Chapter Text
Summer at Malfoy Manor was always predictable. Draco’s days were a mix of attending his father's cryptic meetings and enduring his mother’s constant hovering. Nothing ever changed.
After the incident with the Chamber of Secrets, Lucius Malfoy had made a half-hearted attempt at being affectionate toward Draco. It was so awkwardly forced that Draco could see the strain on his father’s face, as though expressing love was a chore. Still, Draco accepted it—better than nothing, right? But those brief moments of affection disappeared as quickly as they came, leaving Draco to wonder if they ever really happened at all. His father seemed relieved to no longer have to pretend.
It stung, of course. But Draco told himself it was just because he was older now. He was thirteen, after all—practically an adult. At least, that’s what he kept reminding himself. Yet, despite his age, Draco felt unchanged. His height had stayed the same, and his face still clung to the baby fat he despised. When he looked in the mirror, all he saw was a boy trapped in the same awkward, young body.
And then there were the nightmares.
Draco couldn’t shake the lingering presence of Tom Riddle. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he could swear he heard the man’s voice whispering in his head, creeping in like a ghost that refused to leave. The terror was suffocating, but he never said a word to his parents. They didn’t believe in things like therapy—called it a “waste of time.” So, Draco had convinced himself it was pointless, too.
In the past, he would have shared his worries with Dobby, but since Harry had freed the house-elf—without his permission, no less—Draco found himself talking to his pet Kneazle, Philomena. Unfortunately, Philomena wasn’t much of a listener. She always seemed more interested in ignoring him.
Currently, Draco was wandering downstairs to the kitchen, where the house-elves bustled about preparing food. He wouldn’t dare admit to his friends that his family still kept house-elves—they’d think it was improper or worse. His irritation flared at the thought of Harry freeing Dobby. Draco hadn’t even realized the elf was truly gone until he returned to Malfoy Manor and found the place eerily quieter.
His eyes landed on the Daily Prophet lying on the counter. Usually, Draco didn’t bother with the paper, but something compelled him to pick it up. He skimmed through the mundane headlines, barely paying attention, until a familiar sight made him stop short.
A large photo of the Weasley family greeted him. They were all huddled together, grinning widely. The bold headline read:
MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, "We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank."
The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.
Draco’s lip curled in disdain. He tried—really tried—not to sneer, but it was impossible. It was laughably clear that the Weasleys had no idea how to manage money. With seven children (which Draco still found unbelievably irresponsible for a family so poor), you’d think they’d spend the winnings on something practical. But no, instead, they were blowing it on a holiday to Egypt. Absolutely idiotic. Draco couldn’t help but shake his head at their foolishness.
And yet, as he looked closer at the photograph, his sneer faltered slightly. There was Ron, standing front and center, beaming from ear to ear and waving excitedly at the camera. Draco rolled his eyes at first, but something in Ron’s happiness—the genuine excitement—softened his judgment, if only for a moment.
Draco sighed, tossing the paper aside. Maybe the Weasleys didn’t make sense to him, but he couldn’t entirely begrudge them their small piece of joy. Not that he’d ever admit it out loud, of course.
Draco suddenly remembered—Harry’s birthday present! He darted down to the kitchen, grabbed a few snacks for the trek, and hurried back up to his spacious room. A wave of panic washed over him as he realized he had no gift for Harry, and his mother hadn’t taken him shopping in weeks. Harry’s birthday was tomorrow, and Draco was completely unprepared.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully, eyes scanning the clutter of his room, before a spark of inspiration hit him. Of course—Harry was a Quidditch player, and Draco had plenty of Quidditch gear lying around. A grin tugged at his lips as he pulled out his high-end broom maintenance kit, the perfect gift for a Seeker like Harry.
Though Draco often felt a pang of jealousy at Harry’s fame as the youngest Seeker in a century—a position Draco himself had dreamed of—he never gave up playing Quidditch. Flying was a solace for him, a place where he could forget everything. The feeling of soaring through the air, the wind whipping through his hair, was comforting, even if he didn’t have anyone to play with. He wished he could be on the team, but with Harry on it, especially as Seeker, there wasn’t much hope. Harry was better in every way.
Draco sat at his desk, pulling out a piece of parchment to quickly scrawl a birthday note. He tied the note to the carefully wrapped broom kit and handed the parcel to Ulysses, his family's owl. Sending it a day early was necessary; deliveries always took longer to reach the Muggle world.
The next day, Draco received a reply—Harry’s letter was filled with gratitude and warmth, something that brought an unexpected smile to Draco's face. The feeling lingered, warming his chest, until he spotted his mother sitting stiffly, her face twisted in a way that made him pause. She was holding the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, her fingers clenched around the paper, the air around her taut with tension.
“Mum, what’s wrong?” Draco asked, concern lacing his voice as he approached her. His eyes fell on the front page—a moving image of a man with wild, unkempt black hair, grimy skin, and a sinister expression. It was a mugshot, and the bold headline below it made Draco’s stomach lurch.
Sirius Black.
The name was familiar, of course. His mother was a Black before she married into the Malfoy family, but the topic of her relatives was always a delicate one. All Draco knew was that Sirius was some sort of distant cousin. His mother rarely spoke of him, and when she did, it was only in hushed, disdainful tones.
“Sirius Black,” Draco whispered, testing the name on his tongue. His mother’s lips tightened further, her eyes narrowing with a disdain Draco hadn’t seen before.
“How dare he escape,” Narcissa muttered under her breath, her gaze still locked on the paper. When she finally turned to Draco, her voice was cold, her words clipped. “We will not speak of this, Draco. Do not ask me again.”
With that, she left the room, the tension following her like a shadow.
Draco watched her go, the uneasy silence settling over him. He knew better than to press the issue—anything to do with the Black family was always off-limits. But curiosity gnawed at him. He had heard of Azkaban, of course, and the impossibility of escaping. The fact that someone had managed to break free, let alone a Black, sent a chill through him. If a man as dangerous as Sirius Black could outsmart Azkaban, what else was he capable of?
Draco couldn’t shake the unease that crept into his mind. The world suddenly felt a little more dangerous, a little darker, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.
Days passed, and out of nowhere, Draco received a letter from Hermione.
---
Hello, Draco!
I hope you’re having a wonderful summer. I don’t know if you’ve heard the news, but something’s happened to Harry. We’re going to Diagon Alley in three days and were wondering if you’d be able to come by yourself to catch up with Harry. He’s supposedly staying at the Leaky Cauldron, according to Ron’s father.
Wish to see you soon!
Bye, Hermione :)
---
As Draco read Hermione's words, his heart tightened at the phrase “something’s happened to Harry.” A surge of worry washed over him. He felt a pang of guilt for not knowing what was going on with his best friend. How had he missed it? His father worked at the Ministry of Magic—surely he would have heard something. Or perhaps Lucius simply hadn’t cared enough to share the news.
Lucius Malfoy had his moments of unexpected affection. After the chaos surrounding the Chamber of Secrets, he had been genuinely worried and even hugged Draco tightly, a gesture that felt both foreign and comforting. But those moments were fleeting; his father had always been a stoic figure, rarely showing warmth. Draco had learned to navigate their relationship carefully.
Determined to find out what was wrong, Draco decided to approach his father instead of his mother. Narcissa had been acting strangely ever since the news about Sirius Black broke, while Lucius seemed to remain his usual, composed self.
Still dressed in his pajamas, Draco descended the grand staircase of Malfoy Manor and entered his father’s office. Lucius was half-asleep, a large book resting heavily in his hand. The dim light of early morning filtered through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the room.
Draco rubbed his hands together nervously, steeling himself as he approached Lucius.
“Father?” he whispered, gently tapping his shoulder. Lucius jumped, clutching his chest as he stirred from slumber.
“Draco,” Lucius said, narrowing his eyes in irritation. “Warn me next time.”
Draco winced but couldn’t help the slight smile that crept onto his face. “I did. Anyway, I have something to discuss.”
“Go on,” Lucius replied, his tone impatient.
“I was wondering if I could go to Diagon Alley by myself this time…” Draco said, his voice slightly hesitant.
Lucius raised a thin eyebrow, his expression unreadable as he studied his son for a moment. “Why?”
Draco sighed inwardly, crafting his response carefully. “Well, I’m thirteen now. Everyone else goes by themselves, and I don’t want to be seen as the Malfoy who still latches onto their mother.”
He hoped the excuse would suffice, even if it felt like a thin veil over the truth. He glanced at his father, who seemed half-asleep, perhaps oblivious to the lie.
Lucius rubbed his eyes, contemplating. “Okay… but you need to tell me when and where you’ll be going. And don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, do you hear me?”
Draco fought to keep the grin from breaking out on his face. “Yes, thank you, Father. I’ll just be in the bookshops and supply stores to get more things for school.”
Lucius nodded absentmindedly, his gaze already drifting back to the book. Draco could sense he wasn’t fully engaged in the conversation and felt a wave of relief wash over him.
Once he was out of the office, a giddy excitement bubbled up within him. His father had actually agreed to let him go out on his own! It felt like a small victory, a step toward independence. He couldn’t wait to see Harry and find out what had happened.
The day finally arrived, and Draco woke up early, the anticipation buzzing in his veins. After a quick wash, he dressed in a casual yet elegant outfit that accentuated his lithe figure, tying his hair up with a ribbon to keep it neat. He slung a bag across his shoulder, ready for whatever awaited him.
With a firm goodbye to his parents, Draco hurried out of Malfoy Manor, feeling a thrill of freedom wash over him as he stepped into the bustling streets of Diagon Alley.
Upon entering the Leaky Cauldron, a popular pub buzzing with life, he immediately spotted a sea of familiar red hair and one brunette head. Ron Weasley was there, his skin tanned and dotted with freckles—a sure sign of his recent holiday in Egypt. Beside him stood Hermione Granger, still the same height but noticeably more mature; her figure had begun to develop, and her hair, while still bushy, appeared more controlled than in their first year.
“Ron! Hermione!” Draco called out, making his way over to them. They turned, and the moment their eyes met, Hermione beamed with delight and rushed toward him, enveloping him in a warm hug. Ron waved enthusiastically.
“It’s so good to see you!” Hermione said, her voice bright and cheerful, and Draco chuckled, a smile spreading across his face in response.
After exchanging greetings with the other Weasleys gathered at the table, Draco took a seat across from them, his eyes scanning the pub for the one person he had been eager to see.
“Where’s Harry?” he asked, the worry creeping into his tone.
“I don’t know, mate,” Ron replied, his brow furrowed. “We got here really early, but they said he left. We’ve been to Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkin’s—everywhere. Now we’re back here.”
Draco frowned, his concern deepening. “I hope he’s doing alright. Hermione, you really worried me with that letter.” He turned to her, his expression serious.
Before she could respond, Hermione’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in excitement. “Harry! HARRY!” she exclaimed, pointing behind Draco.
He turned around so quickly he surprised himself, almost expecting to hear a crack in his neck. There stood Harry, looking startled but undeniably happy to see them. His messy hair still clung to his forehead, but his face had sharpened, and his body looked more toned—he had grown, now standing at Draco’s height.
Hermione dashed forward to hug him, followed closely by Ron. Draco hung back for a moment, waiting for his turn, a flutter of nerves dancing in his stomach.
When it was finally Draco’s turn, he stepped forward and wrapped Harry in a tight embrace, feeling the familiar warmth radiating from him. Harry hugged him back just as fiercely.
“Harry, I’m so glad you’re okay. Tell us everything that happened,” Draco said as he pulled away, his hands lingering on Harry’s biceps.
“Okay, okay,” Harry said, looking a bit confused. “But how did you know I’d be here?”
“Dad,” Ron answered for Draco.
“Wait, hold on. Did you actually blow up your aunt?” Hermione asked, her expression now serious as she turned to Harry, her eyes wide in disbelief. Draco, too, looked at Harry incredulously.
Harry raised his hands in mock surrender. “Look, I didn’t mean to!” Ron, roaring with laughter behind them, was no help. “Seriously—I didn’t!”
“What could’ve possibly made you do that? No, better question: how are you not expelled?” Draco asked, completely flabbergasted.
“Honestly, it’s more surprising I wasn’t arrested,” Harry muttered under his breath. He turned to Ron. "Your dad doesn’t know why Fudge let me off the hook, does he?"
Ron, still snickering, shook his head. “It’s ‘cause you’re Harry Potter! You can get away with anything, and nobody would do a thing about it.” He grinned and continued, “Anyway, you can ask Dad yourself tonight. We’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron, so you can come to King’s Cross with us tomorrow! Hermione’s there too!”
“Wait, you’re not coming?” Harry asked Draco, suddenly realizing.
Draco blinked, a little caught off guard. “Well, I just found out about that now... but no, I can’t. You know my parents.” His voice dropped, a little embarrassed.
Harry looked slightly disappointed, his shoulders slumping. Ron, noticing the shift, threw an arm around Harry’s neck in a friendly headlock. “Don’t worry, mate. You’ll have me. I’m way more fun than Draco and his boring old books.”
Draco bristled, straightening up. “Hey! My books aren’t boring!” But his protest was completely ignored by Ron, who continued teasing.
Switching the subject, Ron pulled a long, thin box from his bag, opening it proudly. "Brand-new wand. Fourteen inches, willow, with a unicorn tail hair core. We’ve also got all our books sorted—"
“Speaking of books,” Harry said, turning his attention to Hermione. “What’s all that?” He pointed to not one, but three bulging bags stacked on the chair beside her.
“Well, I am taking more subjects than you two, aren’t I?” Hermione said, her tone matter-of-fact. “These are for Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Study of Ancient Runes, and Muggle Studies—”
“Muggle Studies?” Ron cut in, his face scrunched up in confusion. “Why on earth are you taking that? You’re Muggle-born! Your parents are Muggles! You already know all about Muggles.”
Hermione’s eyes gleamed as she replied earnestly, “But it’ll be fascinating to study them from the wizarding perspective.”
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Hermione, are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year?” Both Ron and Draco sniggered at this, but Hermione just huffed and ignored them.
“I’ve still got ten Galleons left,” she said, checking her purse. “My birthday’s in September, and Mum and Dad gave me money to get myself an early present.”
“I really want an owl,” Hermione says. “Harry’s got Hedwig, Draco’s got Ulysses, and you’ve got... well, Errol.”
“I haven’t,” Ron corrected himself. “Errol’s a family owl. All I’ve got is Scabbers.” He pulled his rat from his pocket, placing the small creature on the table. “And I should probably get him checked out. Egypt didn’t seem to agree with him.”
Scabbers looked thinner than ever, his whiskers drooping miserably.
“Aww, poor Scabbers,” Draco murmured, gently rubbing the rat’s head with his finger.
“There’s a magical creature shop right over there,” Harry suggested. “You could see if they’ve got anything for him. And Hermione can check out the owls.”
They entered the shop, the warm, musty scent of animals filling the air. As Ron approached the counter, Hermione drifted off to browse the pets. Draco and Harry stayed close to Ron.
“It’s my rat,” Ron told the witch behind the counter. “He’s been a bit under the weather since I brought him back from Egypt.”
“Put him on the counter,” the witch said in a bored tone, pulling a pair of heavy black spectacles from her pocket.
Ron carefully lifted Scabbers from his pocket and placed him on the counter. The witch squinted at the small rat, inspecting him thoroughly. “How old is this rat?” she asked.
“Dunno,” Ron shrugged. “Pretty old. He used to belong to my brother.”
The witch eyed Scabbers with suspicion. “What powers does he have?”
“Er...” Ron hesitated. Truthfully, Scabbers had never shown any sign of magical abilities. The witch’s eyes trailed from Scabbers’ tattered left ear to his missing front toe, tutting loudly.
“He’s been through a lot, this one,” she remarked.
Ron, feeling defensive, said, “He was like that when Percy gave him to me.”
“Ordinary rats like this don’t usually live past three years or so,” the witch explained.
“Guess Scabbers is one of a kind, then,” Draco quipped, laughing softly. Ron grinned at his friend’s comment.
The witch reached under the counter, producing a small red bottle. “You can try this rat tonic.”
“Okay,” Ron nodded. “How much—OUCH!” He cried out as something large and orange dropped from the top of the highest cage, landing on his head and then launching itself at Scabbers, spitting furiously.
“NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!” the witch shouted, but Scabbers, slippery as a bar of soap, shot from her hands, skittering across the floor and out the door.
“SCABBERS!” Ron yelled, racing out after his rat. Harry and Draco quickly followed.
After a frantic ten minutes of chasing, they finally found Scabbers hiding under a wastepaper bin outside Quality Quidditch Supplies. Draco carefully scooped up the trembling rat, handing him back to Ron, who shoved him safely into his pocket, his hand massaging his head where Crookshanks had attacked him.
“What was that thing?” Ron asked, still rattled.
“Looked like a Kneazle. Or at least half-Kneazle,” Draco huffed.
“Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked, glancing around for their bushy-haired friend.
“Probably still picking out her owl,” Ron replied with a roll of his eyes.
As they made their way back to the Magical Menagerie, Hermione emerged, her arms wrapped tightly around the enormous ginger cat.
“You bought that thing?” Ron gaped, his mouth hanging open.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Hermione beamed.
“Gorgeous is a stretch,” Draco muttered to Harry, who snorted in amusement.
“Hermione, that monster nearly scalped me!” Ron exclaimed.
“He didn’t mean to,” Hermione said, stroking Crookshanks as the cat purred in her arms.
Draco narrowed his eyes. “Why would you buy the pet that nearly killed Ron’s rat? You could’ve picked literally anything else.”
Hermione, stubborn as ever, ignored Draco’s criticism. “Poor Crookshanks, he’s been in the shop for ages. No one wanted him.”
“Wonder why,” Ron muttered sarcastically as they headed toward the Leaky Cauldron.
Inside, they found Mr. Weasley sitting in the bar, engrossed in his Daily Prophet. “Harry!” he greeted, smiling warmly. “How are you?”
“Fine, thanks,” Harry replied as Draco, Ron, and Hermione joined him.
Mr. Weasley folded his paper, and Harry’s eyes fell on the now-familiar image of Sirius Black, staring back at him from the front page.
“They still haven’t caught him?” Harry asked.
Mr. Weasley shook his head gravely. “No. They’ve pulled all of us off our regular duties to track him down, but no luck so far.”
“Would we get a reward if we caught him?” Ron asked, his eyes lighting up. “We could use the money—”
Draco slapped Ron lightly on the back of the head, earning a disgruntled look from his friend.
They sat in silence for a while before Draco suddenly stood, checking the clock on the wall. “Merlin, I’ve got to go. I can’t stay out this long.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked disappointed, but they smiled despite it.
“We’ll see you on the Hogwarts Express, Draco,” Harry said quietly.
Draco returned the smile and waved goodbye as he hurried off toward Malfoy Manor.