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Chapter Text

It happened, of course, in the middle of his trial. Because why wouldn’t it? Because why would any single thing in Draco Malfoy’s life ever go smoothly - including the trial to determine whether or not he deserved to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his life.

Potter spoke for him. Which was another unexpected thing in and of itself, although not, it would turn out, the most unexpected thing that would happen to Draco that day.

Potter had just sat down (he was wearing a lovely blue jacket - Draco had never seen one like it before, but it was made from a sort of rough material which he’d seen used to make muggle trousers) when Draco moaned. His back hurt . Hurt like someone had run two knives down his skin. 

“The accused will be quiet in the court,” a stern-faced warlock on his right said, and Draco nodded, sweating, but he could feel his heart racing and sweat start to pool at his temples. “Please,” he murmured, “please, I don’t feel -” A scream ripped through his body and he gasped, lunging forward.

The chains on the accusation chair sprang apart as he fell and shouts rose in the courtroom as he wailed, reaching around desperately to tear at his shoulders, skin burning, head pounding and filled with one, repeated thought - make it stop. 

A guard had tried to tackle him when it happened. The skin on his back ripped open and two huge, feathered wings burst forth and lashed out at the warlock trying to grab him, slicing through some skin on the other man’s arm. 

Screams filled the air and Kingsley Shacklebolt - who as well as being the acting prime minister was also the acting Chief Warlock until a new Wizengamot could be installed - raised his wand and flicked it towards Draco, immobilizing him. His wings (Merlin his wings) somehow seemed to strain against the spell, even though Draco couldn’t move. 

“STOP!” Draco couldn’t look up because of the spell, but he’d recognize his father’s voice anywhere - they’d let his parents come to watch his trial. “STOP! It’s not his fault! He doesn’t mean it he…he…” His mother was screaming. “Stop it! HE’S A VEELA!”

Immobilized or not, Draco fainted.

***

When Draco’s eyes fluttered open, he found himself lying on a stone floor, gazing up at a domed ceiling. Not the courtroom. Somewhere else. His back, he realized, was flat against the floor, which meant that the wings had gone, somehow.

The wings. 

“So Mister Malfoy,” Shacklebolt’s rich voice came from across the room and Draco froze, but didn’t move, “you have a Veela parent?” 

“Y-es,” Draco had never heard his father sound so nervous before, “my natural mother was a Veela. It’s not something we ever talked about, given that Malfoys are...considered pure.” Lucius swallowed. “But my father had an affair when he and my mother, my...adoptive mother, lived in France.”

“With a full blooded Veela?” Draco could hear the shock in Shacklebolt’s voice. 

“Yes, Prime Minister,” his father said quietly, “but Veela...do not raise their male young. My natural mother abandoned me on my father’s doorstep after I was born.” Lucius sighed. “I looked human. They consulted an extremely trustworthy Healer at St. Mungo’s and paid her handsomely. She assured them that male Veela half breeds rarely display any characteristics of their heritage. My mother had proven barren by that point in their marriage and then rest is…” 

“But your son is only a quarter,” Shackelbolt interjected, “and I’ve worked with another quarter Veela, and she never -” 

“It’s rare,” Lucius murmured, “that’s what my childhood healer told me. Most Veela hybrids simply inherit coloring, charisma...and a natural aptitude for magic, as magical,” Draco heard him pause, “as magical creatures.” 

Creatures , a voice in Draco’s mind whispered, you’re a magical creature. 

“Rare but not unheard of?” Shackelbolt’s voice was surprisingly gentle, and Draco found himself wondering what sort of man he was if you weren’t standing on trial in front of him. Maybe a kind one. 

“Yes,” again Lucius’ voice sounded small, “not unheard of. Veela wings...they’re a defense mechanism. They can appear in times of great stress...they’re sharp; the feathers are razored. A natural weapon against predators -” 

“ You’re the predator.”

Draco’s stomach jolted when he heard his mother’s voice. She’d been quiet the rest of the time but now the venom in her voice filled him with dread. He’d never heard her speak to his father like that. 

“Narcissa -”

“Mrs. Malfoy, please -”

“And a liar!” She almost sounded as though she was choking on the words. “Falsifying your blood status - dragging me and my son into a war about blood purity when you’re nothing but a filthy half breed yourself -”

“And what does that make me, Mother?” Draco spoke from where he was lying on the floor. 

All three of them - the Prime minister included - jumped to their feet and rushed over to him. 

“Draco darling ,” his mother’s cool hands ghosted over his face and Draco felt a moment of relief. She didn’t hate him. “I didn’t mean it love, I’m just shocked. That’s all. And worried. How’s your poor back?” 

Draco sat up slowly, stretching his aching back muscles. “Not...not too bad. Sore. But like I’ve been exercising.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at his father. 

Shacklebolt helped him to his feet. “Your trial has been postponed until tomorrow, Mr. Malfoy. You and your parents are free to return to your home for the evening. You’ll return tomorrow for your verdict.” He looked at them. “You will also be hearing shortly from a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures - you’ll both need a caseworker.” 

“A caseworker?” His mother looked bewildered. “Lucius doesn’t even have -”

“I’m sure your caseworker will explain everything to you, of course,” Shacklebolt said gently as he led them out of the room, and Draco swallowed. Perhaps Shacklebolt wasn’t so kind after all.

Or perhaps he was. But just not to creatures. 

***

They found Draco innocent, but it was one of the last good things to happen to him for a while. Lucius, whose trial was a week after Draco’s, was found guilty of his crimes. His memories showed that his wand was taken and his home used against his will, and so he was given only ten years, as opposed to life. Draco knew that it might happen, but he still couldn’t fathom that it really was happening until he and his mother were saying goodbye to his father when the Aurors came to collect him.

Draco cried so hard that this wings flew out and cut his mother, and he’d spent the next few hours hiding in his room until they’d finally shrunken back into his skin, furious at himself for hurting his mother, furious at his father for not telling him, and furious at his father for going to prison. 

When he came downstairs he saw his mother rubbing dittany into her arms and felt another stab of guilt - and disturbingly, something akin to a rustle under the skin of his back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

“Not your fault,” his mother answered tightly, but she didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“I heard from the ministry,” he murmured, “I’m supposed to meet with my caseworker tomorrow. Maybe they’ll be able to help. Teach me how to control them.”

His mother made a noise. “Yes. The ministry has been so helpful thus far.”

“Well what do you want me to do?” Draco snapped. “I can’t change it, Mother. Don’t you think I would if I could?” 

She didn’t answer him, but instead just corked the bottle of dittany and headed upstairs without another word. 

***

“Ah hello! Draco isn’t it? Come in, come in. I’m Sam - Sam Rookford.”

The office was absolute chaos, bits of parchment strewn everywhere amongst stacks of books, and Sam Rookford sat behind a desk, his shiny bald head nearly concealed by an iron cage of pixies.

Draco took a seat across from him gingerly.

“Don’t mind them,” Rookford had a pleasant voice, jovial and thick with a Liverpuddlian accent, “they’re only a temporary fixture here - though of course that don’t mean much here, I get new creatures in this office every week.” He let out a grunt as he shifted the cage of pixies to the floor and turned to Draco with a bright grin. “Speakin’ of lad, welcome! You’re my first Veela you know. Should we start?” He spoke so fast that Draco couldn't even answer him before the man leant over and tapped a kettle with his wand. “Shall I make us a nice brew, then?” He blinked and frowned, looking over at Draco. “Do Veelas drink tea, mind?” 

Draco cleared his throat. “I’m only a quarter Veela,” he said with more confidence than he felt, “and tea would be lovely, please. Milk and two sugars if you don’t mind.”

Rookford plopped two tea bags into two large mugs. “Oh yeah? It said in my files that Veelas have got a sweet tooth.”

Rather than being sweet, Draco’s teeth were glued together in frustration, but he managed a tight smile when Rookford handed him his mug of tea. 

“So,” Rookford shifted a pile of papers, “says ‘er you grew wings - oh me - in your trial. And I take it they’re sharp? Like typical Veela wings?”

Draco’s back tensed as he felt the bloody things start to shift, but he nodded, taking deep breaths. “Yes,” he confirmed, “I was rather hoping you’d have resources to help me control them.”

“Yep, righto, here we are.” Rookwood handed him a pamphlet. A bloody pamphlet . 

“‘Your Wings and You: Coming to Terms With Your Veela Heritage?’” Draco arched an eyebrow. “Well, I suppose…” 

“There are private coaches,” Rookford supplied, “but they’re a little pricey and unfortunately the ministry doesn’t -”

“Price isn’t an issue,” Draco interjected calmly. 

Rookford’s face brightened. “Oh! Have you already made arrangements, then?” 

Draco frowned. “Arrangements - I - look I’m sorry but do you know who I am?” Here grimaced as he said it but the bumbling buffoon seemed totally inept. “I’m Draco Malfoy. I’ve got plenty of money.”

Rookford’s face drained of colour. “Oh. They were meant to tell you before you met with me...bloody hell.”

Now it was Draco’s face that grew pale. “Tell me what exactly?” 

Rookford paused, and then hastily scribbled a note and threw it into one of the many tubes on his desk. A few seconds later a letter came whizzing back, and he cleared his throat and handed it to Draco, his bald head now shining with a thin sheen of sweat. 

Draco took the letter and unfolded it with shaking hands. 

To the creature formerly known as Draco Malfoy - 

“Formerly?! Creature?! ”

Rookford threw his hands up. “Not the ministry’s doing, lad! Honest!” 

It has come to my attention that your father, who forward shall be called Lucius M., in addition to being born out of wedlock is in fact of Veela heritage. As written in the ancient magical inheritance laws of the Malfoy estate, no one of impure blood nor illegitimate birth status may legally inherit Malfoy Manor or any other Malfoy property, financial or otherwise. Henceforth, Lucius M. and any offspring of his line shall have no legal right to any Malfoy property, given that M and his offspring are not true Malfoys. 

The family of Lucius M. shall have 30 days as of October 20th to vacate the premises and surrender any Gringotts keys. 

Regards,

Cyrus Arctus Phinneas Malfoy VI

Sanctimonia Vincet Semper

Draco’s throat felt dry. He picked up his now-tepid tea, but his hands were shaking so badly that it started to spill, so he put the mug down quickly.  

“There’s...Great Uncle Cyrus sent this himself? This was verified to be written in his hand?”

Rookford nodded glumly. “I’m afraid so…”

Great Uncle Cyrus lived in the family Chateau in France. Draco had been visiting him since he was a baby - he was Draco’s favourite family member because he always had sweets hidden in his pocket, and when Draco got older he let him have wine with dinner and stay up later than either of his parents thought appropriate. And now. Now…

“Well,” Rookford interrupted Draco’s train of thought, “I’m here t’support you now, lad. You’ll be meetin’ with me every month now for a check in, so let me give you some more pamphlets about housing…” 

Fucking pamphlets.

“You should know that as a magical Creature you’ll be required to register any future residences with me, as well as jobs, children, and so on. And if you have any trouble we’ll come up with a plan - there are some lovely Veela habitats in the Lake District that we could -”

“I am a wizard ,” Draco barked tensely, “I’m not going to live in a fucking habitat.” 

Rookford nodded. “Of course of course - everything will be fine and dandy once we get your little wing problem under control, hmm?”  He took a piece of parchment out of one of the endless piles and pushed it across the desk to Draco. “Just sign here, there’s a good lad. You’ll need to sign every time I see you so the Ministry knows you’re keeping your appointments.” 

Draco numbly picked up a quill and began to write, and his first name flowed from the quill in his usual, looping script. However, when he got to the M he found himself unable to write anymore. Anything after the M and his hand froze. 

Rookford smiled nervously. “Oh er...that’s the funny thing about ancestral magic. Tends to set in rather quick, don’t it? You know I had a client who -” 

Without warning Draco’s wings burst painfully forth from his back, shredding his shirt and sending several stacks of parchment flying in the process.

He had lost his name. 

***

When he returned home he found his mother in the drawing room, but to his surprise she was sitting with an open decanter of his father’s favourite brandy. 

“I received a letter from your Uncle Cyrus,” Narcissa said, simply. 

Draco closed his eyes. “Yes, my caseworker at the ministry told me.” He swallowed. “Mum…”

“It’s not your fault,” she interrupted him, gently, “none of this is your fault, Draco.” She sighed and rubbed at her brow. “And of course the Black inheritance has gone to my cousin.” She didn’t need to specify which cousin she meant. For one thing, there was only one left alive, and for another everyone knew that Grimmauld Place was occupied by Siruis Black, his werewolf friend, and the Chosen One. 

“What about Aunt Andromeda?” he asked quietly. 

Narcissa frowned, and to Draco’s dismay he saw her eyes well up. “The war killed her daughter and her husband. The war I fought on the wrong side of -”

“Mother, you did not -”

“Yes, Draco!” She stood up, the tears finally spilling from her eyes, the brandy glass clutched hard in her pale hand. “Yes Draco, I did! I cannot put the blame on your father, no matter how much I might wish to. I have my own Dark Mark, and it was not forced upon me as yours was!” Her eyes glowed in the firelight and Draco desperately wanted to take the glass from her, or hold her, but she seemed too sharp and too fragile all at once. On the verge of breaking or being broken. “I am...I believe in blood purity. Even now, after all this. I - when I found out about Lucius, about what he was, and about what you were…” She shook her head. “I was disgusted, Draco. With him. With you. Whom I love more than anything in the world.” 

Draco had no words. He had guessed how his mother felt, but to hear it put so frankly felt like a punch to the stomach. “You were...shocked. It’s alright.”

Narcissa let out a sob. “No, my son. It is not alright. I have some soul searching to do...I must learn to be different. I have to do... something .” 

She seemed softer now, and so Draco risked getting closer until he could draw her close into a hug. “I forgive you,” he murmured quietly, “and I have soul searching to do as well. You’re not alone in this, Mother.”

She nodded and pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “I am so proud of you, Draco.”

Draco snorted. “I haven’t even done anything yet. I’m a disappointing son.”

“Nonsense.” Narcissa pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Now...for our plans. I bought a chalet in France for your father in the early days, with my money. It is not Malfoy property, or Black property, it’s simply mine. Let’s go away for a year or so. Gather ourselves.”

Draco’s heart quickened. “I...Mum. I’m not allowed. I’m on probation, and especially with the Veela status...I’m not allowed to leave the country for the next two years.”

Narcissa’s face fell and she brought her hands up to her face. “Your father and I have ruined your life.”

Draco shook his head, even though sometimes (most of the time) he really did think his life was ruined. “Mum…” He took her hands. “Mum, I want you to go.”

She shook her head. “No Draco, what about you?”

“I’ll be fine,” Draco said with more confidence than he felt, “I’ll get a job, and get a room somewhere. And you’ll come and visit me when you can.” He forced a smile on his face. “Mum, I want you to go to France. You deserve that. You deserve to heal.”

Narcissa winced and stroked his face. “And what about what you deserve, Draco?” 

Draco smiled. “I’ll take care of myself. Don’t you worry.”

***

The next month was an exercise in humility, and at times even humiliation. They rounded up everything Narcissa and Lucius had purchased in their marriage that they thought Uncle Cyrus wouldn’t miss, and flogged it in Knockturn Alley for whatever they could get. The Malfoy name, which neither Narcissa or Draco could even use anymore, didn’t command much respect these days, but it was the paper that really drove home the desperation. 

DEATH EATER TAKES FLIGHT - FORMER MALFOY HEIR REVEALED TO BE A VEELA HYBRID.

Draco sneered when he caught sight of the prophet at the newsstand in Diagon Alley, his face colouring. “I didn’t even fucking fly.”

“Don’t swear,” Narcissa chastised him gently, “I brought the rubies today. It doesn’t matter how we’ve fallen - no one can try to cheat us for those.”

His mother was, of course, wrong.

And thirty days after Draco’s first meeting with Rookford they were standing in the foyer of the manor - of Draco’s childhood home, with a few suitcases between them and his mother clutching a port-key to the south of France. Her face crumpled when she looked at him.

“I only wish we could have found you lodgings before I left -”

“We’ve saved money this way,” Draco said gently, “I’ll spend a couple nights in the Leaky Cauldron and floo you as soon as I’ve secured a place to stay.” 

His mother nodded and took his hand. “And a job. I can’t wait to see what you’ll accomplish, my sweet.” 

“As soon as any new developments happen, I will Floo you. I promise.” He let go of her hand. “Your portkey’s going to activate any minute, Mother.” He kissed her cheek. “I love you. Owl me when you’re settled in.”

She smiled through shining eyes. “Yes, of course!” 

And then she was gone. To France. To comfort. Draco looked down at his bags and sighed.

“This is it then,” he said quietly, “time to go.”

“Master Draco?” 

Draco started and turned around. Standing at the foot of the stairs were the manor’s four remaining house elves. The oldest, Kipsy, smiled fondly. 

“We are going to be missing you, Master Draco.” 

Draco’s heart fluttered and he smiled. “Well...you’ll have someone new to take care of soon. You remember my Uncle Cyrus?”

A house elf with particularly bulbous eyes wrinkled his nose. “Kreaky is not liking Master Cyrus. Kreaky is liking Master Draco.”

Draco laughed fondly. “I am going to miss all of you.” 

Kipsy spoke out. “Kipsy set fire to the curtains, Master Draco.” 

Draco spluttered. “I beg your pardon?” 

“The drawing room curtains. Kipsy lit them on fire.” 

“Kipsy why would you -”

“Kreaky broke Mistress’ favourite crystal vase, Master Draco.”

Draco blinked. 

“Drappy flooded the kitchens, Master Draco.”

“And Flopsy,” the youngest elf squeaked proudly, “blasted a hole in the roof!” 

Draco’s face drained. “Wh-which part of the roof?” Uncle Cyrus was going to kill them. Their behaviour was unacceptable. They -  

Draco paused, and then grinned. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “I have no choice but to give each and every one of you clothes.” 

The house elves cheered and Draco’s heart swelled. He opened one of his suitcases and flipped the lid back, grandly. To Kipsy he gave a silk shirt she had lovingly ironed for him only the night before, while he was packing. She put it on and smiled proudly, spinning on the spot for the other elves. Kreaky got a tie, and Drappy a pair of mittens that he put on and clapped with as soon as Draco gave them to him. Lastly, he looked at Flopsy, unsure of what to give her. 

“What would you like, Flopsy?” 

Flopsy paused shyly, and then pointed. 

Draco arched his eyebrow. “Only that?” 

The little elf nodded. “Like Dobby,” she squeaked quietly. 

Dobby. He had been Draco’s favourite elf. Everyone had heard how Harry Potter had freed him. No one could avoid it, the way Lucius had screamed when he’d gotten home. 

He smiled, and handed Flopsy the single black sock she’d pointed at. 

When he closed his case and stood up he smiled sadly at the elves. “I’d suggest Hogwarts, if you’re looking for employment. I can write to the Headmistress and make sure that she’s expecting you.”

Flopsy shook her head. “We are going with Master Malfoy. We are free elves now.” 

Draco smiled, and then he knelt down and shook each elf by the hand. “Thank you for everything you have done for me and for the manor. But I can’t afford to pay or maintain any of you. As soon as I’m able, I’ll send for you. But Hogwarts will be the best place for you in the meantime.” 

Draco didn’t expect the hugs. He was so shocked that he found himself at a loss for words. But all four of the little elves hugged him, before disappearing with a cracking sound. 

Draco took one last look around the manor and sighed, before throwing a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace.

“The Leaky Cauldron.”

***

Chapter Text

Draco Malfoy’s trial had been the last one Harry had agreed to speak at, and predictably it had also been the most interesting. Trust Draco sodding Malfoy to pull something dramatic out of his arse on the day of his own trial. When he’d burst through the chains on the interrogation chair (which Harry had later learned from Kingsley did not reliably work on magical creatures) Harry had been sure that Malfoy was a gonner. And then those wings had torn through his back like butter.

“Harry?” Remus’ voice came from outside of his door and Harry grunted and stretched. He was using Regulus’ old room, but Sirius had let him redecorate after packing away a few of Regulus’ things that his Godfather wanted to keep. So far, Harry had been very liberal with his use of cardboard boxes. 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s about noon. I’m making bacon sandwiches if you want one.” 

Harry got out of bed so quickly that his feet got tangled in the sheets and he landed with a thud on the floor. He heard Remus chuckle through the wood of his bedroom door.

“See you downstairs then!” 

Harry stretched and scrubbed at the stubble on his chin and then toed on his slippers before meandering to the bathroom. With Remus’ care and his gentle, determined bullying of Sirius until he helped, Grimmauld Place was rapidly becoming a house that was not only habitable, but even nice. 

Harry wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later and grinned when he saw the fresh pot of tea on the table, next to a bacon sandwich. Sirius’ plate was already empty, and he was sipping at a cup of tea while he paged through The Daily Prophet.

“Any plans today, Harry?” Remus never seemed to want to sit when he was eating, instead just perching against the kitchen counter while he held his plate. “Sirius and I worked on the wine cellar this morning - but we were going to have another crack at Mrs. Black if you wanted to help.”

Harry took a large bite of his sandwich. “What are you going to try next?”

“We thought we’d try muggle paint stripper - don’t laugh.” Sirius put the paper down and scrubbed his hand through his hair, before tying his hair up into a sloppy bun on the top of his head. “It was Hermione’s idea - she called for you earlier by the way.” 

Harry grimaced. “Was it about that night class thing again?” 

“It might not be a bad idea, Harry,” Remus said gently, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table but tugging one of his legs underneath him. Harry wondered vaguely whether Remus had always had trouble with chairs. 

“I don’t know. It just feels a bit…”

“Hermione says she’s really liking it,” Sirius added, “Ron too. She said a bunch of your old Hogwarts class are there - and it’s not like you’d have to do the whole 8th year. She says it’s more about guided revision and you take your NEWTs when you’re ready -”

“Yeah, I know what Hermione said, she’s already told me all of this,” Harry said hotly, the skin on his neck colouring, “I just don’t think I’m ready. I need time.” He took another bite of his sandwich. “I thought I might take a gap year.” 

Remus frowned. “A gap year?”

“Yeah!” Harry said brightly, “Loads of muggles take them before they go off to uni, and I just sort of thought I could use this time to relax, you know? Find myself…” 

Sirius nodded slowly. “But you’ll finish your NEWTs eventually, right?”

Harry scratched the back of his head. “Yeah! Of course! I mean I can’t be an Auror without one so obviously I’ll need them eventually - but I’ll get some other kind of job this year. Or maybe take up a hobby? I’ve thought about learning the guitar.” 

Remus hummed. “Well, that would be interesting. I used to play the piano when I was younger.” 

Sirius stood up. “Alright. Shall we strip my bitch mother?”

Remus turned green and Sirius let out a bark of laughter. “What do you think, Harry? We can wait for you to finish up your breakfast and get dressed if you want?” 

Harry’s face coloured. “Er - I actually promised to visit Ginny in Hogsmeade today - but next time, yeah? Give her hell for me.” 

And with that he picked up his sandwich and made his way back up to his room, where he sat down on the bed to eat it.

Ginny probably wouldn’t mind him dropping by. 

***

Sirius sighed and looked over at Remus. “You can’t keep luring him out of bed with bacon sandwiches every day.” 

“Why not?” Remus poured himself another cup of tea. “It works, doesn’t it?” 

“Because some of us,” Sirius stood up and walked over to drape himself over the back of Remus’ chair, “don’t have the metabolism of a werewolf or a nineteen year-old kid. You’re making me chubby, Moony.” 

Remus rolled his eyes, “A - you don’t have to ask for one every time I make one for Harry, and B -” he craned around to eye Sirius’ lean physique, “‘chubby’ is a stretch, love. I’m personally rather happy that you’re no longer sporting Azkaban chique.” 

Sirius hummed and nuzzled into Remus’ hair with his nose. “I’m worried about him,” he said quietly, and Remus swallowed.

“Me too,” he agreed, “but there’s only so much we can really do for him now, Sirius. He has to figure out the rest on his own. And he’s been through so much…”

“You’re right,” Sirius agreed, “of course you’re right. That’s you. My Mr. Right. Mr. Always Right.” 

Remus reached up and swatted him away. “Shut up. Let me finish my tea and then we’ll try to kill your mother.” 

Sirius grinned. “Can’t wait.” 

***

Harry preferred to Floo into the Hogs Head when he visited Hogsmeade, because he got fewer stares, and besides, Aberforth always gave him a free Butterbeer, but he didn’t have time for it today so he waved a hand with a smile when the grizzled man set the dusty bottle on the counter for him. 

“Not today, thanks,” he said cheerfully, “I’m off to see Ginny.”

Aberforth nodded, and waved him off. Even now, he wasn’t a particularly spectacular conversationalist. 

Harry braced himself and stepped out of the inn, meandering down into the village and heading towards the main strip. Knowing Ginny, she was either in The Three Broomsticks with her friends, or in Honeydukes. It was easier to skulk into The Three Broomsticks without announcement than Floo in, but Harry still raised his collar all the same as he made his way towards the back.

Sure enough, Ginny was there with Luna, as well as a couple of other girls that Harry didn’t recognize - although he could tell by their school scarves that they were Gryffindors. Ginny was laughing, but when she caught sight of him her smile fell slightly, and Harry frowned.

“Hello,” he said jovially as he bent over to kiss Ginny on top of the head, “thought I’d surprise you.”

“Lovely,” Luna murmured, dropping a lump of sugar into her butterbeer bottle, which made Harry’s teeth ache just from looking at it, “Ginny was just saying you’re not a very attentive boyfriend. I’m glad you’re doing better, Harry.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and Ginny dropped her head into her palm. “Merlin, Luna…” she glanced up at Harry, blushing fiercely. “Shall we take a walk, Harry?”

Harry’s mouth twisted. “I suppose, yeah…”

He waited until they were a little ways away from The Three Broomsticks before speaking again. “So…” 

“Look, I'm sorry about what Luna said. It was just girl talk.”

“But, do you really think I’m not attentive?” 

Ginny sighed. “I think that’s part of the issue. And the whole...me still being at school and you living in London thing. I don’t know. Now that Ron’s proposed to Hermione Mum’s started asking me and just. Don’t you ever feel like there’s too much pressure on us? My parents married right out of Hogwarts, and so did yours, and Bill and Fleur married young and I just...doesn’t this all ever feel like too much?” 

Harry’s head reeled as Ginny launched question after question at him. “I mean...Ginny. I’m not proposing any time soon.”

“I know,” Ginny ran her hand through her red hair and sighed, “I know, Harry...the trouble is, I’m starting to wonder if I can picture you proposing...at any time. And. I don’t know what I’d say.” 

Harry blinked and looked around as he realised they’d been wandering long enough to reach the shrieking shack, and suddenly all he could think was that he was about to get dumped outside the shrieking shack. 

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked quietly. 

Ginny sniffs and runs her hand through her hair again. “I don’t know….I think we should talk about it? I don’t know , but for some reason the idea of marrying a - the idea of marrying you terrifies me! And I don’t know if I should be in a relationship like that. And Merlin I just wanted to talk to my friends about it today and then you showed up unannounced and I need space , Harry!”

Harry blinked, and then shook his head. “Fine,” he murmured, and then he apparated to Grimmauld Place, where he shoved through the front door and stomped through the hallway so loudly that if Mrs. Black hadn’t already been screaming; she certainly would have started. 

He stopped in horror at the sight that met him. Mrs. Black’s face was smeared, her mouth hanging wide open as Remus desperately rubbed paint thinner into the portrait - but the screaming continued and while her face became more hideous and distorted, she wasn’t going anywhere.

“Shut up you old bat!” Sirius poured more paint stripper on the canvas and screams became more monstrous.

“What the fuck ?” Harry walked forward. “Guys, it’s clearly not working - stop!” 

Remus sighed and pulled the curtains shut tightly, before casting a silencing spell on the now muffled screams of Mrs. Black.

“Well,” he murmured, “that might have been a mistake.” 

“You think?” Sirius huffed and folded his arms, but smiled brightly at Harry. “How was Ginny? You’re back fast.”

Harry looked at both of them, and then ran upstairs to his room, slamming the door. 

Sirius looked over at Remus nervously.

“Er...have we got any more bacon?”

***

The first night in the Leaky Cauldron had been surprisingly restful, and Draco walked into Diagon Alley with something that felt like hope. He hadn’t finished his NEWTs yet - but surely shop work couldn’t be too hard, and he’d seen a fair amount of reasonable looking rooms to rent in the paper. 

He started in the Apothecary - where he handed over a smartly rolled parchment with his CV on it to a stern looking witch behind the counter. 

“As you can see, I got an Outstanding on my Potions OWL, and I grew up with my own lab so -” 

“We’re not hiring,” the witch said firmly, and Draco blinked.

“I…see.” He had hoped for the best, but he’d always known his past might be an issue when it came to employment. He cleared his throat and smiled brightly, holding his hand out for his CV. “Well, thank you so much for your consideration.” 

It was the same in Flourish and Blotts, and Florean Fortescue’s, and Draco didn’t even dare walk into Ollivander’s.

He’d hoped to avoid Knockturn Alley. Such a place certainly wouldn’t help his image as a Death Eater - but the shopkeepers tended to be less discriminating against those with darker pasts. 

He walked into Borgin and Burkes first - he had given them plenty of business in sixth year and - 

And a wand met his face almost immediately. 

“Get out,” Borgin spat, “half breed scum.”

Draco gasped, and he felt his shirt slice open as his wings sprung free, knocking down several items on the counter. His stomach clenched in anger and he sneered.

“You putrid little man - don’t you know who I am? How dare you treat a M-ma.” He coughed. “How dare you treat a Malll...” He couldn’t even make his mouth say the word. One letter and his life had changed forever. His wings dropped as he saw a smile start to form on Borgin’s mouth.

“If I were you,” the man said quietly, “I’d leave Knockturn Alley, Veela. Not everyone is as friendly as me.”

Draco winced, but he couldn’t pull the wings back in. He didn’t have full control over them yet - but Borgin’s wand hadn’t left his hand, and so Draco did all he could.

He fled, avoiding the stares. Fled through Diagon alley wincing as he heard camera clicks, and made his way desperately up the stairs of the Leaky Cauldron until he was safe in his rented room, where he curled upon the floor. His wings cocooned around him, and despite everything, Draco found it comforting. 

***

Harry was eating his second bacon sandwich of the morning when he saw Remus’ eyes widen as they scanned the front page of the profit. 

“My God...the poor kid.” 

“Which poor kid?” Sirius leaned over and glanced at the paper, then sneered. “Ugh, him? Don’t feel sorry for him , Remus. That little snot-nose deserves everything that’s coming his way.” 

Harry frowns. “Who?” 

“My former student and your cousin, Sirius,” Remus said testily, “and he’s young...and would you look at this?” 

VEELA HYBRID FORMER HEIR FLEES DIAGON ALLEY - ARE HYBRID CREATURES A DANGER TO THE WIZARDING WORLD?

Sirius rolled his eyes, but Harry reached out to take the paper, tentatively. “I don’t know why you still read the Prophet, Remus,” Harry scanned the article, “you know it’s all rubbish.”

“It is,” Remus agreed, “but sometimes it’s wise to read the rubbish too - just in case they’re saying something dangerous. I’d remind both of you that Draco M -.” Remus frowned. “Draco Ma…” 

Sirius blinked. “Shit,” he murmured quietly, “that’s magical inheritance law.” He took the paper from Harry and folded it in half, frowning as he read. “Yeah he’s been...disowned. Differently than I was - I stayed human, at least. But the Malfoys have some nasty magic in their family tree. It looks like Malll - Draco can’t use that name anymore. At all. And no one else can use it for him either. It’s a nasty enchantment.” 

Harry pointed. “Did you see he’d been looking for jobs? They quoted a few people saying he came in looking.” 

“And his mother’s in France,” Remus said quietly, “and as I was trying to say...Draco’s not the only magical creature the press has tried to demonize. And he’s a former student of mine...a bright boy. He had potential.” Remus looked over at Sirius with pleading eyes, and the other man’s face fell.

“Remus - I know what you’re thinking, and no . Alright? No, no way!”

Harry’s mouth opened. “I - Remus you’ve got to be joking!”

“He just needs - “

“Moony, no . I’m putting my foot down. Abso-fucking-lutely no way. Do you understand me?”

***

Draco groaned as a knock sounded on the door of his room, and he set his quill down, grimacing.

“I’m paid through the next two days,” he called out, which was true. After those two days...Draco would have to hope that he could find a job before then, or that someone would be willing to buy some of the potion books he’d packed.

“You have a visitor, Mr. M,” came the voice of Tom, and Draco grimaced. Tom, to his credit, had been an absolute gentleman as long as Draco paid, but it still jarred Draco to hear the old bartender refer to him as ‘Mr. M.’ 

His mother hadn’t sent him a note, so Draco approached the door cautiously, and cracked it open, peering through with narrowed eyes which flew open in surprise.

“Professor Lupin?”

The lean werewolf smiled. “Remus will do just fine, Draco. May I come in?” 

Draco glanced over at Tom, but the bartender was already making his way down the stairs, and so Draco cleared his throat, nodding and stepping aside to allow his former teacher to step inside.

“I apologize for the lack of warning,” Remus said, amiably, “we weren’t sure if you’d be staying here, or somewhere else.”

“We?” Draco arched an eyebrow.

“Your cousin - Sirius Black. And Harry of course.” Remus’ lip quirked up in the corner. “I believe you knew each other in school.” 

Draco let out a harsh bark of laughter. “I’m familiar with Potter, yes.” 

Remus perched against the window, where the sunlight fell across his face and emphasized the gray in his hair. “I’m sure you’re aware, but we’re living in the Black ancestral home.” 

Draco nodded. “I’m aware.” 

“Well - Sirius and I would like to invite you to stay with us. You’re family after all.” 

Draco’s stomach clenched. Charity. Of course. “If my cousin ,” he said cooly, “wants me to live with him, why did he send his pet werewolf instead of coming himself?” As much as he hated to admit it, Draco had no claim to the Black estate. Especially not as the son of a bastard half veela. 

Remus met his eyes, unintimidated. “Perhaps he knew that as his pet werewolf, I might understand your situation better than most.”

Draco snarled, and before he could help it his wings sprung out again and he let out a growl of frustration. 

Remus smiled. “My point exactly.” He stood up and approached Draco slowly. “Your wings are extraordinary,” he added sincerely, “I’m sure you remember that as a teacher I have a soft spot for magical creatures - although of course Veela are not necessarily dark. Hence why we never covered them in -”

“Get out.” Draco stared at the floor, his eyes prickling with shame. “Just get out. I don’t need your pity. Or your charity.” 

Remus nodded curtly. “Well, if you change your mind - you know where to find us.”

And with that he swept out, somehow avoiding the razor sharp feathers of Draco’s wings as he did so.