Chapter Text
Summer at Malfoy Manor was peaceful. Draco and his mother spent leisurely hours baking and cooking in the kitchen, while Draco and his father enjoyed tea together. Draco even took time to converse and joke with the house elves, much to his father's disapproval, and bonded with his beloved Kneazle, Philomena.
Currently, Draco was brushing his hair to prepare for his weekly hot oil treatment. His hair had grown longer from the treatment, now reaching his lower back. He had also grown taller, though he remained lean with a hint of baby fat still softening his cheeks.
Draco's thoughts drifted to his friends. He had been writing letters to them but hadn't received any replies from Harry. Concern gnawed at him, wondering if something had happened to his friend. He decided to write to Hermione and Ron to see if they had been in contact with Harry.
As he was in the middle of writing, Dobby, the house elf, appeared to announce dinner.
Dobby noticed Draco's preoccupied expression and spoke in his usual nervous tone, "Young Master Malfoy, what seems to be troubling you?"
Draco hesitated before replying, "It's nothing... I'm just worried about a friend who hasn't been responding to my letters."
Dobby perked up, "Is Young Master Malfoy referring to Harry Potter?" He blurted out before quickly covering his mouth.
Draco gave Dobby an incredulous look. "How do you know that?" He approached the elf, curious yet wary.
"D-Dobby hasn't heard anything—just a coincidence!" Dobby stammered, clearly lying.
Draco frowned. "I only mentioned them once," he recalled, having spoken of his friends during Christmas break but not to Dobby, suspecting something was amiss. "Where did you hear this from?"
Dobby froze, remaining silent for a moment.
"Well?" Draco pressed.
Finally, Dobby dropped to his knobby knees. "Young Master Malfoy, Dobby is so very sorry for intruding into your personal privacy!"
Feeling a twinge of guilt, Draco helped Dobby stand. "Dobby, it's alright. Just don't tell Father. But why were you snooping around?"
Dobby hesitated, then remained silent again. Draco was about to push for more answers when his mother called him down for dinner.
"I haven't forgotten about this," Draco said sternly, though his expression softened, and he headed downstairs for the meal.
"What took you so long, Draco?" his mother inquired with a raised eyebrow.
"I was just organizing my books," Draco quickly fabricated an excuse.
His mother accepted the explanation with a sweet smile, not pressing further.
The room fell into its usual quietude until his mother broke the silence.
"Honey, I know you enjoy ballet and piano, but we'll need to postpone your lessons. We're attending a party tomorrow..."
Draco inwardly groaned. Attending exclusive wizarding gatherings was nothing new to him, but that didn't mean he relished them.
He would have to greet countless people, engage in small talk with strangers, and endure the older pure-bloods' tedious matchmaking attempts, as if his future spouse were their decision to make, not his.
As Draco listened to his mother's plans for the party, he noticed Dobby sneaking around the stairs, heading towards Draco's room.
"What is that little elf doing?" Draco wondered, his curiosity piqued.
Trying not to draw attention, Draco remained seated and continued eating.
By the time dinner concluded, Dobby had already left, leaving Draco unable to investigate further.
Entering his room later, Draco inspected his surroundings for any signs of tampering but found everything in its usual place.
"Perhaps I'm reading too much into it," Draco reasoned with himself. Maybe Dobby had a legitimate reason for being in his room—perhaps cleaning, although his room appeared unchanged.
Deciding to set the matter aside for the time being, Draco dismissed the incident from his mind.
A day later, Draco received letters from Hermione and Ron, both expressing their concern that they hadn't heard from Harry either.
Draco read their words, a mix of sadness and frustration welled up inside him. How could Harry ignore them for almost a month, especially with his birthday approaching on July 31?
Draco's upset feelings soon gave way to anger. He couldn't understand why Harry would leave them hanging like this. Determined to address the issue, Draco resolved that when school resumed, Harry would definitely hear about it.
Draco sighed as he prepared to attend the tedious party. His parents insisted on leaving early, so he began dressing an hour beforehand.
Entering the shower, Draco scrubbed his body until it was squeaky clean. Once he stepped out, he applied cream and oil to keep his skin soft—a habit instilled by his mother, who was adamant about maintaining flawless skin, although Draco never had issues with dryness.
Dressed in high-quality robes, Draco noticed they had become slightly snug around his waist. However, the discomfort was minimal, and the tight fit wasn't apparent enough to warrant changing into another outfit.
Finally, Draco styled his hair into a French twist, leaving some front pieces to frame his face elegantly. Satisfied with his appearance, he resigned himself to the evening ahead, mentally preparing to endure the social gathering.
Draco met his impeccably dressed parents downstairs, both looking elegant and composed.
Once there, Draco's father knew numerous attendees, and they spent considerable time exchanging pleasantries and greetings.
"My, it's wonderful to see you, Narcissa," greeted one guest.
"Mr. Malfoy, delighted that you could make it," said another.
"Oh, your son has grown up so much. Though he still has that baby fat," remarked someone, causing Draco to frown slightly, though the comment went unnoticed by the speaker.
Draco recognized some familiar faces he really didn't want to see: Crabbe and Goyle with their parents, and Parkinson and Nott without theirs.
He quickly ducked behind a corner, hoping they wouldn't spot him.
After a moment, he finished his water and needed to use the restroom. The only way there was past those annoying people.
Draco thought, "I'm a Malfoy! I can handle this."
He straightened up, fixed his posture, and walked confidently toward them.
Parkinson was the first to notice him, sporting her usual mean smirk.
Parkinson's smirk stretched wider as Draco approached. With a haughty tilt of her head, she drawled, "Well, well, if it isn't little Draco Malfoy slithering out of his hiding spot. What brings you out of your hole today?"
Draco flinched inwardly, wondering how she always seemed to know when he was trying to avoid them.
"None of your business, Parkinson," Draco replied coolly, his silver eyes narrowing. "Just passing through."
Crabbe and Goyle exchanged grins, clearly relishing the tension. Nott, standing nearby, watched silently with a calculating gaze.
Parkinson smirked even wider, her voice dripping with condescension. "Oh, of course, just passing through," she mocked. "You always did excel at slinking around, didn't you?"
Draco's fingers curled into fists at his sides, but he resisted the urge to react. Instead, he gave Parkinson a measured look. "Enjoy your gathering," he said dismissively, then continued past them toward his destination, ignoring the snickers that followed him.
Draco rolled his eyes and hurried towards the bathroom, but paused as he heard muffled voices arguing behind a closed door.
"What in the world..." Draco thought, intrigued, as he pressed his ear against the door.
He could make out snippets of conversation—his father's voice, along with others.
"This plan is impossible now that he's gone," someone remarked.
"Are you always this slow? We've explained this over and over in our meetings," another voice replied, clearly exasperated.
“Yes, but are you really sure, Malfoy? I mean, what even is this ‘Chamber of Secrets’ we speak of?” a different voice questioned.
“The Chamber of Secrets is…”
Draco strained to hear more, but the voices suddenly dropped to a whisper. Puzzled and intrigued, Draco leaned back, wondering about this mysterious Chamber of Secrets and who they were discussing as being "gone."
Deciding to ponder this later, Draco continued to the bathroom, his head starting to ache with all the thoughts swirling in his mind.
Draco's eyes widened with a sudden thought—could they be referring to the Dark Lord? The one Harry had defeated, and everyone hoped would never return?
Pushing aside these unsettling thoughts as he typically did, Draco tried to focus on more immediate concerns.
It was now August, and instead of his usual trip to Diagon Alley with his mother, Draco found himself accompanying his father, who seemed to be in a foul mood. Draco pulled out the piece of parchment listing the items needed for his second year at Hogwarts, expecting they would head straight there. However, his father abruptly pushed him towards Knockturn Alley instead.
Anxiety washed over Draco as he leaned closer to his father. "Draco, you're grown now, don't expect to be coddled," his father said coldly, causing Draco to instinctively draw back.
Inside Knockturn Alley, Draco felt a chill as creepy figures eyed him up and down with unsettling looks.
They entered a dusty, unsanitary-looking shop called ‘Borgin and Burkes’. Draco followed his father inside, glancing around at the odd objects on display. He spotted a glass orb and reached out for it, but his father's wand swiftly intercepted, causing Draco to flinch.
"Don't touch anything, Draco," his father hissed.
Draco obediently withdrew his hand. "Yes, father."
As his father engaged in conversation with the shopkeeper, Draco tuned out their discussion and resumed his exploration of the shop. His gaze settled on an intriguing item—a hand mounted on display.
“Can I have this, Father?” Draco asked with a small smile, pointing at the hand.
"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" exclaimed Mr. Borgin, abandoning his conversation with Draco's father to attend to the boy. "Insert a candle, and it illuminates only for the holder! The best companion of thieves and plunderers! Your son has excellent taste, sir."
Draco inspected the hand more closely and noticed that it appeared to be decaying.
"I hope my son will aspire to more than a life of theft and plunder, Borgin," Mr. Malfoy replied coldly, causing Mr. Borgin to hastily interject, "No offense intended, sir—“
"Although if his grades don't improve," Father continued, his tone even colder, "that might be the path he's destined for." He shot Draco a stern look, causing the boy to shrink with embarrassment.
“It’s not my fault, Father. The teachers have favorites, and that Hermione Granger—“
Father snapped, his anger evident. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Draco, letting some Mudblood outperform you in every exam. Don’t blame the teachers; if you had been sorted into Slytherin like you were meant to, you would excel in your studies instead of being distracted by a bunch of low-life half-bloods in Gryffindor,” he ranted.
Draco's cheeks burned with humiliation, and he longed to leave the shop and return home.
"It's the same all over," Mr. Borgin remarked in his oily voice. "Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere—"
"Not with me," Father interjected sharply, his long nostrils flaring.
"No, sir, nor with me, sir," Mr. Borgin replied with a deep bow.
"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," Father said curtly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin. I have important business elsewhere today."
As Borgin and Draco's father walked away, leaving Draco alone, he rubbed his eyes, determined not to cry. He had grown accustomed to holding back tears whenever his father spoke to him that way.
“Psst!”
Draco's head snapped up. “W-Who’s there?”
He looked around nervously, walking backwards and darting his eyes left and right. Suddenly, there was a loud noise, and Draco nearly screamed as something stumbled out of a large, black cabinet.
Recognizing the figure immediately, Draco gasped, “Harry?!” He moved as if to hug him but stopped short, noticing Harry was covered in soot.
“What are you doing here?” Draco asked breathlessly as Harry emerged from the soot-covered cabinet.
“Floo powder gone wrong,” Harry replied, attempting to wipe the soot from his eyes.
“What brings you here?” Harry inquired in return.
“Just running an errand for my father,” Draco explained. Harry frowned skeptically. “In this place? That’s odd, isn’t it?”
Draco nodded in agreement, then suddenly recalled Harry's behavior throughout the summer—complete avoidance.
“I suggest you leave. I don’t want to speak to you anymore,” Draco said, crossing his arms and turning away from Harry.
Confused by the abrupt change in Draco's demeanor, Harry asked, “What are you talking about, Draco?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb with me,” Draco replied with a furrowed brow.
Harry tilted his head in confusion and concern. “No, seriously, I don’t—”
“Okay, then I’ll explain it to you,” Draco interrupted. “You’ve been ignoring me, Hermione, and Ron all summer. I even sent you a gift and got no reply! I thought we were friends.”
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. “You’ve got it all wrong—what actually happened was—”
Draco cut him off with a dismissive gesture. “Draco, time to go,” his father interjected, stepping out of the shop.
Draco glanced back at Harry and muttered, “See you later,” before leaving with his father.
They ventured into Flourish and Blotts, the bustling bookshop packed with wizards and witches preparing for the school year. Draco's narrowed gaze landed on Gilderoy Lockhart, whose autograph session was in full swing, with eager fans clutching copies of his autobiography.
Draco couldn't understand the widespread admiration for Lockhart. His writings often seemed embellished, if not outright fabricated.
As Draco craned his neck to catch a glimpse over the crowd, his father's stoic presence loomed behind him.
“We’ll be here for a while then,” Father muttered irritably.
Draco found himself wedged between a stack of books, struggling to see over taller heads. Sensing his son's difficulty, Mr. Malfoy deftly shifted Draco to his side, providing a clearer view.
Before them stood a table adorned with piles of Lockhart's books, and behind it was the man himself—a tall, handsome figure in flattering blue robes. His perfectly coiffed golden hair, chiseled features, and dazzling smile made Draco blush. He had acknowledged Lockhart's attractiveness before, but seeing him in person was a different experience altogether.
The man was speaking but he could barely hear him over the giggles of his fans until Lockhart gasped and yelled.
“It can’t be Harry Potter?”
The crowd parted and ended up almost crushing Draco. He clutched his father’s arm for support.
Lockhart quite literally dived forward and yanked Harry to the front. Draco saw Ron with a gaped mouth before being crushed by the crowd who began clapping.
The crowd burst into applause. He saw Harry's face turn pink underneath the snoot as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!
"When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography -which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge-" The crowd applauded again.
"He had no idea," Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his glasses slip to the end of his nose, "that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!"
The crowd cheered and Draco was in shock. Maybe he was as skilled as he says in his books. Dumbledore wouldn’t hire a fraud.
His father was heading to get Draco’s books when Draco headed to the other side of the crowd towards Harry.
"Famous Harry Potter," said Draco with a smirk. "Can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page." Walking near to Harry until a tiny red-head appeared with a serious look on her face.
"Leave him alone, he didn't want all that!"
Draco raised an eyebrow and looked incredolusly at Harry.
“This is Ron’s little sister. Ginny.” Harry answers. At the sound of his name, Ron appeared.
“Hey, Draco. Harry told us he saw you at Knockturn Alley. Mother never allows us to go there.” Ron says with a tired smile.
“Hello, Ron, and I suggest to not go at all.” Draco says remembering the creepy stares. He spotted Hermione’s bushy head. “Hi, Hermione.”
Hermione hugs him gently, “Draco you’ve grown a lot during the summer and you’re hair, I need your secrets.” She giggles.
“Just hot-oil treatment.” Said Draco and faced Harry, “Harry why were you going to tell me at Knockturn Alley?” Remembering that Harry was trying to tell him self.
Harry looked confused but then awed, “Oh! I was saying that the reason I couldn’t respond to your letters is because there was an elf who kept stealing them for some reason.”
It seems like Draco’s brain lit a light bulb. An elf, Harry says, he saw a suspicious house-elf acting off and somehow knowing his friendship with Harry. “Does the elf go by the name Dobby?” Draco asks.
Harry’s eyes widen, “How did you know—“
“Draco, why are you speaking with these… cretins?” His father's voice, cold and sharp, suddenly cut through the air behind him.
“They came up to me, Father. Harassing me, as always,” Draco replied quickly, a flicker of fear in his eyes. Ron frowned, ready to retort, but the warning look on Harry's face made him stop.
"Ron!" called Mr. Weasley, pushing through the crowded shop with Fred and George in tow. "What are you doing? It's too crowded in here; let's go outside."
Lucius smirked at the sight of Mr. Weasley, a sinister gleam in his eye, and Draco felt a knot tighten in his stomach, dreading what was to come.
“Arthur Weasley, I didn’t expect to see you here,” Lucius sneered. “A bit of an unusual stop for you, isn't it?”
"Lucius," Mr. Weasley responded, his tone icy.
"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear," Lucius continued, his voice dripping with mock concern. "All those raids... I hope they're paying you overtime?"
Without warning, Lucius reached into Ginny's cauldron, extracting a battered copy of *A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration* from amidst the shiny Lockhart books.
"Obviously not," Lucius commented, his voice laced with scorn. "Dear me, what's the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?"
Mr. Weasley’s face turned a deep, furious red, darker than either Ron’s or Ginny’s.
Lucius then turned his contemptuous gaze to Hermione and her parents, his lip curling in disdain. “The company you keep as a pure-blood is disgraceful, Weasley. I thought your family couldn’t sink any lower, but clearly, I was mistaken.”
“Father, please, let’s just go—” Draco interjected, his voice edged with desperation.
In a heartbeat, Mr. Weasley lunged at Lucius, slamming him into a bookshelf. Heavy spellbooks rained down on their heads as the shop erupted in chaos. The Weasley twins cheered, "Get him, Dad!" while Mrs. Weasley shrieked, "No, Arthur, no!"
“Father, stop! Stop it!” Draco shouted, trying to pull his father away from Mr. Weasley amidst the cacophony of voices.
Hagrid appeared suddenly, his massive form parting the crowd as he pulled the two men apart.
Mr. Weasley had a cut lip, and Mr. Malfoy sported a swelling bruise around his eye from an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. Still clutching Ginny's old Transfiguration book, he thrust it at her, his eyes blazing with hatred. "Here, girl – take your book – it's the best your father can give you." With a final venomous glare, he pulled himself from Hagrid's grasp and beckoned to Draco.
Draco glanced back at the Weasleys and Hermione, his face pale. He mouthed, “I’m sorry,” before hurrying after his father.
“Father, are you alright? He hit you quite hard…” Draco said timidly as they walked away.
“What do you think, Draco?!” Lucius snapped, his voice seething with rage.
Draco fell silent, the knot in his stomach tightening further.