was absurd. If anything, Draco had been going out of his way to avoid Potter as much as possible since he arrived at Hogwarts.
“You’re unbelievable,” she exclaimed before stomping off.
Draco made to follow after her, but Weasley finally seemed to notice him as he passed, calling out for him. “Oi, Malfoy!”
“Weasley,” he growled, slowly turning to face the ginger idiot.
“I don’t know what your problem is with us, but you leave ‘Mione out of it.”
Weasley’s ego was far too inflated for him to think Draco had given him any consideration at all. He was irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, nothing more than a nuisance—a nuisance that was attempting to ruin his night with Hermione and deserved to be humbled.
“Up until this moment, I had no true quarrel with you, Weasley, but your jealousy has gone too far. Just because you’re bitter that Granger isn’t on your arm doesn’t give you the right to treat her so poorly.”
“You think I’m jealous?” Weasley's face was quickly reddening to match his hair.
“Yes, but I’ll give you some advice: Next time there is a dance, don’t wait until the last minute to ask the witch you want to go with, and never make her feel like she is your last resort.”
Draco didn’t allow Weasley time to retort as he continued on his way, searching for his witch. He found Hermione sitting on the stairs in the entry hall, having abandoned her shoes as she curled in on herself.
“Hey,” he said as he sat down next to her and handed her the glass of punch.
“Hi.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He didn’t bother hiding that he knew she was upset.
“Did you ask me to the dance to get closer to Harry or get information from me about how he is preparing for the next task?”
He wanted to scoff, but he saw the insecurity simmering just beneath the surface and took a gentler approach.
“No,” he shook his head, taking her hands in his. “Honestly, I have been going out of my way to avoid him. Besides, if anyone could help me get ahead with any of these challenges, it would be you, though I know Potter needs you more. In the end, I accept that you were friends with him first, and I am trying to respect you by not putting you in a position where you feel forced to choose between us.”
Hermione exhaled, releasing the breath she had been holding and appeared to find his response satisfactory.
“Thank you for that, and for being so kind to me. I really like you, Draco.”
“Anytime, Granger,” he smirked, pleased to have his witch back, and ready to enjoy the rest of his evening.
Dumbledore was a fucking nutter. When the egg’s song told him that they planned to take something precious from him, he never imagined that it would mean kidnapping his girlfriend and holding her in an unconscious state at the bottom of the Black Lake.
She had been helping Potter in the library last night before Professor McGonagall had sent for her. It appeared Scarface had procrastinated on uncovering the secret of the egg and was rushing to find a solution for how to breathe underwater for an hour. Whether Potter was ready or not, the second task arrived and with everything accounted for but the most important people for each Champion, it seemed the only logical conclusion was that retrieving them was to be today's goal.
Potter and Krum were allowed to enter first based on their scores in the first challenge. He watched as Krum transfigured himself into some half-shark monstrosity, while Potter choked on some gillyweed before being pushed into the lake.
The three minutes Draco had to wait to join them felt excruciatingly long. When the gong finally sounded, he dove gracefully into the water, casting his Bubblehead Charm easily.
From his near-daily expeditions over the last few months, he knew that the most prominent locations were the merpeople encampment, a kelp forest filled with grindylows, and the cave that housed the giant squid. Since the song was in Mermish, he guessed that their village was the most likely place where they had taken Hermione and the others.
It was on the far side of the lake, and while Draco knew the fastest way there was through the kelp forest, it was also the most perilous. Choosing to take the safe path, he swam around the border of the swaying kelp, pushing himself to near exhaustion with his pace. The temperature today made the water even more unpleasant than usual, and his muscles were noticeably slowed down by the cold.
Finally, he passed over the ridge and laid eyes on the merpeople’s lair. The stone grottos were filled with them, but as Draco passed, they simply watched. He had just begun to doubt that he had made the right call when he saw the line of six bodies hovering and petrified in the water.
Potter was somehow already here, and Draco concluded that he must have swum through the kelp forest. He was using a rock to cut Weasley loose as Draco approached. Not having the time to waste with crude instruments, Draco drew his wand, casting a Severing Charm to release the ropes binding her to the lake floor.
She began to float upward, and Draco hooked an arm around her to keep her close. As they began to ascend to the surface, he looked out across the lake, seeing Krum entering the grotto from the south, while Diggory could be seen coming from the west. He couldn’t spot either of the Beauxbatons Champions, but glancing at his watch, it appeared they were running out of time to complete the task.
The surface grew closer and closer until finally they broke above the water, Hermione opening her eyes and gasping for breath.
“Draco?” she cried out, beginning to thrash in the water.
“I’ve got you, Hermione.”
They had emerged about fifty meters from the stands that had been erected for the spectators, and Draco began to guide them towards it. Hermione had been wearing her school robes from last night, and the heavy wool fabric proved to be a hindrance as he pulled them along. She hadn’t spent months acclimating to the lake’s temperature like he had, so by the time they reached the shore, she had grown so stiff she didn’t have the strength to pull herself up the ladder onto the dock.
Madame Pomfrey was immediately there, casting Warming Charms and wrapping them in blankets. Draco spotted the Beauxbatons Champion, Fleur Delacour, being comforted by her classmates as she cried for someone named Gabrielle.
Draco came over to sit by Hermione once the Healer was done with her examination, snuggling close to offer what warmth he could as they watched the rest of the task unfold.
Diggory arrived next to the dock, followed by Krum less than a minute later, and then the second Beauxbatons Champion right as the gong sounded, signalling the hour was up. Potter was still absent, though Draco recalled that he had nearly cut Weasley free by the time he had begun his ascent with Hermione. The crowd began murmuring as the judges huddled together to decide how to proceed.
They were still speaking quietly when three figures broke the surface a minute later. As they grew closer, they were easy to identify. Potter and Weasley, he knew, and the little blonde witch who couldn’t have been older than twelve had to be the sister that Delacour had been crying over.
“Potter must have waited to make sure everyone was saved,” he said to Hermione as the young girl was pulled onto the dock and clutched tightly by her sister.
“That—that’s—Harry for you,” she declared as her teeth continued to chatter. “He—never leaves—anyone behind.”
For the first time, Draco silently acknowledged that Potter might not be all bad. It had been an unselfish sacrifice that ultimately put him in last place, aside from Delacour, who had been forced to resign.
Draco wasn’t the only one impressed. The judges seemed to have found Potter’s actions commendable enough to give him extra points that ultimately placed him just behind Draco.
With the second task behind them, only one remained before a winner could be crowned.
Cedric Diggory lay dead while Potter was swept up by one of the professors as he screamed that Voldemort had returned.
Most looked on in disbelief, but not Draco. Someone had gone to great lengths to ensure no one but Potter would reach the cup hidden at the center of the maze, a cup that turned out to be a portkey. Shortly after Draco was pulled from the maze upon receiving a nasty burn from a blast-ended skrewt, he witnessed Karkaroff clutch his forearm in agony before fleeing. A clear sign of the bad news to come.
The Dark Lord had summoned his followers, but Potter thwarted him again by surviving the encounter. The boy who lived to tell the tale.
In the chaos that night, it was unveiled that the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had been a Death Eater using polyjuice to hide out at the school. He had been the one to rig the Goblet to pull Potter’s name and killed a senior ministry official he had trapped under the Imperius Curse. As such, the Ministry swept in and enacted the Dementor's Kiss rather than return him to Azkaban.
The next few days were a blur, with rumours swirling about, venturing farther and farther from the truth. Already, he could see the Ministry preparing to bury its head in the sand, rather than accept the stark reality before them. Draco refused to follow such cowardly leaders.
Draco had always known this decision was coming, but now it was here. Sitting in Dumbledore's office as the wizard's piercing blue eyes appraised him, he knew the next words he spoke would change his life forever.
“I know my father was in the graveyard. I know he’ll offer me to the Dark Lord eventually. It is only a matter of time.”
“You think Lucius Malfoy will eagerly offer up his only son and heir—one who is not even of age yet—to become a Death Eater, Mr. Malfoy?” the elderly wizard asked.
“Yes, and I won’t be his pawn. There will be a war, and I have already decided which side I am fighting for.”
Whichever side Hermione was on. Since their first kiss on the lakeshore, Draco had been sure about her.
The Dark Lord and his Death Eaters would torture and kill her if given the chance, and Draco would ensure that chance never came. If that meant aligning himself with the old man across from him, it was worth it to keep the witch he loved from harm.
Dumbledore’s expression didn’t change as he leaned back in his chair. “If you’re caught, they will kill you.”
“Then I won’t get caught.”
It seemed like the obvious answer, and the right one, as the Headmaster’s eyes began to twinkle.
“You’ll need training for that. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, what do you know of Occlumency?”