Chapter Text
It struck Draco how different the Headmaster’s office of Hogwarts felt, depending on which witch or wizard was currently residing there. He’d never entered it when Dumbledore was alive, so he couldn’t say how it was then. It was only when Snape had taken up the post in his seventh year that he began visiting it and then it seemed just as dark and gloomy as Snape’s office in the dungeons.
As the late morning sun poured through the windows, shining off McGonagall’s equipment scattered throughout the room, it had both a brighter and more dignified atmosphere. All of that seemed diminished, however, in the face of McGonagall’s austere expression.
“I must say,” she began in a cool tone, “that I was surprised to receive your first letter of inquiry. Even more surprised am I that, not only are you still interested after receiving my reply, but you have shown up here ready to take on the position the very next day.”
She didn’t quite ask a question, yet she paused, evidently expecting some sort of explanation. Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat.
“As I said in my initial letter, my goal is to work here at Hogwarts in an attempt to fix many of my mistakes from the past several years. Perhaps fix is a bad way to put it since many things cannot be fixed…” he trailed off, knowing that he wasn’t exactly selling himself. He cleared his throat again and sat up straighter, holding McGonagall’s unwavering gaze. “I was surprised that you had a position to offer and while it isn’t a dream of mine to be a,” he paused again and coughed, “caretaker, I was serious when I said that I was willing to do anything to help.”
Hardly moving a muscle, McGonagall asked, “Why? Why do you, Mr. Malfoy, feel led to do this now? Is this maneuver simply to improve your reputation after the war?”
“No, my father already had a plan for that,” Draco replied with a bitter taste in his mouth. “But I would rather not follow my father’s intention for my life any longer as our goals are not the same. I’m not looking to salvage any reputation, and I am not seeking any redemption.”
“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head. “If your goal is not to improve your reputation, then why else would you seek employment here than in an effort to redeem yourself?”
It was an excellent question, one that Draco struggled to answer immediately. He’d been withering away in his room at the manor for months after his trial, but no amount of time could diminish the horror that had taken place in his own home. The walls seemed to cave in around him, especially when his father came to him with his plan to marry him off to Astoria Greengrass once she was of age.
Lucius had also gotten him a fine position at Gringotts, not that they needed the extra income. Getting Draco back out into the wizarding world in such a lucrative and respected position was how he planned on salvaging the Malfoy name. For Draco, it was just another nail in the coffin.
It was the latest copy of the Daily Prophet that had stirred life back into Draco, urging him to act for himself rather than for his family’s sake. Splashed across the front page was a horrifying headline asking if Hogwarts’ days were at an end. The article stated that the school had barely begun renovations by the time school had started again, and funds were already running low.
Draco wasn’t foolish enough to think that he had the means or skills to help Hogwarts out of the hole he’d helped create, but he had to do something.
“Malfoy Manor no longer feels like my home,” he began again. “The only other place in the world that felt like home is Hogwarts, believe it or not, and my wish is to help put it back in order. I know it will take me some time to learn the skills that I’ll need in order to fulfill this position, but rest assured,” he said, gaining strength in his words, “that I will do my job properly and will put in all my efforts to become better.”
To his relief, McGonagall’s face softened. “I’ve taught you for many years, Mr. Malfoy, and, despite your indifference to certain subjects and an occasional impertinence in the classroom, you were always one of our best students. When you apply yourself, you are capable of achieving great things. That is why I had to ask my prior questions. If I sensed that you did not have Hogwarts’ intentions at heart, you would not put forth the effort required to maintain the position of caretaker.
“Having said that,” she continued, her tone once again growing cool, “I would not expect you to have a warm welcome amongst the staff and students. The last battle that took place on our grounds was only a few short months ago, and the wounds we have all suffered will not heal for a very long time, if ever. My hope is that you will keep at it regardless. It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but ourselves.”
Goosebumps rose on Draco’s arms. It wasn’t often he heard a quote that he wanted to grab onto and hold for dear life.
He smiled wryly and said, “I imagine that’s not a quote from Professor Trelawney.”
The corner of McGonagall’s lips twitched up. “Shakespeare.”
“Oh,” Draco replied, feeling a wave of bittersweet nostalgia sweep over him. “I am not familiar with that one.”
“It is from Julius Caesar, one of his tragedies.”
“Ah, that’s why. I prefer his comedies.”
“I am surprised that you are familiar with him at all, given that Shakespeare was a squib. Most ancient wizarding families find it beneath them.”
Draco ignored the jab against both sides of his family; she wasn’t wrong, after all. “My mother had a fondness for the arts when she was young, and Shakespeare was a guilty pleasure of hers. She shared all that she loved with me while I was a child until my father discouraged it.”
“Like what?” McGonagall asked, seeming genuinely curious.
“Music was the most prominent. I studied violin and the piano. Obviously reading, and a little drawing and painting. My father hated those the most. Malfoys should not get their hands dirty,” Draco mocked.
McGonagall hummed. “Is that another reason you’re here? Would doing physical labor be its own sort of revenge against your father?”
Draco shook his head. “I’m not doing this for revenge, Headmistress. I will be honest with you, I never liked physical labor, but I have never tried it beyond an occasional detention. If it does have anything to do with my father, it’s not so much revenge as it is a chance to break free from the boundaries my family has set for me, as well as myself. Who knows? Maybe I’ll end up enjoying it,” he said without any real hope in that regard.
To his surprise, that made McGonagall smile. “You never know, Mr. Malfoy. Well, without further ado, here is the contract for the caretaker position,” she said, swishing her wand. A long piece of parchment flew to the edge of the desk, landing so it was facing Draco. “The description has been revised slightly. You have the ability to use magic, which Mr. Filch did not, and it will be imperative to keep up with your duties. The house elves that survived the battle are mostly invested in the students’ welfare, such as cleaning the dormitories and working in the kitchens, so they need help cleaning the rest of the castle and basic maintenance.
“For your convenience, I will be providing a scroll of daily duties that will change according to priorities. For example, if we are able to hire any new professors, we will need your immediate assistance in preparing a classroom and office for them. You will feel the scroll warm when the list changes and you will see the addition appear as soon as I add it.”
“Sounds clear enough,” Draco said, feeling a little queasy. He didn’t know any cleaning spells, not even basic ones. His house elves had always taken care of the cleaning at the Manor, and Hogwarts’ had their own as well.
“I have taken the liberty of locating some spell books from the library that will be helpful,” she said, motioning to a side table he hadn’t noticed.
As he looked over the stack, he breathed a sigh of relief. While it was a little humiliating that some of them were lower-level spell books, it saved him further embarrassment from having to collect them from the library himself.
“Thank you,” he said and then leaned forward over the contract to read over it. It was drawn up well, to the point, and no fine print for him to comb through. Before he could talk himself out of it, Draco signed his name at the bottom. He hoped he didn’t regret it.
“Excellent. You will start tomorrow, so you can settle into your new quarters today. I imagine it needs some cleaning since Mr. Filch retired; a perfect chance for you to practice your duties.”
“Good. Then, if there’s nothing else,” Draco said, standing.
Immediately, McGonagall’s eyes were drawn to his crisp, dark suit and her lips pressed thin. “Forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, but do you have any attire that is more… casual than that?”
Draco glanced down at his clothes. “Um, no. At home, I had my school uniform but I didn’t think it would be a good idea to bring those since I’ve already graduated.”
“Then I might suggest a quick trip into Hogsmeade as well. Go straight to Gladrags and tell them that you’re our new caretaker. Do you require an advance for your first pay? If that is all you have, suffice it to say that you will need an entirely new wardrobe.”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I made a trip to Gringotts before traveling here, so I should have enough to get me started.”
“Very well. Be sure to be back for dinner as I will introduce you to the students as our new caretaker.”
“Thank you. Also, where are the caretaker’s quarters? Attached to the office or…?”
“No, your quarters are near the school’s front gate, just beside the thestral stables. If you have trouble locating it, Hagrid is always easy to find. He’ll show you where it is. He’s already been informed that you may be interested in the position, though I’m certain he will be astonished that you’ve taken it.”
“I can’t imagine anyone not being surprised. Thank you again for this opportunity, Headmistress. I won’t let you down.”
“I hope not.”
—
When he reached the bottom of the long spiral staircase, Draco was relieved to see that his trunk was still there. Typically, the house elves would have whisked it away already to wherever he was staying, but he wasn’t even sure if they’d know where to put it. He hardly knew himself.
The thestral stables, Draco thought glumly. It made sense that the caretaker’s quarters were on the grounds, much like Hagrid’s hut. But if it was out by the front gate, he imagined that it would be a great deal colder than if it had been located inside the castle itself, and potentially in terrible condition considering the battle that had taken place a few months before.
Resigning himself to his self-inflicted fate, Draco lifted his chin and then lifted his trunk with a flick of his wand. As he carried it to the closest door that would take him outside, Draco glanced around the hall. It was as familiar to him as the back of his hand, but the entire castle still wore the scars from the fight. Scorch marks, crumbled stone, and torn paintings where the subject had already flown to a different frame, leaving their own dark and lifeless.
Stepping out of the castle, he paused for a moment and breathed in the crisp air. The brilliant sunlight that had poured into McGonagall’s office a bit ago was long gone, covered by dark, foreboding clouds. Draco smiled and soaked it all in, the moody weather, the clatter of crisp leaves being blown across the thick grass, and the sharp call of the crows trying to pick at Hagrid’s small garden.
Even if no one wants me here, at least I have this.
He would say that autumn was his favorite season at Hogwarts, but he’d probably say winter as soon as they’ve decorated for Christmas. As he started heading for the front gate with his levitated trunk, he realized with a start that he may be in charge of decorating the castle. Was that something Filch had handled? Well, he’d find out eventually. Considering everything else on his duty list, decorating for Christmas sounded divine.
Drawing closer to the gate, Draco’s eyes trailed from the thestral stables to further down the battlements. There wasn’t much there besides the outer wall, and it gave him a sick feeling that perhaps McGonagall had downplayed how close he’d be to the thestrals. It was possible that he was to bunk up in a loft above the frightening creatures.
A deep bark startled him and he stopped, looking around. He relaxed when he saw Fang loping toward him with his slobbery jowls flopping all over the place. Chuckling, Draco set his trunk down and held out his hand. Fang snuffled it as soon as he was close enough and once he was satisfied, he swung his body around and nearly knocked Draco off his feet.
“Oof,” Draco grunted as he managed to stay standing. Fang kept his body pressed against his legs and looked up at him expectantly. “Oh, right, Of course,” Draco laughed and began scratching Fang’s broad back. Fang panted and shuffled under Draco’s quick fingers, trying to help him get just the right spot.
“Hullo, Malfoy,” Hagrid called as he lumbered toward him. “See ya took the job.”
“Yes, I, um, did. Sorry.”
Hagrid stopped and tilted his head. “What ‘er ya sorry for?”
“That you’ll be forced to work with me? I know you’re not my biggest admirer.”
“You’ve got admirers?” As Draco’s expression fell, Hagrid threw his head back and laughed. “Look, Malfoy, if you and me have got to work together, you better believe I’m gonna rib you plenty.”
Draco huffed and straightened his jacket. “As long as you can take it as well as give it.”
“I can,” Hagrid assured him. “Your comebacks were always on the weak side. Come on! I bet yer lookin’ for your new humble abode.”
“Yes,” Draco said, following him with one hand patting Fang’s back and the other holding his wand to keep the trunk moving alongside him. “It’s not in the stables, is it?”
Hagrid snickered, and Draco could tell he was debating on messing with him a bit more. “It’s not, but I can’t guarantee the smell won’t travel inside. It’s over here,” he said, pointing around the corner from the stable.
It was no wonder Draco couldn’t spot it earlier as the door didn’t face the castle. Hagrid pushed the door open and stood off to the side.
“There ya go. Got a bit damaged in the fight, and Filch didn’t have the skills to fix it himself.”
Draco winced and stepped inside. It was larger than he thought it would be, which was nice, but it was definitely rustic. There was a gaping hole in the far wall. It provided him a nice view of the path that headed away from Hogwarts and allowed a fresh breeze to flow through for which Draco was extremely grateful. The whole room smelled like cat piss, old clothes, and dust.
“I think I’ll do a bit of cleaning before heading into town,” he said, setting his trunk in the corner of the room. Fang trotted inside after him, sneezed, and then trotted right back out, hiding behind Hagrid’s hulking figure.
Poking his head in, Hagrid tried putting on a brave face for him. “Nothin’ a little magic can’t fix, eh? I’ll see you at dinner, Malfoy.”
“Yeah, thanks, Hagrid.”
Humming, Hagrid stomped away with Fang at his side. “Never thought Malfoy would thank me fer anything,” he muttered, though loud enough that Draco could still catch what he was saying. “Wonder if he’s got some kind of mind spell on ‘im, brainwashing and all that…”
Draco sighed as he rolled up his sleeves. He didn’t want to spend too much time cleaning before heading into Hogsmeade, but he didn’t want to buy new clothes and furnishings if the room still smelled like Filch and Mrs. Norris. The books McGonagall had given him were stacked on his trunk, so he began flipping through them, looking for some specifically on cleaning.
He started with a quick dusting and was relieved to find the spell and wand movement to be very simple. There would be no problem remembering it for when he began working on the castle. He moved throughout the room as he worked, taking notice of the living space and large fireplace in the corner, which would be imperative at night so he didn’t freeze to death.
I’ll have to ask if it’s connected to the floo network, he thought, but then he shook his head. That would seem suspicious, given his history of bringing people into the castle that shouldn’t be there, and he didn’t want to give McGonagall any reason to doubt him. After all, there was nothing wrong with heading to Hogsmeade on his broom. He could do with a nice fly.
Once he was done with the lower level, he headed up some rickety stairs to a small loft. There was a wall and an open doorway, so the bedroom wasn’t completely exposed to the rest of the room, which Draco was grateful for. His only hope was that it didn’t smell as bad as the lower level.
He stepped inside, sniffed, and groaned. Of course Filch slept with Mrs. Norris, and since the room was smaller, the smell was even worse. Holding his breath, he hurried through the room, dusting and inspecting what he could.
Glancing at the small bed, Draco made a mental note to pick up some new sheets… or an entirely new bed if he could afford it after buying clothes. When he finished dusting, he ran downstairs and scoured the books for a spell that would eradicate the stench. At last, he found a scouring charm and immediately went to work, using it on every surface of the room.
When he’d scoured the entire living space and bedroom, he stood in the center and breathed deeply. It didn’t smell bad to him anymore, but he might have been used to it already. Just to check, he ran out the door and breathed the fresh air to cleanse his palate. Sure enough, when he went back in, there was just a hint of the earlier odor, so hopefully, with some daily cleaning, it would eventually fade.
“Good enough for me,” Draco said to himself, setting the book aside. He turned to face the open wall and, waving his wall in a circle, said, “Reparo.”
All the broken stones scattered on the outside lawn all fitted back into place, though it seemed that one or two were still missing even after the spell was completed.
Well, it’s better than nothing.
Finally satisfied with the room, Draco pulled out his Nimbus 2001 and money pouch. It was time to head into Hogsmeade for his new wardrobe. As soon as he left his room and shut the door behind him, he hopped on his broom and flew through the front gate.
It felt good to have the freedom to just fly off like that. His father had told him that in the old days, students were allowed to go to Hogsmeade at any time before curfew, as long as they weren’t skipping classes. Draco wasn’t sure what had changed, but that was one nice thing about no longer being a student. Of course, he wasn’t sure he’d have any free time once he started work the next day.
As he flew high above the tree line, he wondered what kind of clothes he should buy. He was certain that he would have to suffer some forms of physical labor, but he was hoping he could take care of most of the work with magic. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to wear more rugged clothing; he just didn’t want to look like Filch.
Draco touched down right at the entrance to Hogsmeade and propped his broom against his shoulder. The village was an array of activity and color, every shop sporting autumn decorations and pumpkins. His heart ached for a butterbeer, but he didn’t have time for that. He had to completely change his image from a fashionable ex-death eater to a rugged, hopefully un-Filch-like caretaker.
“Good morning!” the shopkeeper called out as he walked into Gladrags. “What can I help you with today?”
His back was to Draco, but he recognized that he was the son of the previous owner, an older man who often catered to Draco whenever he came in during Hogsmeade visits. Obviously, he hadn’t gone into Hogsmeade during his final year at Hogwarts, but he’d heard that the old man had been killed by unruly death eaters.
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but he found that there was nothing for him to say. There was a mark on his arm that put him in the same category as the murderer of this man’s father. He had half a mind to back out of the shop and put in an order through owl instead. The younger Mr. Dibble, however, turned around before he could decide, and his eyes widened when he spotted Draco hovering in the doorway.
“Young Mr. Malfoy… It’s been a while. I’m Robin Dibble, as you may remember.”
“Yes, I do. Sorry, I hope I’m not disturbing you.”
To his relief, Robin chuckled. “Not at all. You need some new clothes? Surprised that you’d come here and not London.”
“Well, I’ve just been hired as Hogwarts’ new caretaker, so I find myself in need of an entirely new wardrobe. Most of what I own is like this,” he said, gesturing toward his dark suit.
Robin leaned on the counter and adjusted his spectacles. “I’m sorry, the new caretaker? As in Filch’s old job.”
Draco felt a blush crawl up the back of his neck. “Yes, that one.”
“Was this ordered by the ministry or something?”
“No, I just wanted to help… put things back together,” he said awkwardly. It was difficult to put into words how he came to his decision when much of it had been building over months and then a catalyst (the Daily Prophet article) had spurred him into action. For some reason, it had been easier spitting it out in the face of McGonagalls’ severe glare.
“I see,” Robin mused as his eyes trailed over Draco’s frame. “Yes, we better get to work. Did you have anything specific in mind?”
“Yes, I want the clothes to be warm and durable, easy to move in, naturally, but please,” he added softly, “don’t make me look like Filch.”
At that, Robin broke out into a mess of giggles. “My boy, there is nothing in this shop that would make you look like him. We have standards!”
“Ah, thank Merlin.”
“Please remove your jacket,” Robin said, his voice still trembling with laughter.
As Draco obeyed, setting his jacket on the vast counter between them, Robin flicked his wand and a tape measure whirled around Draco. Robin instructed him further to stretch out his arms and then stand straight up, and as soon as he was completely measured, Draco watched Robin dart about the shop with impressive speed.
“Do not worry about looking like a common peasant, Mr. Malfoy,” he said over his shoulder. “Even the great and wealthy like to tend to their estates personally, and they must have clothes that are appropriate for the role. Besides, you’re a fine-looking young chap, so I am sure that anything will look well on you.
“No more of those dark colors, though. They do nothing for your hair and skin tone. Light, earth tones will be more like it. And you should have a variety of options. A few nice button-ups with cinched-in vests for days when your back needs support, and warm wooly jumpers for more relaxed days when the weather is cooler. Scarves, hats, and boots are necessary for most days, some dragon-hide gloves… I have a jacket that should last you during the autumn season and will be fine for the spring, too. Charmed to repel the rainy weather. You’ll need a heavier one for the winter, but you can always come back in later for that. As a caretaker, you won’t be able to hole up in a cozy common room all day. You’ll be out in the weather!”
As Robin went on and on, he guided Draco behind a changing screen and tried all sorts of things on him. Draco was relieved that, while the clothing wasn’t his usual style, it wasn’t ugly or uncomfortable. The boots would take some getting used to. They were heavy and awkward, far more than the boots he’d worn for Quidditch.
Robin also reminded Draco a lot of his father; his fervent desire was that no one walks out of his shop looking anything less than a model on the cover of Witch Weekly. At one point, however, when Draco removed his current shirt, he saw Robin’s eyes fall on the Dark Mark. Robin went still, and his lips pressed in a tight line.
“You know,” Robin began softly and hesitantly, “as a caretaker, you will be doing a lot of physical labor, something I am sure you’re not used to,” he added with a sly upturn of his lips.
Draco cleared his throat. “You are correct in that assumption.”
“I received a shipment of some curious items from my cousin who mans our shop in London, some articles of clothing that are very muggle. My cousin Beatrice is all about new trends and is fascinated by some innovative items that muggles use. She’s determined to integrate them into wizarding wear. Wait a moment.”
Before Draco could respond, Robin dashed around the changing screen and was back in a flash. In his hands were two tubular strips of fabric. What they were for, Draco couldn’t possibly guess.
“These are called compression sleeves! They give your arms extra support, and I must say that they would add a bit more protection for your limbs once the weather turns ill. Here, try this one on.”
Draco slipped his arm into it and as the tan sleeve covered his Dark Mark, he realized why Robin had suggested it in the first place. Everyone knew it was there, but it wasn’t so unnerving if no one could see it. He was right about the other aspects of the sleeve, too. It was warm and felt supportive as well.
“I think this will do very well,” Draco said, flexing and moving his arm. “How many do you have?”
“A whole box!” Robin declared. “But I think no more than two or three pairs should be sufficient for you at the moment. They are not expensive since they are quite a novelty item, but if others see you wearing it, it may make them more popular.”
Draco scoffed. “Not sure if I’ll be setting any trends with the reputation I have, but I’ll do my best.”
“It’ll get better, especially if you’re putting in such a valiant effort. You know,” Robin said as he helped Draco put the other sleeve on, “Unlike other wizarding families, ours has been quite varied with what house we end up in. A few in Hufflepuff, some in Ravenclaw, and some wild ones ended up in Gryffindor. I was in Slytherin, like my father.”
Robin paused as he chose another jumper for him to try on, this one light blue. As he helped Draco slip it on, he said, “One of my best friends was Regulus Black.”
“Really?” Draco exclaimed. “He was one of my cousins, though I don’t remember him personally.”
“Yes, I know. I lost him long before he died, though, when he was pulled into the last war and got his mark too young, just like you. You, um, don’t know how he died, do you?”
“No, I’m sorry. It was just as much a mystery to us, though everyone had their own ideas about it.”
Robin hummed and stepped back to look at him. “That is a very fine color on you, as I suspected. How does it feel?”
“Very comfortable, and I don’t look like Filch, which is a plus.”
“Indeed. The softness makes you look more approachable. Keep hard at your work and no one will even remember what’s on your arm.”
“Thank you. I… I did not expect to be treated so kindly when I came here,” Draco admitted, feeling his shame creeping back in. “I’m very sorry about your father. He was an excellent shopkeeper.”
“That’s kind of you to say,” Robin said with a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I miss him very much, but I know you weren’t the one who killed him. The world isn’t black and white, Mr. Malfoy, and my father and I both didn’t approve of generalizing people with which side of the war they were on. However, I must advise you to be on your guard; not everyone will welcome you back. Take care of yourself. As far as I am concerned, you are always welcome, and when the students praise you on your attire, be sure to tell them that you purchased all your clothing here!”
Draco laughed. “I will be sure to do that.”
After he finished paying for his new clothes, Draco wore the last outfit he tried on out of the shop. He shrank the parcels down to make it easier to carry and made one more stop before heading back to Hogwarts. He’d spent a great deal at Gladrags, so he didn’t have enough to purchase an entirely new bed, but a new mattress, bedding, and pillow were absolutely necessary.
He was grateful that he wasn’t recognized by the shopkeeper, an elderly woman who seemed to have poor eyesight anyway. Since there was no need to try anything on, he made his selections swiftly, paid for them, and shrank them down to traveling size for the flight back to Hogwarts. He felt like an entirely different person as he headed toward the castle, wearing boots, tan trousers, and the light blue jumper. The scarf around his neck was a darker blue, and it made him feel like a Ravenclaw, which wasn’t the worst house to be thrown into but still not as exceptional as Slytherin.
As he touched down outside of his new quarters, he noticed that it was growing late and he didn’t have much time to settle in before dinner. He swept inside and took an experimental breath. Just as before, there was a light odor that echoed the previous tenants, but he could deal with it. He just hoped he didn’t start smelling like them as well.
When he stripped the bed, he noticed that the mattress and bedding weren’t completely useless, just not something he’d sleep on himself. Instead of making them disappear entirely, he flicked his wand and rolled them up tightly, setting it into a spare cupboard. Maybe one of these days he could get a pet of his own and they could use it.
With his bed settled and his new clothes hung in the armoire, Draco went back downstairs and went through his trunk. He’d asked one of the house elves to pack for him since he was in a hurry, and he was shocked to see just how much of his room back home had made it inside. His chest constricted painfully as he pulled out a large, black throw with his constellation embroidered on it, a gift his mother made for him when he was a baby.
He brought it upstairs and draped it over his new bedding. He swallowed hard, fighting down the lump in his throat, and forced himself back downstairs to inspect the rest of his items before he got too emotional. He’d never felt so homesick when he went back to school, but this felt different.
It had been his dream to be the Lord of Malfoy Manor. Once he graduated, he’d learn from his father how to care for the estate, become an influence in wizarding politics, and enjoy his wealth and popularity as elegantly as his parents did. That dream was still possible if he had chosen the path his father had designed for him, but he no longer wanted it. He no longer fit into that world. He didn’t quite fit into this one either, but it felt better than the idea of living in the manor that no longer felt like his home.
His homesickness didn’t quite abate as he continued delving into his trunk, but some of the items he pulled out brought a smile to his face. The house elf that packed for him included his old violin, which was unexpected given how long it had been since he’d played it. Draco carefully set it on a side table with the hope that he’d get to play it a little now that he had his own living quarters. So far from the rest of the castle, he wouldn’t disturb anyone but the thestrals.
He’d hardly made a dent in his trunk when there was a loud pounding on his door. Not an urgent or angry pounding, just a knock made by a very large hand.
“Come in!” he called and, as expected, Hagrid’s face poked around the door after it creaked open.
“McGonagall wanted me to escort you inside just to make sure there won’t be any trouble. Goodness me, you make fast work!” he exclaimed as he pushed the door open wider and shuffled inside. “Seems a completely different place. Smells better, too.”
Draco scoffed. “I should hope so. There’s still a whiff of it, but hopefully, I can properly dispel it eventually. Where’s Fang?” he asked as he got to his feet.
“Left ‘im back at the hut. I don’t bring ‘im into the school; many of the professors snubbed their nose at poor Fang when I first brought ‘im home,” Hagrid grumbled.
“They approved of Mrs. Norris but not Fang? Ridiculous.” Draco huffed as he dusted off his pants.
As he made for the door, Hagrid pointed at the fireplace. “Might want to start a fire to warm up the room, or you’ll be an icicle as you try to sleep.”
“Ah, good idea.”
Levitating a few logs from the pile in the corner, he set them down in the fireplace and cast an incendio. He sighed, relishing in the radiant heat coming off it before he had to leave it. It wasn’t just the cold air outside that he was dreading; it was the Great Hall filled with students and staff who didn’t ever want to see his face again.
I can do this, he thought and forced himself to his feet. He resolutely grabbed his jacket and motioned for Hagrid to lead the way.
“You always did like Fang, didn’t ya?” Hagrid said conversationally as they made their way to the castle.
Draco hummed and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Always wanted a dog like him.”
“Wouldn’t think he’d be elegant enough fer you.”
“Not everything has to be elegant or expensive. Why would I run around with Crabbe and Goyle if that was the case?”
He winced, remembering that Crabbe was no longer around. As Hagrid barked out a laugh, however, he relaxed. There would be time to mourn his old friend and all the ways Draco could have done better by him.
“Dogs aren’t meant to be decorations,” Draco continued. “They’re companions, friends. I wanted one so badly growing up. The manor is vast and empty with just the three of us there and the house elves. A big, goofy dog would have made it warmer.”
“That it would!” Hagrid agreed. “Nothin’ like a good dog. Yer father never got ya one, then?”
“No, he preferred dogs as decorations and security. He had two but you’d think they were nothing more than statues. Of course, they’re gone now. Didn’t survive the war,” he murmured.
Hagrid hummed, and they remained quiet the rest of the walk. As they stepped inside, Draco took a moment to soak it all in. Both the manor and Hogwarts had been affected by the war and Voldemort himself, but Hogwarts was infinitely more resilient. It was worn and battered, but its spirit remained. Draco knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but he was certain he’d made the right decision coming home.
It wasn’t until they wandered through the crowds of students that Draco realized just how different he looked. He stood out next to Hagrid, wearing the same tan trousers, boots, and blue jumper he had on earlier, mostly because Robin said it looked the best on him. The clothes were distinctly un-Malfoyish, so most of the whispers he heard following him were wondering who he was rather than why he, Draco Malfoy betrayer ex-death eater, was there. It also helped that his hair had grown out a bit, and he’d left it unstyled so it flowed around his face in light blonde waves.
Naturally, it was the Slytherins amongst the students who recognized him first, and Draco could hear their astonished questions fluttering around him like a flock of cross-eyed pigeons. He was thankful that none of them called out to him. He just wanted to get to the Great Hall and sit down. Once McGonagall introduced him, that would answer most of their questions anyway.
They entered the Great Hall, and the students lingering between the tables parted like a wave as Hagrid stomped his way through. Draco smirked as he walked beside him, realizing that it had perks walking alongside such a monstrosity. Not only that, but many of the students missed his presence entirely. That would have enraged him when he was younger, but it was preferable at the moment when his reputation was at rock bottom.
They finally approached the staff table and McGonagall’s eyes inspected him closely. After a moment, she nodded.
“Much better, Mr. Malfoy. You can have a seat next to Hagrid.”
Draco nodded and followed Hagrid to the side of the table that faced the students. He didn’t like the idea of being able to see the students staring at him all through dinner but when he contemplated the alternative, he shivered. Seeing them stare was better than feeling their eyes on his back.
With Hagrid on his right, he had Madam Pince on his left, who resolutely ignored him. Across the table was Professor Flitwick, who gave him a polite smile.
“Young Mr. Malfoy! The Headmistress said you took the post, but I could hardly believe it. Still, it will be nice to have someone in that position, someone who is adept at magic. Poor Hagrid and the house elves have been slaving away to keep the castle in working order since Filch retired.”
Professor Sprout was next to him, and she hummed with a pointed look at Draco. “It’ll be hard work! Hope you’re up for it, Malfoy.”
Draco cleared his throat. “I’ll do my best, Professor.”
“Ah, you haven’t met our new Defense against the Dark Arts professor, have you?” Flitwick said, turning to the woman on his left. “This is Professor Glynis Bartrop, on loan to us from the Aurors.”
The witch on Flitwick’s left turned to him and nodded. She looked small, thin, and wiry, with a pointed hat that was too large for her head. Her eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s as she looked him over, but her smile wasn’t unkind.
“Hello Mr. Malfoy. I have heard a great deal about you.”
“Yes, I’m sure you have. It’s a pleasure to meet you, professor.”
“Hm, at least he has manners.”
“When he wants to use ‘em!” Hagrid joked as he lifted his cup.
The other three joined him in his laughter, and Draco resisted the urge to pout. It was never easy for him to put up with teasing unless the playing field was even. At the moment, he was at a severe disadvantage.
When the others quieted down, he turned to Professor Bartrop. “I imagine you also have your work cut out for you this year. The students didn’t learn much in the way of defense last year.”
“Yes, it was less defense and more dark arts, from what I heard,” she said, twisting her lips with distaste. “Surely you didn’t hate it, though? Would have thought the dark arts were a treat for a Malfoy.”
Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. “Not every Malfoy. I admit that when I was young, I thought I would dabble with the dark arts and it would make me powerful, but when I was forced to learn them… Well, it wasn’t what I thought it would be.”
“How did it make you feel?” she asked as she rested her chin on her long, spindly fingers.
Softly, he answered, “Like I was losing myself.”
Her eyes lit up. “Good!”
When Draco flinched at her answer, she shook her head and leaned closer to him.
“There are two kinds of people in the world, Mr. Malfoy. When performing dark arts, one side relishes the power it gives them, and the other recognizes that it strips them of themselves. The fact that you recognize it shows a depth of character that goes beyond how you were raised and the expectations of your parents.”
“Thank you,” he said, feeling his cheeks warm. Feeling the others watching him, however, he added, “It didn’t stop me from doing them, though.”
She shook her head. “I know. You were all children, and the fact that you were forced to do such terrible things enrages me. As an adult with full confidence, faculties, and knowledge, you would have been able to resist.”
“Maybe,” Draco replied with uncertainty. There were plenty of classmates who refused, and almost all of them were Gryffindors. Even when they suffered for it, they didn’t back down. Secretly, Draco admired them for it, as he always admired the way Potter threw himself into dangerous situations simply because he believed it to be the right thing.
He didn’t admire them enough to be braver, however. He could never have faced the consequences.
“It’ll be interesting to see what you do now,” she mused as she tapped her chin.
Goosebumps rose all over Draco’s arms and the back of his neck. Professor Bartrop seemed to be a fair individual, but the comment also held a warning that he was going to be watched very closely.
The other professors hummed in agreement. Draco could tell it was a bit awkward for them, and he could imagine why. He was never a bad student, at least not for Professor Flitwick. Draco always loved Charms, perhaps even more than Potions. But Draco had betrayed Hogwarts in several ways, and now he was back saying he was going to help. He imagined he was giving them all a bit of whiplash, and his ability to switch sides to gain favor wasn’t going to help him build trust.
Just give it time, Draco told himself. It was difficult to maintain that composure once the students were seated and McGonagall had him stand up so she could introduce him as the new caretaker. The reaction was immediate, horror from most of the students and disbelief from the Slytherins. His flight instinct was kicking in and he had to quickly fight it off. He’d signed a contract; there was no going back now.
“Now, what I am about to say may sound unfair to the majority of you here,” McGonagall continued, using a sharper tone that had the entire hall quieting in an instant. “I will not tolerate any form of bullying toward Mr. Malfoy, physical, verbal, or magical. Despite the way he may have treated some of you in the past, he is here now as a staff member of the school. He is here to help Hogwarts get back on its feet, and hindering him in his work will inevitably hurt Hogwarts itself. If you find yourself unable to treat him with any kind of respect, I ask that you ignore him instead.”
Draco resisted the urge to frown as snickers fluttered around the room at that. He preferred to be ignored than ganged up on by the students. Thankfully, McGonagall wrapped up her speech and the food was served, allowing Draco to eat in relative peace. Hagrid led the conversation around the table and Draco was surprised that the conversation soon veered to Potter. Apparently, he was a favorite topic amongst the staff.
Again, that would have bothered Draco in the past, Potter inevitably drawing attention away from him, but he was relieved for it at the moment. Intrigued, as well, since he hadn’t heard much from the man himself since he gave Draco his wand back after his trial. He knew from the Daily Prophet that Potter had been dragged into the Aurors as soon as he finished his NEWTS, which was a wonder since he hadn’t passed all of them with glowing results. To be honest, Draco has no idea how he passed any of them, being on the run for the entire year and fighting against the most evil wizards in history.
He probably owed it all to Granger.
“...hear all about it in the papers tomorrow, I wager,” Hagrid said, sighing heavily.
“Are you sure you understood him correctly, Hagrid?” Bartrop asked. “He’s only in his first year of training! It takes at least three years for him to be taken on raids.”
“Yeah, but this is Potter!” Flitwick said proudly. “What person his age has so much experience fighting dark wizards?”
“That’s not the point,” she said, pressing her lips in a thin line. “Sure, Potter has survival instincts, but there is so much to be learned during an auror’s initial years of training. There are hundreds of scenarios that he needs to be prepared for or he could make a mistake in the field that could cost his life or the lives of the aurors he’s with. It’s reckless! This never would have happened if Mad-Eye was still around.”
“You said it’ll be in the papers?” Draco asked Hagrid.
“Yeah,” Hagrid replied grimly. “Harry said he had to pose for pictures afterward with the other members of the team. He said it didn’t feel appropriate.”
“Then there’s your answer, professor,” Draco said, looking at Bartrop. “They’re just using Potter for his popularity. No one has faith in them now after the war and the overhaul of the Ministry, so they’re trying to get it back by showing off the fact that the savior is on their team.”
He flinched as her eyes flashed with fury. He didn’t think about the possibility of offending her.
“Blast,” she spit as she slammed her fist on the table. “I hate it, but you’re absolutely right. Robards shouldn’t be concerning himself with bloody politics right now. The world needs to be put back together! If he keeps doing this, Potter could die.”
“Should I tell ‘im?” Hagrid asked, shuffling nervously in his seat.
“I’m sure he knows by now when he’s being used,” Draco said. “It’s not like it’s the first time.”
“The stakes are a bit higher now,” Bartrop said, and Draco scoffed.
“Are they? How often was Potter in danger, particularly when being used as a political pawn, since starting here at Hogwarts, Hagrid?”
“Always in danger, poor lad,” Hagrid said, shaking his head. “Politics tho? Hm, Umbridge was the worst.”
Flitwick nodded. “Poor Potter was born a celebrity, there’s no avoiding it for him. I would have thought he’d retire for a quiet life.”
“Harry? Quiet?” Hagrid repeated and then barked a laugh. “Not possible. Tho a bit of peace would be good fer ‘im. Not as long as he’s with the Aurors, tho.”
“No,” the others repeated, shaking their heads solemnly.
Draco wasn’t surprised that Potter went into a career with the Aurors, but he also would have thought that he needed a break. He lost so much in the war, even more than Draco did. He wondered morbidly if Potter was so used to that lifestyle that he couldn’t live outside of it.
Sighing, he shook off thoughts of Potter and his inevitable death at the hands of politically driven Aurors. Come the ungodly hours of the morning, Draco would have his own problems to worry about. He had to take care of a whole bloody castle filled with people who hated him.