Chapter Text
The Hogwarts corridors echoed with delightful cheers, bathed in warm sunshine that cast intricate shadows on the decorated ceilings and floors. Nobody had been as happy since the start of term. It was time for the seventh-year students to be classified, a process that had been postponed for a year because of the War. For most, this was an exciting time and a clear step to adulthood and the last year of school, but Draco had to disagree.
Being born with a silver spoon in his mouth came with advantages and disadvantages. During his entire life, his parents had raised him with high expectations but showered him with lavish gifts. He could only befriend other pure-blooded Slytherins, and the Malfoys expected high academic performance from him and criticised him heavily whenever Granger outperformed him. How could a Muggle-born excel in her studies better than he? At the Manor, his father would whack him with his cane until Draco was biting back his tears, apologising for his apparent laziness and careless behaviour. The stinging of his backside reminded him constantly, when he was young, that he ought to do better.
Trying to please his parents, Draco spent most of his time terrorising the Golden Trio to gain a following in the Slytherins, and studying until the verge of passing out in the library. He couldn’t help it; as the sun moved past the horizon, the library gave a moody, comforting atmosphere, something the Slytherin homeroom failed to give. Some nights, Madam Pince’s squeaky shoes would push him out of his thoughts before being dragged outside, telling him off for not following the library rules. No student was allowed to loiter around the library, let alone sleep. Everything he did could never satisfy anyone.
To make matters worse, there was another expectation that contributed to immense stress. Had he not been platinum blonde, he’d been grey before his twenties. It was his classification. His father didn’t raise any omegas, betas, or littles. The only acceptable version of Draco was an alpha; someone who would be a strong leader and give pride to the Malfoy family name. When Draco was young, he was sure he’d grow up to be an alpha, just like his father, but the longer time went on, the more uncertain he became.
These thoughts were only for Draco to struggle with in solitude. None of his friends or acquaintances could see him in a negative light. Despite his pure-blooded genes, Draco grew up to be slim, just shy of five feet and seven inches, but he stood tall. Even some girls were taller than him. He would have to gain some muscle and be a great, shorter-than-average alpha who also privately leaned towards the comfort of his childhood soft dragon toy, which hid underneath a loose plank by his bed. It was green and gold, although time had dulled the colours, an eye was missing, and the edges were frayed. Still, it was the only remaining toy he owned after Lucius discarded all of his toys the summer before starting Hogwarts. This one had accidentally slid between his bed and the wall, going unnoticed by his parents. Anyone could have saved something from their childhood, no matter their classification.
But today, Draco was sitting in the Great Hall, gnawing at his nails, feeling the wet edge of his plaster around his pointer finger. It reminded him of yesterday, when he went to the Hospital Wing for his classification test. His body stiffened again, reliving the blood test, even though Madam Pomfrey had calmed him down with kind words. A simple blood sample was meant to reveal his true identity, but the letter on the table would be concrete evidence of his classification. A sense of impending doom was hanging over him. He couldn’t get himself to open the letter.
He was alone by the Slytherin table. Everyone around seemed so full of life, while he was full of himself. Most of his friends abandoned him after the War and didn’t return for the seventh year. Because of Draco’s parole, it was mandatory to complete his N.E.W.T. studies.
He had become the ghost of Slytherin, of Hogwarts, but the only difference between him and a ghost like Moaning Myrtle was that he was breathing. Unfortunately, he thought. His former leadership status had crumbled away, leaving him either completely ignored or even bullied. Father wouldn’t accept that, but he was locked behind bars in Azkaban, so in a way, Draco was freer than he’d been in years. Occasionally he thought about what his life would have been had he been sent to Azkaban. Nothing could distract Draco from his thoughts while people opened their classification letters.
“HARRY POTTER IS AN ALPHA,” someone roared across the hall, leading to a massive cheer. Other students leapt, celebrating their saviour's classification. It was only right that The Boy Who Lived, who defeated Voldemort twice, would be an alpha. Draco believed no omega, or even a beta, could do that; obviously Potter was an alpha. The uproar was distracting, and it guided Draco’s eyes away from his letter to see the Golden Trio hugging each other. He couldn’t remember the last time someone approached him with such warmth. Draco was only the shell of his past self. In the past, he would have thought of a snarky comeback to Potter’s classification, but he couldn’t even think of that.
Maybe if he tried to be happy for someone else, he would feel better about himself. Thus, he attempted to smile. He squinted and let his cheek muscles draw up his lips, resembling a happy grin. That lasted for a proper two seconds until he felt worse. Happiness can’t be faked. Hopefully, nobody noticed him.
Now that he strayed from his letter, he couldn’t take his eyes off Potter and his friends. Mostly just Potter, though. He tried to read from their lips that Granger was also an alpha, Weasley was a beta, but Potter was additionally a caregiver. He wasn’t sure about the latter; being an alpha was far superior, until Weasley shouted, “Harry is also a caregiver; it’s a dual classification!” People were usually only given one classification.
A dark shadow moved over Draco, and at first, he didn’t think much of it. “Huh? How come you haven’t opened your letter yet, Malfoy?” a familiar voice called out. It was Blaise Zabini, one of the only returning seventh-year Slytherins alongside him, who had made it clear that he wasn’t Draco’s acquaintance anymore. Nobody in Zabini’s family bore the Death Eaters’ mark, thus leaving him on the right side of history. Honestly, even Draco wouldn’t be friends with someone like him after everything that went on during the war and before.
Before Draco could answer, the letter was quickly snatched away from the table. “Don’t–” He attempted to get the letter back from Zabini, but wasn’t fast enough, just tugging at the other Slytherin’s robe. Pure horror took over Draco’s body, leaving him with a painfully beating heart and shaking hands. There was still a chance for him to be an alpha, maybe a beta, and this wouldn’t be embarrassing. Even a dark cloud had moved in front of the sun, shifting the hall’s mood. The hands tore open the letter carelessly until the last words were revealed. Zabini’s vicious grin turned into a look of shock reading the contents of the letter. His eyebrows furrowed before he glanced at Draco.
This would mean one thing, and one thing only.
“Bloody hell, you’re a little?”
The question, the revelation, reached the ears of Slytherins around them, and like a broken phone, soon everyone in the hall knew of Malfoy’s classification. Everyone stopped cheering for Potter and now gawked at Draco when they hadn’t all year. The attention and revelation of his classification were all too much. Even the Golden Trio turned to look at him. Potter’s face showed a layer of many emotions. His eyebrows were furrowed, but his eyes showed a hint of warmth.
“Of course, he is a little! Serves him right.”
“I knew it. His scrawny ass couldn’t even be a beta or omega, but a little.”
“Who is going to change his nappies?”
“Ew, I could never!”
People were now snickering at him, straight to his face. In that moment, he wished he were a real ghost that could disappear immediately. His whole body shook as he stood up while walls were closing in around him. Not sure if he could stand for long, Draco managed to snatch the opened letter back, tearing it in the process.
Nothing ever happened the way he would’ve wanted. He had become a seeker to compete with Potter, studied until he collapsed to beat Granger, accepted the Dark Mark because of his family, and now he couldn’t even let others know of his classification on his terms. Hell, he couldn’t even uncover it alone.
The only option was to flee. To flee from the laughter, the tormenting words, and his classification. Draco didn’t know where he was going, but his feet took him outside until he collapsed underneath a tree. The ground was wet, the bark felt rough, and the cold seeped into his robes.
Perhaps Zabini was fooling him when he essentially disclosed to the whole school that he was a little. Draco opened the folded letter and shakily read the letter’s contents. It read aloud similarly to his acceptance letter.
Dear Mr Malfoy,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been classified as a little at Hogwarts
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed the list of advisable
equipment for the upcoming year.Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
For example, swaddles, pacifiers, soft toys and comfortable clothes were listed for him.
He couldn’t accept this. How could he be a little when he had nobody to support him? Anybody from a caregiving program wouldn’t want him, who used to be a Death Eater. Notwithstanding, he didn’t want that for himself. Draco pulled up tufts of damp grass and hurled them into the air, trying to do the same to his thoughts, but failing. He would have to suppress his little characteristics to the best of his abilities. Hell, he didn’t even know how young he would regress or how he would be acting differently.
Nobody came to look for him. Not even a professor was concerned that an upset student had stormed off the Great Hall after people found out about his classification. Even before, nobody was truly there for him. Not even Crabbe and Goyle, though, had he treated them like they were his lackeys. He might have spent minutes or hours by the tree; he couldn’t tell. The only colourful thing in his life then was the sunset casting the sky in waves of dark pinks and oranges. The coldness of the ground and the coming night’s air took over, and maybe that’s why Draco’s entire body felt numb.
The classification happened to everyone. Every year before, received their letters too, and he had seen this happen numerous times before. Adding the subject of classifications into their curriculum would help them understand themselves better. Perhaps alphas and omegas learned how to understand their urges, and caregivers how to take care of a little. But he didn’t want to think about the littles’ subject. Hogwarts had few littles, as it was the most uncommon classification to have. Draco knew that littles could have an easier curriculum, which included more opportunities for resting. He didn’t want to be treated like a child, but like anybody else. Like an alpha, whom his Father had wanted him to be.
With no support, a suppressant was the clear winner. A strong suppressant that would hide every bad trait from him, even if it took his health. But he was connectionless in that world, and his parole wouldn’t allow it. If he wanted to avoid Azkaban, anything illegal was off the table.
Draco made his way back inside, with wet robes, dirty hands, and a crushed letter. The warmth of the castle didn’t feel inviting, and his stomach hurt from the hunger. At least he assumed so. He was glad that curfew was looming over the castle, leaving the corridors vacant. Draco did, however, walk close to the wall to attract as little attention as possible.
While being outside had eased his breathing a little, the closer he got to the dungeons, the more unstable his breathing became. By the door, he was filling his lungs with air, trying to get as much oxygen in as possible. Draco knew there would be students lounging in the common room, and he would have to go past them to reach his room.
After stuttering the common room password, the door opened, and people turned to look at the possible intruder. But it was just him, the newest little of Slytherin. Draco tried to sprint past the other students, but they blocked his way to the dormitories.
“Look who decided to show up. Gave us a good laugh today,” a sixth-year student laughed, someone who had looked up to Draco in the previous years.
“Aw, don’t cry. Been playing in mud like the baby you are, Malfoy?” another student quibbled. The two stood strong by the door while Draco struggled, his cheeks heating up, as he was weaker than the two of them.
“Don’t call me that, you bastard,” he spat out, but it didn’t come off strong.
Draco eventually pushed past them, running to his dormitory with tears threatening to ricochet down his cheeks. Only at his bed could he let these tears fall freely. He couldn’t understand why such words could dig so deep. Maybe he realised just how alone he was in his life, how he had always been.
Even when he was younger, he could notice Crabbe and Goyle hanging out without him. Going to Hogsmeade and leaving him behind, or accidentally “losing” him while he looked at something interesting. One time they had fooled him by telling him about their plan to study at the library.
“Crabbe and I thought about going to the library to study. You don’t have to join us because you’re so far ahead of us. You’d get so bored.”
“That’s right! It’s better if you spend a day off from studying,” Crabbe affirmed.
Draco stared at them with doubtful eyes, but let them go. The boys were never interested in school, but maybe they were beginning to take their studies seriously. “Make sure to study hard, because I will test your knowledge on charms later!”
But the boys didn’t know that Draco had followed them quietly, hiding behind statues as they walked through corridors. He just wanted to make sure they would work their asses off. To his shock, Crabbe and Goyle had walked past the library confidently, snickering together about something Draco couldn’t hear, all the way outside to the road of Hogsmeade. It felt like a knife twisting in his chest when his friends abandoned him. Draco gave them the silent treatment for the following week, but it didn’t stop the bleeding heart.
During the fifth year, the boys began waking up before him and sneaking away to eat breakfast. When Draco caught on to that game, having missed them sharing breakfast and beginning to wake up even earlier, they stopped it. But back then, he hadn’t thought much about it. Crabbe and Goyle could’ve just been abnormally early birds for teenagers and thought he was too busy to hang out.
Now he realised they never truly liked him, but merely liked the status of being an acquaintance of Malfoy. On the other hand, his parents showed love by giving him expensive gifts, for example, the newest broomstick. But even that was for him to beat Potter during their games and give pride to the family. The only thing he wished right now was someone to give him the warmest hug ever, to show him that he deserved love.