Chapter Text
Hogwarts wasn’t as grand as Draco had expected. Perhaps his father was right to have wanted him in Durmstrang. He supposed it was too late now. Hogwarts was where his parents and grandparents went. If it was good enough for them, then it should be good enough for him… given that Dumbledore didn’t muddy their reputation more than he already has.
“Abbott, Hannah.”
Really, this felt a little unnecessary. Draco could sort these people without the damn hat. For example, Abbott was a Hufflepuff. She looked like the human equivalent of a jigglypuff. So was Susan Bones over there. Her aunt may be in the ministry, but Draco didn’t see a shred of ambition in her.
Sure enough, to Hufflepuff both went.
The line moved forward. It was almost amusing to see these trembling failures stumble up to McGonagall to get cast to the side.
“Crabbe, Vincent.”
Oh, right. Crabbe and Goyle were both people his father mentioned he should get acquainted with. Draco had sat with them on the train and felt like they would make good, lower ranking friends. It was a fun little game pureblood families liked to play with one another. Children of Death Eaters tended to try to exert themselves over others. You could come out on top, as equals, or on the bottom. Crabbe seemed like someone he could easily bully into submission. Of course, there were those like Pansy and Blaise where that would be less of an option given he had grown up with them.
“SLYTHERIN!”
Alrighty, Crabbe was on the friendship roster then. Goyle followed shortly after that.
“Malfoy, Draco.”
Smirking, he stepped up front. His father had said this would be an important moment, so he tried his best to soak it in. The eyes all falling on him - surely they had heard his name many times prior to this moment - absolute silence following as his presence alone commanded the room.
McGonagall seemed less than impressed by his slow walk to the stool. She looked pointedly at the chair for him to sit. Well then. Trying not to seem too put out by her lack of respect on the matter, he put himself on the rickety stool (really, this thing seemed ancient… Why not an armchair? Surely, school funds weren’t that dismissal).
The last thing he saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was Harry Potter’s face. He smirked a little, waiting for the hat to call out his house so quickly that he had already moved to get off when he realized it hadn’t spoken yet. Instantly he settled back down, a bit startled by the lag in the happy announcement. His mother had assured him with a reputation and bloodline like his it would only take a few moments.
Well, well, well. A Malfoy. A voice whispered in his head and Draco bit his lip, glad his face was obscured for the moment.
What’s taking so long? He asked and there were a few beats of silence as he felt someone fiddling around inside his thoughts. A soft laugh echoed in his mind before he got an answer.
Interesting. Fascinating, really. Where shall I place you?
Slytherin! Draco told it, a bit of desperation suddenly overwhelming him. Why was there even a discussion? Where else could he possibly go? His breath seemed stuck in his chest, making him forget how to breathe. Slytherin obviously, you stupid piece of cloth!
I do see many Slytherin qualities in you, surely. The hat answered and Draco heard some whispers start up around him. But I see something else. Something that is barely there, but could be nurtured into an incredible strength.
Draco didn’t want strength, he wanted to be heading towards the green clad table. He wanted his reputation to be intact and the power that went along with his name and house.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
Silence.
Draco swallowed, feeling the weight of the hat slip off of him and the light assault his eyes. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables giving hesitant applause along with some younger students at the Gryffindor table who weren’t familiar with who he was.
“Up you get, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall told him and he looked back at her, eyes wide and surely panicked. Her expression remained stern as she gestured to the group of red barbarians. Surely she didn’t expect him to…? Realizing he had no choice unless he wanted to cause a scene, Draco slipped off the stool.
He looked over at the Slytherin table and tried not to react to the harsh gazes and raised eyebrows as he perched himself at the end of the table. A redheaded boy in glasses (Weasley, he was calling it now) greeted him with a tentative smile. Nobody else said anything.
The rest of the sorting went by with blood rushing through his ears. More people sat down at the Gryffindor table, and Draco sought the only comfort he knew at the front of the Hall – but Severus didn’t even look at him.
Potter went up to the stool, and Draco found himself praying he was a Hufflepuff or a Ravenclaw. He wasn’t sure what would be worse – being in the same house as the boy or watching him go off to the house Draco should be in.
“GRYFFINDOR!”
His luck seemed to be worsening by the second. Potter’s atrocious hair bounded towards the table, his eyes bright and wide as he looked wildly around while the Hall erupted with applause, the idiots around him screaming in glee.
“We got Potter! We got Potter!” A pair of ginger twins sang (honestly, were those Weasleys as well? How many of them were there?). Potter flushed, sitting diagonal from Draco. Neither of them spoke.
A few more people were sorted. Draco wanted to scream whenever someone else was sorted into Slytherin. A few of his childhood friends offered him curious looks as they took their seats at the far table.
“Are you alright?” A girl asked him curiously and Draco recognized her from the train. The muggle girl who was hanging around Potter earlier.
“Fine,” he answered her stiffly and she tilted her head at him.
“You look rather sick,” she observed with pursed lips. Draco quickly schooled his expression, ignoring her. “Don’t worry, I’m rather nervous too,” she assured him, “But I’ve read enough to be prepared – have you?” She asked and Draco internally screamed. When he didn’t respond, she narrowed her gaze.
“Why do you keep looking over there?” She asked, jutting her chin at the Slytherin table and Draco felt something snap.
“Stop talking to me, you stupid mudblood,” he hissed to her lowly and the girl blinked. Her eyes widened as hurt swept over her ridiculously messy features before hardening into something else.
She didn’t acknowledge him again.
Draco couldn’t pay attention to the headmaster’s speech even if he tried. He was already figuring out how he would fix this disaster. He would have to get resorted. Explain that the hat was obviously playing some sort of cruel joke.
“Wow,” Potter breathed when food appeared on the table, and Draco rolled his eyes, shoving plates out of the way as he slowly began conducting a letter.
Mother, he wrote and hesitated. Part of him didn’t want to explain the situation, but he knew his parents may need to get involved if he hoped to fix this. Sighing, he put his quill back to the paper.
I have just arrived at Hogwarts. It is indeed as beautiful as you have told me. The train ride here was pleasant, and so far I am proud to say I remembered to pack everything I might need. You can give father those ten galleons I heard you betting.
As wonderful as everything is, I have encountered a slight problem. I’m sure Severus will mention it to you soon. The sorting hat has appeared to have made a mistake. For some reason it has accidentally placed me with the Gryffindors. I think we all know this is ridiculous, and I shall be inquiring about a resorting, of course. I only wanted to inform you as a courtesy in case the headmaster gives me difficulty in trying to switch to Slytherin.
Hope all is well. Tell father I say hello.
Yours,
Draco
He scribbled the ending and reread it a few times before stuffing it in an envelope. He would take it to the owlery later. The redhead with the glasses (Percy was his name...?) was shouting instructions to everyone while simultaneously nudging a plate of food towards Draco. He took a slice of ham, if only to get him to shut up.
It was only for a night. He could handle a night.
“Mr. Malfoy, I’m sorry but there isn’t anything to be done,” McGonagall informed him over her spectacles. Draco was sitting in her office, trying not to stuff a biscuit in his mouth from the nerves.
“But perhaps the headmaster-”
“I’ve spoken to Professor Dumbledore, and he has the same sentiments I have. The hat chose this house for you, and it is where you will remain.”
Draco felt a stab of humiliation when tears pricked at his eyes and shook his head stubbornly. His heart felt like it might burst in trepidation. McGonagall’s face softened a bit as she looked down to see his hands shaking.
“Would you like me to speak to your parents?” She asked gently and Draco couldn’t help it. He started crying.
He hadn’t cried since he was eight years old, and while it might still be generally acceptable for eleven-year-olds to cry, he hadn’t really been held to the general standard. He tried desperately to stop, but the tears just kept going along with the underlying humiliation of the entire situation. He had one job upon entering this school and somehow mucked it up horribly.
McGonagall waited until he finished before looking down at him with a stern expression that Draco was pretty sure would never leave her face and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Mr. Malfoy. I know you have grown up hearing very differently, but I want you to understand that the houses of this school do not define you. You are here to get an education, and no matter what house you are in, I will ensure you obtain that,” she said and waited until Draco met her gaze before continuing. “I am not asking you to be thrilled in where you are sorted, but I am asking you to accept it and learn how to adapt. Understand?” She asked him firmly and Draco choked back another sob before nodding.
“Yes, professor,” he whispered and left her office without another word.
Draco was both looking forward to and simultaneously dreading his first potions class. On one hand, he had always loved potions, and Severus had taught him from a very young age to be rather adept at it. But on the other hand… Well. Severus hadn’t even looked at him since before he was sorted.
He tried to tell himself the man was busy. He had classes to teach and things to look at morosely… but deep down Draco knew he was making excuses. Just like he was making excuses on why his parents hadn’t owled him back or why Blaise Zabini didn’t wave back at him yesterday despite having known each other for years.
Still. He tried to remember McGonagall's speech yesterday and walked into the dungeons with a sudden wave of spite overwhelming him. If Severus didn’t want to acknowledge him, fine. He couldn’t ignore him completely as a student. The first couple minutes when the class started, Draco waited to be noticed. Eventually, his name came up on roll call and Draco waited.
“Draco Malfoy.”
“Present,” he answered and that was it. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Severus wasn’t really the smiling type, but usually he got some sort of reaction whether it be a nod or a gesture. Now he only got a check by his name before moving on.
“Ah,” he said after a few more names, “If it isn’t Mr. Potter… Our newest… celebrity,” he breathed out and Draco scowled. Potter was sitting next to Weasley, his black curls hanging in his eyes as he scribbled something down. Draco crossed his arms as the boy looked up, eyes wide as he flushed at being addressed. “Potter!” Severus spoke, his voice lashing out after his usual ‘bottle fame’ speech was finished. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Granger’s hand launched in the air so quickly, Draco was quite certain it could have broken if something attempted to interfere with its course.
Severus ignored her.
“Tut, tut - fame clearly isn’t everything,” said Severus as he perched himself against his desk, “Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” He asked and again, Granger’s hand remained in the air. Draco scowled. These were ridiculous questions to ask in someone's first class, and while admittedly, he did get a pleasure out of Potter looking like an idiot, he was aiming for Severus to acknowledge him.
If Granger’s example was anything to go by, raising his hand certainly wouldn’t work.
“I don’t know, sir,” Potter spoke evenly and his gaze met their professor’s with a fire to them, “Why don’t you ask Hermione? I think she knows the answer.”
A snicker fell over the room, and Draco saw a scowl flicker over already twisted features.
“Sit down,” he snapped at Granger. She flushed, putting her hand down and burying her face in her textbook. “And 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. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down?” Severus snapped. “And one point from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter,” he sneered. A groan fell over their side of the room, but Draco was still more fixated on Granger.
It was rather curious she had known all the answers being a muggleborn with no prior magical experience. Unable to help himself, he leaned in closer to her and whispered.
“Did you really know?” He asked and her face hardened for a moment.
“Yes,” she answered shortly, and Draco tilted his head at her before flicking open his own book to the right page. Snape went by, criticizing each student’s work as he walked by. He said nothing when he passed Draco, merely glancing at his potion and then walking away again to heckle Potter some more.
Why was Potter getting more attention from his godfather than he was? Draco was willing to take criticism now – anything, something. Unable to stand it, the words lashed out of his mouth before he could consider the consequences.
“I’ll help him,” he snapped, shoving his completed potion to the side and marching to Potter’s table. Granger gaped after him, having just finished her work as well.
“I don’t recall asking for anyone to help him,” Severus said coolly and Draco gave an internal whoop of triumph.
“Well, you aren’t,” Draco said evenly, “Granger and I have finished if you want to check those,” he added and Severus’ eyes flashed.
“Detention,” he hissed and Draco felt a smile tug at his lips. Mission complete. Sighing, he turned away and almost yelped at the abysmal state of Potter’s potion. He didn’t really want to help the idiot, but the entire class’ attention was now directed at him. Severus’ gaze bore into his back.
“Right. Start stirring the other way,” he muttered, thrusting a metal spoon at the boy. Potter sputtered as he caught it, watching with an open mouth as Draco started slicing woodworm. “Well?” He said when the other boy didn’t move, “Watching it doesn’t really do anything, Scarhead.”
“Sorry,” he grumbled and started stirring counter-clockwise.
The rest of class consisted of Draco turning Potter’s brown, sludgy potion into something green and with a much better consistency. They barely exchanged a word, Draco occasionally correcting him on whatever he was doing wrong or telling Weasley to stop gaping at him (honestly, he looked like an unfortunately shaped fish). When they were finally done, Draco turned to go, but felt a hand grab at his sleeve.
“Thank you,” Potter said cautiously and Draco tugged his sleeve away.
“Whatever,” he muttered and went back to where Granger was sitting, gaze calculating.
“You know Professor Snape.”
“So do you.”
“I mean before Hogwarts,” she clarified and Draco ignored her. She didn’t say anything more, instead stuffing her books into her bag before pausing to look at him. For a second Draco was sure she was going to say more – her mouth parted slightly and eyes drilled into him. After a second she only snapped it shut and turned away again, heading to their next class with a stoic expression in her eyes.
Things were, unfortunately, not getting much better for Draco. He had been so looking forward to his first flying lesson… In fact, he had been sure it might be the only thing that might make him feel better about this whole thing.
Naturally, that had to be ruined too.
“It’s our favorite Gryffindor!”
Draco really shouldn’t have to put up with this.
“Montague,” he said as he smiled tightly, “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there. With the hair and state of your robes I thought you must be another Weasley,” he said and gave a feigned look of concern, “Is everything alright at home? I have some extra money if your parents got themselves arrested again.”
Montague’s face went red - completing the Weasley look in his opinion. Granted, Montague’s hair was more orange than the dark red of the Weasleys, but he figured it worked all the same. From behind him, he heard Weasley himself say some unsavory words under his breath.
“Shouldn’t you be offering help to your housemates?” Pansy jumped in. Draco paused. Montague he had expected to take advantage of his fall from grace, but… Pansy and him had been friends for years. He stared at her, momentarily too stunned to respond. “We wouldn’t want to accept anything from filthy blood traitors like you and Weasley over there,” she sneered.
What was this? Pansy looked at him - the barest glimmer of an apology in her eyes before it disappeared under a mask of disgust. Draco faltered again, grasping blindly at his wits.
“Speaking of blood traitors,” Montague continued, confidence apparently regained now that Pansy had taken up the mantle, “Look what Longbottom left behind,” he said and leaned over to snatch the stupid rememberall that was uselessly whirling red since Longbottom had been dragged to the infirmary without it. Draco sighed. He wished the idiot had just taken Draco down with him.
“Give it back.”
Great. There was Potter with his bloody hero complex. Rolling his eyes, he stepped back. Montague’s eyes lit up, perhaps sensing an easy target, as Potter stepped forward to hold out his hand - as if Montague would honestly hand the thing over. Draco sure wouldn’t. Not without making him work for it.
“Oh, well, if mighty Potter says so… maybe I should,” Montague clicked his tongue. He put a hand over his heart, “After all he is our great wizarding savior!”
Draco snorted before realizing he probably shouldn’t be laughing given he was standing with a bunch of glowering Gryffindors. Whoops.
Now… to be perfectly clear, the following events meant nothing. Absolutely nothing. Draco was pretty sure he reacted on instinct alone, which meant that his actions were not to be taken seriously. If he had actually thought the scenario through, then obviously things would have turned out differently.
However… tragically, the events went as followed:
1. Montague threw the stupid rememberall after some more bickering
2. Potter flew off to catch the damn thing
3. Pansy threw a rock after him
Normally, throwing rocks wouldn’t be a cause for alarm, but Draco knew for a fact Pansy had been privy to some early education in her household, which included a momentum charm. The rock would probably break Potter’s stupid face… a hilarious scenario indeed, but it would also increase Pansy’s status among other Slytherins, and Draco just couldn’t allow that.
So what did he do?
He got on his broom and somehow sped past the rock (and on these ridiculously cheap brooms too! He really was talented), and pushed Potter out of the way right before the rock shattered the window behind them.
There were pros and cons to this. Cons included getting caught by a furious McGonagall. At this point... Draco wasn’t surprised. This entire school experience was a bit of a bust.
“And you-” McGonagall said, whirling around after she had finished yelling at Potter.
“Professor,” Potter interjected quickly, “Malfoy helped me,” he said. Draco stared. While this was… well, it was technically true, he wasn’t sure why this idiot was pointing it out. “I was going to get hit by, um, that,” he said, pointing to the rock on the floor of McGonagall's office. Ah, so it had been her window they had broken. Naturally. “He pushed me out of the way.”
“Yes, Potter. I was there,” McGonagall said flatly. Potter gave a small pout and a hint of a smile touched her lips, “I was going to say that it was quite possibly the most Gryffindor thing I have ever seen.”
...seriously? Draco stared at her, trying and failing his best to utter his offense. She was going to throw that in his face? Seriously?
“Have you considered being a chaser, Mr. Malfoy?”
Seriously?
As it turned out, pros included both him and Harry somehow getting on the quidditch team despite being first years. Draco was a little suspicious that she was both impressed by their skills and also feeling a bit softer over Draco’s predicament and Potter’s lack of brains. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being on Gryffindor’s quidditch team… he would file it away for a different mental breakdown.
“Hey,” Potter said as they walked back to the common room, “Um… thank you. For that,” he said and held out his hand. “Don’t get me wrong, you still are quite, um… awful,” he decided, “But maybe I was a bit quick in my judgement before. Glad you’re sorted with us and aren’t stuck with… you know, the wrong sort,” he added lightly. Draco raised an eyebrow.
Oh no. No way. He wasn’t doing this. So Potter wanted to be friends on his terms? Typical. If he wanted to be friends, he should have taken his hand before they got sorted and pledged his loyalty then. Bloody idiot.
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks,” Draco told him coolly and turned to march to bed.
Not even Ether stayed. The Eagle owl only dropped the thin looking letter onto Draco’s lap before flapping away again, as if he too, was upset with Draco. Sighing, he glanced around the Hall, hoping this wasn’t a howler before tearing open the paper.
Draco,
Darling, I must say I’m rather shocked. Your father has written to the headmaster only to be rebuffed – he is currently appealing to the ministry. Please, understand… We are only very surprised by this turn of events, and your father in particular is unsure of how to proceed. As you well know a house says a lot about a person and… well, I like to think we raised someone who is not littered with Gryffindor qualities.
If that is who you are, I accept that Draco. I do. But please understand your father cannot have you back home as a Gryffindor. I will try to speak to him – I’m sure if the ministry gets involved, we can fix this, darling. Until that point it would be best not to contact him… or me.
I’ll write to you when I can. I love you very much.
Yours,
Mother
Draco stared. He felt as though a frog was getting caught in his throat as students around him took a seat.
“Is it true you told off Snape, Draco!? That’s amazing!” Someone said while other people marveled at the story, which another student was relaying in great detail. Stifling a yell of frustration, Draco ripped the paper in half, silencing his classmates as he stormed off.
He was truly alone then.
Classes went by in a blur. Draco hadn’t made the effort to talk to anyone or try to make a single friend. Generally, he found himself paired up with Granger, since they were the only ones who could keep up with one another (though she somehow always was a few steps ahead of him) and she too, was friendless. She hadn’t spoken to him other than to communicate their assignments for the most part, letting Draco know the mudblood comment was still on her mind.
Detention with Severus didn’t go as planned either. While he had been hoping it would be a good time to confront his godfather, it ended up as a bust. He had simply pawned his detention off to McGonagall, who made him write lines for ten minutes before letting him go.
“Here,” Granger said one morning and handed Draco a plate of food, “Sit down, please. I need to talk to you.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I didn’t ask.”
Draco raised an eyebrow at her, jutting out his chin as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down.
“I don’t have to do what you say, Granger,” he told her coolly and she put the plate down carefully, dark eyes meeting his own.
“I looked up your family, Draco Malfoy. You’re a pureblood from one of the most prestigious families of all time. Your mother, Narcissa, was a member of the Black family who are famous for their ties to You-Know-Who, your Aunt Bellatrix in particular. Your father, Lucius Malfoy, is influential in every part of the magical community and leads several organizations which eliminate wizard contact with muggles,” she informed him, grabbing a piece of toast and smothering it with jam, “All of them, as far as I’ve seen, have been in Slytherin. I reckon they aren’t too happy with their only son being sorted into Gryffindor, and there is the very real possibility they’ll disown you.”
“How dare you-”
“And outside that community, I doubt you have many friends,” she continued, “Which is why I’ve decided to overlook you being an absolute moron for now in favor of helping you because I think you are actually quite smart,” she finished and Draco took a long breath.
“I don’t need your help,” he growled, “I doubt you could anyway. What could a mudblood do?” He snapped and she showed no reaction, only calmly putting down her knife.
“You’re all alone,” she informed him, “And if you don’t make friends with anybody else in this house, you’ll need at least one ally… and… I need one too,” she sighed. Draco wanted to scream. He would not be friends with a muggleborn. Every second he spent in this stupid house he strayed farther from his dignity. As if reading his mind, Granger shrugged.
“Perhaps that’s why you weren’t sorted in Slytherin,” she said idly, “You don’t know how to take advantage of a situation, clearly.”
Draco flopped down next to her.
“You are really quite annoying,” he sighed, but accepted the previously offered plate of eggs and bacon, “It is beneath me to be allies with you,” he added and she shrugged.
“I saw you rip that letter up. I don’t think you really have a lot of options.”
“I can’t believe you are blackmailing me to be your friend,” he grumbled and she smiled a bit at him.
“It isn’t really blackmailing. It is just… using reason to show you the best route to take,” she said, “But you can’t call me a mudblood.”
“Why? Are you not?” Draco asked, shoveling food into his mouth.
“It’s offensive,” she emphasized, “I am a muggleborn, but I’m more clever than you – a pureblood - so I hardly see why it matters.”
“Culture, mainly,” Draco told her and took a sip of pumpkin juice, “And bloodlines, obviously,” he added. Granger put her chin in her hand and sighed.
“It is going to take me a long time to convince you of how wrong you are,” she said. Draco only smirked.
It did take a long time. They debated the matter through all of the breakfast, lunch, and dinner. During breaks between classes and after they finished their work. It continued while they were in the common room, only stopping to scribble down bits of their homework before going on again.
They eventually came to a tentative agreement which was as followed: Draco would not call muggleborns mudbloods anymore because he understood they had no control over their heritage. Hermione (very warily) would acknowledge there was something to be said about magical beings that grew up around magical culture that she could maybe understand why people would think it should be preserved (though she made sure Draco was absolutely clear that even that didn’t warrant purebloods’ treatment towards muggles and muggleborns). Quite honestly, Draco wasn’t completely sold on half of what she said, but that might have to do with him not being a good listener and the fact she was wrong. He figured he would at least not call her a mudblood because she seemed better than most muggleborns anyway.
“We should do this properly,” Hermione said the next morning and stuck out her hand. “Hi. I’m Hermione Jean Granger,” she introduced and Draco snorted, taking her hand.
“Draco Lucius Malfoy.”
“Why do pureblood names sound so strange?”
“Coming from someone named Hermione?” Draco demanded and the girl laughed, picking up her books. It was rather strange to be friends with someone like her, he decided. Draco had pictured his friends to be people who listened to him and did what they were supposed to without being asked twice.
Hermione didn’t quite fit into that. She argued with him, told him he was wrong an awful lot, and never did what she was told. He was pretty sure that made her a bad friend, but he wasn’t sure he minded all the time.
From that point on Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were sort of friends. He wouldn’t allow her the benefits of being full friends until she passed her trial run, of course. Mother had always told him not to jump into any sort of relationship too quickly. Get reasonably attached after they proved their worth.
While they continued to get on quite well, Draco couldn’t say the same with his other classmates. Hermione was often fond of correcting everyone in hopes it would make her more well liked… It did not. Which, in turn, led to Draco coming to her defense more and more often.
“It’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends!” Weasley snarled after charms class and Draco felt Hermione stiffen by his side. Immediately, Draco made a noise of reproach and plunged his hand into his robes.
“Why? Because she’s smarter than you?” He demanded and both Weasley and Potter spun around. “Maybe if your parents had less kids, they could have actually taught you something before you came to school,” he added in, watching with pleasure as Weasley’s face began to match the color of his hair.
“Draco, that’s rude,” Hermione sighed, swiping at her eyes.
“You better watch your mouth about my family, Malfoy!” Weasley growled, but Draco only leveled him a hard look.
“You better watch your mouth about Hermione,” he spat back, “I bet you think just because you have Harry bloody Potter hanging off your pinky, you are just so popular. You still look like a weasel to me,” he sniffed and Hermione tugged on his sleeve more forcefully.
“Draco,” she said firmly and he turned to her, eyes widening at the amount of tears in her eyes. Her lip trembled slightly before letting go of him and shoving past Weasley and Potter, head down.
“I didn’t mean-” Weasley said, face still a little flushed, but Draco’s sneer cut him off.
“No need to be rude because she’s better than you,” he snipped and marched past them (making sure to shove Potter as he did) after Hermione.
It took him a few minutes to locate her, but eventually Draco found himself in front of the girl’s bathroom, shuffling a little awkwardly as he heard her wailing inside. It reminded him of the enchanted whales his mother had brought him to see on his seventh birthday – loud and high pitched.
“Er, Hermione?” He called out and ran a hand through his hair. He had half a mind to go to the Great Hall and eat. It wouldn’t solve anything for him to just sit here – what was he supposed to do? A small voice in the back of his mind warned him that Hermione might not take too kindly to that.
“W-what?” Came a sniffled response and Draco sighed, picking at the red on his robes. It was such an obnoxious color, red. He didn’t find it flattering on himself at all – bringing out his paleness in the worst ways possible.
“Do you want to go eat?” He asked hesitantly, “I can trick Longbottom into throwing some rice pudding at Weasley and Potter,” he offered, sure it would do the trick. After all, revenge was the best medicine. Hermione made another whale sound.
“No!” She shrieked and Draco had half a mind to clap his hands over his ears, “I don’t want you to be mean. Just go away!” She snapped, and Draco felt a bit of relief at that statement. She really had no excuse to be angry if he left now. He took a few steps away before pausing. A sudden memory of his mother and father sprang to his mind. When he had come back from playing with a rather large knot on his head, his mother had been furious (“Why weren’t you watching him Lucius!?”) and promptly screamed at his father to leave. When he did… she had only gotten angrier.
Draco turned back around. Was Hermione expecting him to go into the girls’ toilets? Surely she knew he couldn’t! Perhaps muggles didn’t have different toilets…? Sighing, he shuffled inside.
As it turned out, they looked pretty similar – girl and boys’ toilets. The girls’ were only missing the urinals. Taking a few more steps inside, he walked to the one stall in use and knocked.
“I’m not quite sure what to do,” he admitted. He really didn’t. Normally his friends rarely required upkeep as this one seemed to. Perhaps it was a muggleborn thing.
“Oh, Draco,” he heard a choked sigh and the door opened to reveal a rather blotchy Hermione. “You really are awful at this,” she grumbled and grabbed his hand so he fell to the ground with her. Wincing at how these disgusting floors were going to ruin his robes, he let her lean on his shoulder. He really hoped she didn’t end up crying all over him.
“Why do you care?” He asked her after a few moments of silence, “They are clearly idiots. Potter didn’t even want to be my friend.”
Hermione made another choking sound, which could have either been a sob or a laugh – he really wasn’t sure.
“I’m not very good at making friends,” she said softly, “Never was. I want to be helpful, but…” she trailed off and Draco furrowed his brows.
“Helpful…? Why?” He asked, genuinely curious, “What do you get out of being helpful?”
“Friends.”
“Clearly not.”
“I can’t stand you,” she grumbled, gently hitting his leg. “I just mean I want to give them a reason to like me.”
“I suppose… that makes sense,” he told her carefully. There really weren’t a whole lot of reasons to like Hermione, he supposed. Her parents were muggles, she had no prestige or power at eleven-years-old… She only had her intelligence. Draco was quite certain it would get her far in the wizarding world, but maybe others weren’t able to see that quite yet.
“But you’re friends with me,” he offered, “And really, you can’t do much better,” he said, “If my parents don’t disown me, I mean,” he added and she pushed back to stare at him. Her eyes were red from crying, tear tracks stuck to her cheeks. For a moment she opened her mouth to reply, but promptly snapped it shut, eyes widening.
“Don’t move,” she whispered and Draco followed her gaze.
This wouldn’t have happened if he was Slytherin, he was sure of it.
Draco had seen trolls before. His father took him to troll farms all the time as a child, but never had he been this close. The thing was grumbling lowly, its skin glittering with slime as he dragged a large club sluggishly behind it.
Draco’s heart sped up as it took another step closer, and Hermione’s hand latched tightly onto his arm. He could feel her shaking slightly, and honestly he wasn’t much better as he sat frozen in place.
What a pair of Gryffindors they were after all.
Out of nowhere the troll slammed the club down, breaking the stall next to them. Hermione screamed, clasping a hand over her mouth. Draco tried to reach for his wand, but his hands were trembling too much to get a firm grasp. The troll made a deep noise in the back of its throat, slowly turning to them and raising the club again.
“HEY!” Someone yelled and before Draco could react, a rat went flying through the air.
“Harry,” Hermione choked next to him, and Draco realized the black monstrosity was actually Potter’s hair. “Come on,” she whispered to him, and they both scrambled out of the way as Potter continued to try and ride the troll like a wild horse. Draco looked around for something to help him, but the boy seemed to have decided to take matters into his own hands as he shoved his wand up the troll’s nose.
“Wingardium Leviosa!” Weasley shouted and the club went flying through the air, narrowly missing Potter and hitting the troll on the back of the head. They both went down, Draco lunging out to grab Potter before he was crushed by what could have been the troll version of his Aunt Bellatrix.
“Ew,” Weasley said, looking at Potter’s snot covered wand.
“Are you two alright?” Potter breathed out, wiping the sticky substance on his robes. Draco made a face and took a step away from him before nodding.
“Thank you,” Hermione breathed out, “We would have died-”
“Well, I don’t know about that-” Draco intervened, and Weasley had the audacity to raise his hand in order to silence him.
“Malfoy. Just say thank you.”
“No.”
“Anyone ever told you that you’re a git?” Came the grumbled response. Before Draco could answer with a question of his own, furious sounding footsteps found them. McGonagall walked in, hand over her heart, along with several other professors, whose expressions ranged from alarmed to merely bored.
“What is the meaning of this!?” McGonagall gasped, her eyes darting from the four of them to the unconscious troll behind them. Draco turned slowly to assess the situation.
“Well. I can assure you it is entirely Weasley and Potter’s fault,” he nodded and Hermione sighed.
“No, it isn’t,” she glowered at him and turned to the group of adults before them. Draco merely shrugged, sticking his tongue out subtly at the other two boys, who were shooting him outraged looks. “I’m sorry, professor…. I wanted to see the troll. I had read all about them and set out to find it – Draco was trying to stop me,” she gestured to him. “Harry and Ron went after us and knocked the troll out.”
“How pray tell?” The creepy turban loon (Squirrel or something…? Quirrell!) asked, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to gesture around him.
“Harry jumped on the troll’s back and stuck his wand up its nose while Ron used a levitating spell to hit it with that,” she pointed to the club on the floor. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. Draco said nothing, not quite understanding why she was covering for them.
“Well,” McGonagall sniffed, “Miss. Granger, I must say I am incredibly disappointed in you. There is no need for me to inform you this may be the most outrageous stunt a group from my own house has performed!” That was a lie. Draco had got a good look at those Weasley twins and was certain she had encountered something more outrageous. “Five points from Gryffindor,” she informed her and Hermione’s face fell. “And for you three,” she spun around to the boys and paused. “Five points apiece… for sheer dumb luck,” she scowled.
“No way!” Potter breathed from beside him.
“What did Malfoy do?” Weasley muttered from the other side from him.
Draco paid them no mind. He was more preoccupied with Severus, who was looking at him with a flicker of emotion. Cold gray eyes scanned him up and down, and Draco felt a surge of glee at the realization he was checking to make sure he was alright. Who knew it would take a ten-foot troll to regain his godfather’s attention?
The walk back to the common room was mostly silent, led by McGonagall, who was still muttering under her breath. When they were finally inside, it was Potter who spoke first.
“That troll sort of looked like you, Malfoy.”
Weasley snorted while Hermione crossed her arms and glared. Draco was unfazed.
“I’m beginning to see why you need those ridiculous glasses, Potter. Your eyesight must be worse than I feared,” he said and the other boy smiled a bit. Draco frowned at him, not really expecting that reaction.
“Want to sit with us at potions tomorrow?” He asked and Hermione brightened.
“Okay!”
“No!” Draco almost shouted and Ron gave a furious nod in agreement.
“Only Hermione,” he said and the girl in question scowled.
“Draco too.”
“He doesn’t even want to come!” Ron argued, and Draco felt his lips thin as he looked at Hermione. He got the feeling she was about to fail her trial run as his friend.
“We can all sit together,” she insisted stubbornly, “Draco is my friend and wouldn’t have been in danger tonight if he didn’t try to help me after you were mean,” she snapped at them and Potter looked at his shoes.
“Sorry,” he apologized and Weasley deflated slightly.
“Fine. But no insulting my family,” he added with a fierce glare, and Draco gave a long, suffering sigh. He had no idea this much negotiation would be involved in his Hogwarts days.
“With robes like that I think I’ll have plenty of other material to work with,” he said coolly, “What are those anyway? House elf clothes?”
“I don’t think I can do this,” Ron turned to Potter earnestly, and Hermione looked at the ceiling as Draco shrugged.