Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy was having a rough day.
To say the least that is.
Everything was going just fine. He was as usual chained up in the cellar of the Manor. His father was upstairs drinking some billion galleon firewhiskey, brooding, looking all solemn like an abandoned Victorian child and his mother was in his room pretending to be a helpless damsel.
Did he think he would end up like this two years ago? Fuck no.
But was he like this presently? Definitely.
Looking back at his 16 years of life, he could see what went wrong. Behaving like horseshit for majority of his life, trying to get his parents to love him, be proud of him, bullying people to feel powerful, cutting of his closest friend because his dearest father said so, feeding into the image made for him, dating girls, sucking up to Snape, sucking up to Umbridge (perhaps the worst one), hurting people, ignoring his father’s attempts to suck up to the noseless psychopath, mending the vanishing cabinet, telling the Dark Lord about the mended vanishing cabinet, refusing to kill Dumbledore(honestly who in the right mind would ask that of a 16 year old), attempting to run away from the noseless psychopath (that was dumb). He should feel bad about it. He could feel bad about it. But he had never been someone to regret. Afterall regret is for people who possess the strength to let it take over them. And Draco? Draco Malfoy wasn’t one of them.
Draco Malfoy was a Professional Coward.
Which was definitely not ideal considering he was standing in front of the savior of the wizarding world, taking a killing curse for him.
Ah yes, he was definitely having a rough day.
It was a strange set of events. The morning, as far as Draco could tell from the little sliver of light that came in through a hole in the far-left corner of the cellar, was going absolutely fine. He was lying in a fetal position, waiting for Yaxley or Bellatrix to come and have their go at him. If he was unlucky maybe it would be the big bad guy himself, but that’s essentially what he was doing. Unfortunately, it was somehow something worse than all of that, Greyback.
“Wake up.” He kicked Draco in the ribs.
Draco was fully awake. But he was feeling petty. So, he didn’t open his eyes.
“Hey! Wake up!” Greyback slammed his gross left foot into him again.
“Shut the fuck up, for the love of God!” Draco yelled. That was the wrong answer. He was met with a punch to his beautifully bruised face which cut his lip open.
“That ought to teach you to keep your mouth shut, huh?” Greyback said. As if.
“What do you want Fenrir?” Draco spat, eyes glaring at the werewolf hovering above him.
“Havin’ a bit of a school reunion for you dearest prisoner.” Greyback said.
Draco stilled. No, no, right? No. He didn’t know what he was talking about. His brain started digging through the people who could be here as Fenrir grabbed him by the shoulder, clutching an open wound whilst doing so and forced him out of the cellar, towards the hall of the Manor. Theo? No, Draco made sure him and Blaise would be forced to flee the country before easter. Vince? Greg? Did they already get their marks? No, they were too behind. Parkinson? Was he… would his father try to marry him off or something? No, the Parkinsons would never accept a Blood Traitor.
God that sounded weird.
Draco Malfoy, Blood Traitor.
If not them then who was stupid enough-
Ah. Potter.
Draco stood in the hall of his home. Chains binding his wrists and shackle marks on his wrist. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, so all of his scars were out on display. He managed to let out an uneven breath. Harry Potter was in front of him. He looked weird. His face was all swollen for some reason. But there was no doubt this was him.
His stupid green eyes and his stupid messy hair and his very stupid swollen red scar.
Granger and Weasley were also at one side, being held by nameless extras. His favorite Aunt was on another, a psychotic grin spread across her face.
“Why did you call me here?” Draco said, soft and tenacious.
“Draco, my boy, look at this one and tell me who he is?” Bellatrix sang.
“I don’t know who this is.” He said before she even finished her sentence.
Wrong answer.
Her eyes darkened and she stepped closer. “Draco, who is this?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“I keep giving you chances my boy!” She sang, drawing her wand at his face. “But you keep ruining them…Crucio~”
His body went on fire as his knees gave in. Usually, he held out for longer… but last week hadn’t been too kind on him so he couldn’t keep up. Tears threatened to leave his eyes but he still managed not to scream. He couldn’t give her that satisfaction no. Not in front of Potter.
When she stopped, she asked again, “Draco who is this?”
Draco took a minute to collect himself and he dragged his knees through the floor and stared into Potter’s eyes.
“I don’t know.”
“CRUCIO!” This one hurt harder. He fell and slammed his head on the floorboard. He couldn’t take it and let out an agonizing scream when his mother entered the Room.
“Bellatrix stop it!” Her voice rang through the hall.
“Cissy you don’t get it-
“Mother, how nice of you to grace us with your presence.” Draco lifted his head up then continued. “How was tea?”
“Draco-
“Can we focus on finding if this is the Potter boy or not?” Greyback interjected.
“He isn’t.” Draco said.
Bellatrix stared at his kneeling figure for a second before saying, “Well if that’s the case, we don’t need to keep him alive now, do we?”
“Bellatrix I will gouge your eyes-
“AVADA KEDAVRA~
Huh.
Dying was not on his sweet seventeen bingo card but he couldn’t help it. He was scared. He was scared of what would become of him if Harry Potter died before killing the Dark Lord. So here he was, in the confines of his own house, standing in front of a swollen faced Harry Potter, on the receiving end of his Dear Aunt’s Killing Curse. It was annoying. After all the ways he had imagined dying (it had become a sweet little past time of his), this had to be the worst one.
Amongst the things that went wrong in his life, Harry Potter had to take the first place. The boy was the bane of his existence. Draco didn’t hate anyone as much as he hated Harry Potter. He loathed him. 7 years of playing hero. And 17 years of being what Draco couldn’t be. Loved.
Perhaps this was his atonement. Dying in such a pathetic way.
Perhaps his atonement was calling out his arch nemesis’s name even in the last moments of his life. Even in his death.
God fucking dammit Potter.
***
Wise men are the biggest liars, Draco decided.
Dying was not fucking peaceful. It was rocky and turbulent and it really made his left forearm hurt. He shuffled a little and opened his eyes, his right hand clutching his arm. His head hurt like crazy. He sat up and rubbed his hands over his eyes and-
“Hello, have you seen a Toad perchance? This boy over here has lost his.”His eyes shot up. If his afterlife angel was Hermione Granger, he would have no choice but to sue God.
“Draco are you okay?”
His mouth went dry. Was this some type of post death memory montage? If it was then why the fuck was it his compartment in Hogwarts express at 11? He looked at the owner of the concern and-
Fuck.
Theodore Nott.
Maybe this wasn’t a memory montage. Maybe he was on his way to hell and Devil decided to start his punishment a little early.
“Draco?”
He opened his mouth. Staring agape at the brown eyed- dark haired little boy in front of him. He closed his mouth.
“Uh, we haven’t seen any toads. My friend over here isn’t feeling that well, perhaps you should ask someone else?”
“Oh okay, take care of him. We should be reaching soon though; it should be fine.” Granger said, her tone laced with mild concern.
The click of the compartment door brought Draco back to his senses from whatever dreamland he went to in order to process it all. He was in the Hogwarts express. On his way to Hogwarts, for the first year of his formal education. God his head hurt.
“Draco? Do you need some water? I could get it for you?”
Ah yes.
“What am I doing here?” His voice sounded strange to himself. Very childlike and definitely very posh. At least something remained the same.
“Ah… I found you? I was looking for you actually, I said I wanted to talk to you about something and the you just fell asleep? You’ve been asleep for two hours now. I was starting to get concerned.” Theodore said with a brief smile.
What.
“Could you give me a moment Nott, I’ll just be back from the loo.” Draco said in haste, missing the grimace that aligned Theodore’s face.
He was spooked, to say the least. Hurrying along the aisle of the train, he wasn’t even taking a note of who he was pushing around. He rushed in and locked the door.
Being back in his 11-year-old body was also not on his sweet seventeen bingo card. He looked weird. His hair gelled to the point of being akin to plastic, his porcelain cheeks flushed with red and light tears brimming his eyes. He flinched, feeling a sharp shooting pain in his left forearm. With a gulp, he pushed the sleeves of his robes upwards.
His Dark mark was gone.
In its place was a deep red gash, flaring and swollen.
Holy shit. Did he just Harry Potter his way back in time? Or did he get a very elaborate dream about his life at Hogwarts. Maybe this was the dream and… well he-
Yea no, he hadn’t even started to feel the heat of hell and he was already going crazy.
***
Stepping into Hogwarts felt just as uneventful the second time. Afterall, it wasn’t a new sight for him. His father, being on the board of directors, brought him here countless times, usually murmuring profanities under his breath, dreaming of the day it would become a pureblood haven. The thought made him want to throw up on Theodore, who was being so affectionate that Draco wanted to kill him.
He managed to avoid any conversation with him in the pretense of his head hurting. It wasn’t much of a pretense but Theo was a can of worms Draco really wasn’t ready to open. His best friend since the age of 4, someone who he ceased all contact with at 10 because his father said so. He never understood why; Afterall Lucius Malfoy had always been Chummy with Atticus Nott, even till Draco’s death.
He knew exactly why Theo was seeking him out. He had asked Draco, confronted him about the status of their friendship, or lack thereof. And Draco had told him he wasn’t pleasant company anymore and hurried to find Vincent and Greg. His minions, freshly appointed by his father. Vincent and Greg were always a bit dull. Draco didn’t mind that, not really, but they weren’t his friends. Ever. They didn’t ask after him if he got sick, or gift him things he actually showed interest in. They didn’t rush after him in the hospital after he got slashed in the arm by a hippogriff or took his arm and ran off before he caught his father doing something unsightly after the Quidditch World Cup. They didn’t ask Draco to not stick his nose in Umbridge’s business and they didn’t wait for him to stop crying in the prefect’s bathroom after his father went for a field trip to Azkaban. They didn’t ask him to eat more, to rest more, to give himself a break even after finding out that he was a death eater and actively trying to fuck up Hogwarts for the worse. They didn’t do any of that. Theo did. Even after Draco had basically told him to go fuck himself. Draco too never really stopped being a friend to Theo. He still anonymously gifted him the muggle novels he really liked. He still left chocolates his mother sent on Theo’s table. He still cried to him after telling him what he had to do.
Theo was perhaps one of the very few people Draco ever truly felt affection towards. And it was just his luck that his father screwed that up for him. Alas he had no one to blame but himself. And he did. He did blame himself. That’s why he didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t even sure if anything was real. He was just moving. Thinking nothing.
“ -aco, Draco!” He felt a nudge in his ribs. “Yeah?”
“It’s your turn, go up, will you? We will go to the infirmary afterwards, okay?” Theo whispered.
“Uh yea okay.” Draco responded absent mindedly as he made his way towards the ugly old stool and the ugly old hat on top of it.
Ah, a Malfoy I, see? Hmmm… Interesting.
What exactly is interesting over here Mr. Hat? Cause I sure as hell am not seeing it?
I have a feeling we have met before.
We have.
Have we?
Yes. Now do your thing will you? It’s embarrassing to sit over here.
Draco wanted to tell the hat that it had taken less than a millisecond the first time they did this. But the hat being just another one of the things he hated, he didn’t want to divulge the information of his resurrection to it just yet. He expected a little change. After all he himself had changed. But the hat had been on him for what felt like an hour. He could feel the restlessness of everyone in the fucking room. All eyeing him up. This was too much for his freshly dead self.
If you are incapable of putting me somewhere, let me do it you little shit.
Hmm. I see it.
But maybe not.
Hmmm.
LET ME GO BACK TO MY FUCKING DORM YOU DUMB HAT.
It’s like that then? Alright.
SLYTHERIN!
The hat said it as if Draco could ever be anything else. Everything else fell back into place. He was, once again, sitting at the Slytherin table but this time he Vince and Greg were sat two places down. When Blaise Zabini Offered his hand, and Draco just stared at it, eyes vacant, Theo addressed the company in place of him and let them know that Draco wasn’t feeling well.
It was pissing Draco off.
Why, even after not talking for a year, Theo didn’t hate him?
Why, even after being ignored by Draco for majority of his school life, did Theo not leave him?
He just stared at him.
Even after reaching up to their dorm.
He just stared at him.
This time he was sharing with Theo, Zabini. Unlike last time when he was with Vince and Greg. He thought of the changing future and what was happening. What could happen. His brain was too done for everything. He just sat at the window sill, and peered out to the endless water of the lake. A habit he developed in 6th year. The water clashing with the glass put him to ease. Once Zabini slipped into slumber, faint footsteps crawled towards him.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the infirmary Draco?” Theo asked.
“Why are you talking to me?” Draco asked. His voice harsher than it should have been.
“What do you mean?”
“I asked you why are you still talking to me?” Draco stood up. Face blank. The only sign of anger being his voice.
“Draco, I don-“
“Even after a whole year huh Nott? I didn’t even wish you on your birthday last year? And you’re still talking to me?”
Something akin to hurt flashed in Theodore’s eyes. “You called me Nott again. Did I do something Draco? Is tha-“
“You didn’t do anything Nott; that’s the fucking problem. I have been a terrible person and you just stood there. Do you even have a brain?”
“What are you sayi-“
“What are you saying Nott? Aren’t you angry? Aren’t you mad? Why don’t you hate me?’” Draco didn’t notice when tears started slipping from his eyes. Theodore looked at the floor.
“Of course I was mad. You just stopped talking to out of the blue. And now you’re calling me Nott. You said I didn’t do anything then?”
“I – I didn’t want to do tha-“
“But you did?! And… Draco you I can’t leave you. You’re my only friend. You’re my family. I don’t- please stop crying. We will go to the infirmary, okay?” Theodore put his arms around him as Draco broke apart. Murmuring a string of apologies into his shoulder.
He didn’t know what he was going to do. He wasn’t sure if this was real or not. But even in his dreams, Theo deserved an apology.
The night went by and neither of the boys slept enough. Draco told him about his father forbidding him to keep contact with Theodore and Theodore simply shrugged it away as if it was irrelevant now. Draco didn’t tell him anything else. He couldn’t shake the feeling of hope out of him. It was probably a mistake but for now he kept his mouth shut. They talked of Christmas and the sorting. They talked of Harry Potter and Draco was too tired to care. They slept during the wee hours of the night and as strange as it was, Draco had slept better than he ever had in perhaps years. Someday he would explain everything to Theodore, tell him about his little secret, but for now he just wanted to believe that what was in front of him was in fact real.
***
Tomorrow came and Draco was still 11. He didn’t know what to do with it. He didn’t really talk to anyone other than Zabini and Theo. He was still scoping out the possibilities right now and it was really in his best interest to lay low.
Zabini was a fun little boy. Pureblood but new rich. By 5th year everyone knew of his mother’s dead ex-husbands and muggle relationships. His father never liked Blaise and that was all he needed to know to figure out that Blaise was probably a decent enough person. He had a spark in his eyes which made it evident that he knew his mother loved him. Blaise was easy-going.
Unlike Theodore and him, he didn’t have the traumatized child aura about him. He cared little for studying but managed well enough and as he had grown, he had developed the same charm his mother possessed, attracting all kinds of romantic partners towards him. He was like a whiff of fresh air in the Dorm if Draco was being honest. And he blended in just right.
They would stay up, playing exploding snap and Theo would narrate the newest book he had picked up, Draco would just hum along, occasionally huffing when he lost. He completely went off the radar from Vince and Greg, both of whom having been taken under the wing of a second-year student Graham Montague. Montague was vaguely similar to Malfoy. An air of arrogance surrounding him and no power to actually do shit he would threaten to do. The only stark difference was of wealth. Montague was rich enough but nowhere near the Malfoy fortune.
A little part of Draco felt bad for him, after all he had taken Vince and Greg in only because he was unable to blend in with the rest of his peers. They made a decent enough team. Not strong enough to threaten anyone important and loud enough to not fade into the background.
Draco still felt like an outsider though. He would wake up during nights, clutching his arm as it burned every once in a while. His nightmares were ever so creative and made him fearsome of his own bed. His body felt wonky and incapable to align with his mind. He was avoiding thinking at all, just moving along, doing things as they came, as if he were imperiused.
All his classes till now were with Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs so he was definitely feeling weird knowing what was going to come in the first potions lecture. He hadn’t quite put his mind around how to deal with the Golden Trio. He figured that staying as far as possible should cut it. He could figure out the details later. So that’s why he sat near the end, with Theodore of course. Draco didn’t want to look at Snape. He was his godfather. Another adult who should have protected Draco but didn’t. Whatever Snape felt for Draco couldn’t have been love, or even a like. Pity was the word for it. He always looked at him as if he knew what would happen and in turn let him off the hook. He never corrected him. Not even when Draco was being a bigot. He didn’t bother to teach him the right or wrong. All he did was act impressed when Draco excelled and Draco chased after that exhilarating moment as if his life depended on it. So just like the Golden trio, his plan was to ignore him too.
Snape started the class by taking the register, he paused at Potter’s name.
“Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.”
Draco could never forget this. He bit back a smile. He was a resurrected 17-year-old but at the end of the day he still hated Harry Potter.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion- making,” he began. Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the deli cate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”
Silence followed this little speech. Snape sure did speak a fuckton for someone who held no real power.
“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Potter looked as if the world had shifted beneath his feet. Granger’s hand had shot into the air.
“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry. Snape’s lips curled into a sneer.
“Tut, tut – fame clearly isn’t everything.” He ignored Granger’s hand.
Snape looked very stupid picking up a fight with an 11-year-old.
“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
Granger stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat. Crabbe and Goyle were finding this highly amusing which baffled Draco a bit because he would bet his life and the next that they couldn’t answer that either. But alas, he too found this funny once, didn’t he? Although it was just annoying him now.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Potter forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes.
What the fuck was his problem? Draco’s eye twitched. Knowing Potter and his raging savior complex, and what exactly would go down in the upcoming years, this shit just ticked him off. Snape was a lonely motherfucker picking up fights with children. It was all very pathetic.
“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfs- bane?”
At this, Granger stood up, her hand stretching towards the dungeon ceiling.
“I don’t know,” said Harry quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”
Draco bit down a grin. Potter always had a bite to him, didn’t he?
“Sit down,” Snape snapped at Granger. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. To think that one would expect some level of excellence from The Harry Potter himself.”
“Sir does a bezoar perhaps kill evil dark wizards too?”
Snape’s eyes shot up to Draco. He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but he had.
“I’m not sure what you mean Mr. Malfoy.”
“No, I’m just curious you see because I don’t understand why Potter would have any knowledge regarding a bezoar or the Draught of living death unless it killed evil power-hungry wizards. It clashes with his Modus Operandi don’t you think?”
Theo nudged his side in an attempt to shut him up.
“Mr. Malfoy these are simply the things I would expect you to know. Perhaps it’s a reflection of your own intellect if you deem these unworthy of your attention” Snape spat.
So that’s how he wanted to play huh?
“Ah no, Of course I understand that sir, although I did expect you to be unaffected by the preconceived notions about Harry Potter.” Someone needed to cast a shutting up charm on him for fuck’s sake. His plan of ignoring everything was failing miserably. “Afterall we wouldn’t want inexperienced first year students to feel pressured under the gaze of a biased mentor, would we?”
Gasps echoed through the room. Theo had sunk into his seat so low Draco was sure Snape couldn’t even see him. Potter just stared at him, mouth agape, as if he had grown a third eye. Snape gave Draco his best glare but Draco couldn’t even pretend to be scared.
“Detention Mr. Malfoy and ten points from Slytherin. Perhaps use this time to learn minding your own business.” Draco couldn’t help it. A wide grin swept across his features as he said, “Of course Professor.”
***
Reality was a little bit of a bitch. Draco was doing just fine. Pushing all the feelings away. Running away from the impending doom of tomorrow. Acting like he was in fact just 11. It was easy. It was easy to go along the days, to pretend that he wasn’t a blip in time, to ignore the fact that he probably had the weight of the world resting on his shoulders now. Reality had already begun to change and Draco was doing his very best to not think about it.
So, when he ran into a certain someone after an eventful detention of scrubbing cauldrons with Snape, he felt all 7 stages of grief run through his body at once.
Cedric Diggory was looming over him, hand outstretched to help Draco up. And Draco felt his trachea constrict. He stared at Diggory, eyes widened. He had thought about him of course. In fact, Cedric was perhaps one of the first thoughts that had crossed in his mind on the Hogwarts Express. He had realized that he was probably alive and well and on the way to Hogwarts too and had done his very best to avoid any confrontation with him whatsoever. He was scared of what would happen if he saw him. And when he felt warm tears streaming down his face, he realized he had every right to be.
So, Draco did what any sane person would have done and he ran. He ran through the halls of Hogwarts. Ignoring the murmurs and the people. He could hear a faint shout of ‘Malfoy!’ in the back but he couldn’t care less. Cedric was Alive. Fuck. He ran all the way to the 7th floor where he knew what was waiting for him. He finally drew a breath in as he closed the gate to the Room of Requirement and slid down to the floor, breaking into inevitable sobs.
With a slow motion, he pushed his left sleeve up and stared at the gash. It had healed. It was less red and pinker. What was this? Why did this even happen? Was this his doing or did Potter have something to do with this too? Could he tell someone? Should he tell someone? What are the chances that people would deem him St. Mungo’s Janus Thickey ward appropriate? Did he even want to tell this to someone?
No.
He didn’t.
This was his reality. His life. He didn’t owe anyone any explanations. The adults in his life had pretty much proven to be useless. Dumbledore might not be an evil noseless bitch but he would use Draco. He would make him do things he didn’t want to and Draco couldn’t handle that. Not for a second time. Draco heaved a sigh and looked up. He was tired. He didn’t understand anything. Seeing Diggory, in flesh, after he had seen his lifeless body felt like something had snapped in his brain. Nobody knew about Diggory and his little friendship. It had happened after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Potter had proven to be a threat and Draco wanted anything but for him to win the damn Cup. So, he had approached Diggory, promising aid. And Diggory had gladly accepted any help that came his way. He told Diggory about the idea to dunk the egg underwater. Any decent enough Slytherin would have figured out that it was the sound of merpeople, living under the lake and all. He had told him about the bubblehead charm after spending god knows how many days in the library. And he was so pissed that Potter had figured out Gilly weed and he didn’t. After Diggory had turned up dead, he had blamed Potter for months.
He knew it hadn’t been his fault.
If anything, Diggory had been perhaps the first-person Draco had killed. If he hadn’t helped him, if he hadn’t butted his nose into unnecessary things, Cedric might’ve lived. And when he heard the name Lucius Malfoy drop from Potter’s name in the infirmary, Draco had lost his shit. He had started doing anything to hate Potter, to hurt him. All so that he could look at his father and perhaps forget the fact that he had Cedric’s blood on his hand. All so that he could forget that he too had Cedric’s blood on his hand. And now Diggory was alive.
Fuck.
His life was a bucketload of Crap.
What should he do? Run away? He looked at his reflection in a mirror propped up against one of the walls. His hair sweeping down his forehead. Soft and untamed. His eyes red and filled with worry. The scar peeking through his arm. How could he run away? He was 11. And incredibly weak. He had no money, no family to take him in, where would he even go? To Theo’s house? Atticus would just owl his dumb arse back to the manor. He ran his hand over his face. He had to be at least 15 years and 6 months old before he could initiate emancipation from his Parents. So what? What was the way out?
He looked at his reflection as it began to morph. Draco furrowed his brows. He was now looking at him at 16. A smirk plastered onto the older Draco’s face. He still had the scar and he was still wearing his robes. He had many rings on his hand but the Malfoy Heirloom wasn’t one of them. He had a glint in his eyes and a certain sharpness about it. Mirror Draco lifted his hand and waved, almost sarcastically. That bitch.
He noticed the mirror. It was a magnificent, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.
Mirror of Desire huh?
Well, that answers a bunch.
The 16-year-old Draco in front of him smiled. This time warm and Draco knew what to chase.
Freedom. Complete Freedom.
He wiped his wet face and stepped out of the room. Walking for the first time in his life with a purpose. So, what if he was a resurrected ghost of a wanker? Who cared if he had nothing?
He was still Draco Fucking Malfoy. And no wise old man, noseless psychopath or shell of a father could take that away from him. He was still him. And he still knew more than anyone. So, if a sadistic loser wants to fuck up his life or his aunt wants to meet up for a little tea and crucio session? He won’t run away. He would tea and crucio back.
He just had to figure out how.
***