Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tiny bubbles in the moss-coloured cauldron start shimmering and spreading bigger bubbles as trails of thin mist float into the air and shine through the floating orbs around the room, adding to the enigmatic atmosphere that Draco loves. He watched the smoke becoming denser at the same time he stirred the liquid inside. Draco’s nose can pick up several familiar smells, such as rose, honey, and other sweet substances that merge together in the pink water. He exhaled when he doused the fire and poured the liquid inside a vial.

A sudden sound of BANG! Startle him and the vial almost slips from his grasp.

Draco sent the culprit his nastiest glare and continued his work.

“It’s canceled!” the culprit announced while striding inside, flicking the wand in his hand and a chair slid in a perfect time for him to sit.

A bored voice coming from different sides of the room responds, “My condolence.”

“Come on, Theodore, it’s your child too!”

“Which one? I have too many,” Theodore answered with his head deep inside a chunk of metal

“What is that– no, don’t answer that. I’m talking about CIME.”

Draco huffed as he put the last vial of the potion he brewed on the rack and turned toward the man sitting leisurely on the chair, in the middle of the room, “I thought we agreed on PHOENIX–Pivotal Harmonizing Omni-dimensional Engine for Nexus Expeditions?”

The man snorted, “If you think I would use your boyfriend’s secret organization-”

“He is not my boyfriend!” Draco shouted and shot a jinx toward the man which he blocked easily.

The man rolling his eyes, “Sure, he is not. Theo? Any input?”

The man in question pulled his head and turned, “Honestly Blaze, I prefer PAST–Portable Apparatus for–”

“Which, I don’t care! Seriously! I’m talking about a complete shutdown of our biggest project!” Blaise cries out and stand up walking toward Theo but then, changed his mind, stopped and turned his head. He made eye contact with a mildly fuming blonde.

Draco groans and glares at Blaise, “Why? What did you do?”

Blaise gasped, his eyebrows lifted as if they wanted to vanish into his hairline, while his eyes were wide open, “You did not just accuse me!”

Draco sighs in frustration,“Then what? Why? How come CIE-

“It’s CIME–Compact Interdimensional Manipulator of–”

“Existence! I know! Tell me why, this amazing– dare I say the most Brilliant, Excellent, Flawless, Gen-” Not one to stay still for the whole Draco’s glorification speech, Theo threw away his gloves and jumped over the rail to walk where two of his best friends were gathered.

“Explain, Blaze. Did something happen? Explosion? unexplained noise? or did the magic leak?” Theo asked, shutting the blonde down, concern can be heard in his tone.

Blaise shook his head. “No, Madame Loxley said—” he cleared his throat, mimicking her with a high-pitched and sharp tone, “The risks are too great, and the consequences outweigh the potential outcome. While I agree this idea seems intriguing, we all possess enough experience to recognize that it is likely to result in more losses than gains. Furthermore, I regret to inform you that your recent work does not provide the necessary foundation to continue with this project.” He finished his mocking recital with an exaggerated eye roll.

Draco throws his hands into the air, “Great! So, our sleepless nights have paid nothing! Zero!”

Theo sighed, he took the vacant chair and dropped himself on it, “Well… It would be a lie if I said this isn’t in my calculation”

Blaise raised an eyebrow and gestured with his hand, encouraging Theo to speak further.

“It is dangerous– This, CIME. We all know it’s still unstable, unlike its predecessor, the classic time-turner. We don’t have perfect control over this device–and we haven’t got to the magic it consumes, it… just, too much risk,” his voice became quieter as he finished his words, “That’s why, I did see this coming,” He added with a shrug.

“Bollocks! We just need to stabilize it, find a way to reduce the magic it absorbed, then test it out! And three of us would be on the front page of Daily Prophet with medals on our chest!”

Draco’s last words caused Theo to whirl himself, eyes bugged at the blonde, “We can get medals?” he asked, awe in his voice

Blaise snorted and pet Theo’s hair, “That’s a good idea Draco, want to be the first?” he fished something out of his robe’s pocket and threw it at Draco, surprising the man.

Draco caught it just in time before the device hit his nose, “Bloody hell! Give a man a warning! This costs more than our salary!” he grunted in annoyance and started inspecting the round thing in his hand. CIME as Blaise called it, looks no different from a muggle pocket watch. A golden round with a chain attached to it, the only difference it has was buttons on the side–row of ugly buttons, according to Draco, for how misplaced it looks. He tried to design in a better way, but Theodore— the tasteless engineer, stopped him with his flat tone, “Do not, it will interfere with function.”

Draco clicked his tongue as the annoyance wash trough him. He press the round pocket gently to open the lid and showed the clock inside. At first the appearance is just like any pocket watch but when he gently roll the pocket to the right— the screen showed: date, month, and year, and when he roll to the left—the screen showed: six zeros— zero hours, zero minutes, and zero seconds.

Unstable? No, it is not. She just need more test and improvement— Draco thinks.

“Be careful, Dray.” Theo warned him

“Shut it. We can not let her die.” Draco respond with a clear annoyance. His attention is still on the pocket as his hand taps, rolls, and examine every inch of it.

Blaise huffed, “I told you, I didn’t do anything, I haven’t opened it since the last time- let alone test it my self!”

Draco sigh and shift his attention back to the two men, “I need to see the core. I need to conduct deep investigation-”

“Again?” Blaise asked and steps forward, “You already done that hundreds of time-I honestly don’t think there is anything wrong with CIME, aside from the clear doubt Madame Loxley has toward the three of us!” his angry voice echos through the room

Theo exhale loudly and turns his body away from the two frustrated men and close his eyes, relaxing on the chair.

They were silent, each man trying to think of a solution to this major issue. Draco looked around, intentionally searching for inspiration. Their “workroom” was a large, cave-like space. The door was tall and heavy, made of oak, and next to it stood a small table and a rack for their outer robes and various bits and bobs. To the right was Blaise’s area: a huge bookshelf, crammed with books related to his research on time—whether they included magic or not, and whether they were written by magical people or mere Muggles. There was also a table, a couple of chairs, a sofa, and, on the far side, a rack filled with various time-related items, most of which were broken or prototypes.

Further to the right was Draco’s space, an area that screamed “crazy potion master” due to the giant cauldron at its center, surrounded by several smaller cauldrons on the long table. Draco also had his own giant shelf—the part holding books was decorated with plants and pretty vials, while the other part, filled with ingredients, was decorated with the vision of itself. And, of course, there were vials everywhere—because there were never too many vials for him.

Finally, on the left side of the room was Theo’s area, the loudest part of the room. It was filled with metals, golems, automata, strange shapes that Draco didn’t bother remembering, and many, many Muggle items. And, of course, Theo had his own giant shelf, full of books and his own inventions.

His grey eyes scanning several items on Theo’s rack trying his best feeding his brain to form any plan going forward. They have lose countless nights, thinking, brewing, reading, rituals, discussing, researching, molding, testing— hell even going on an adventure to find various materials for this project! And after all of that— painful birth of CIME, their boss said they need to stop? They have to forget about her, their daughter! How? How one- a parent can neglect their own flesh- well, not really.

But, the point is, he can’t do that, neither of them can’t just step down from this project and find another way to give birth to a new one.

Draco stare at CIME, grasping it with determination, “We need to talk to Madame Loxley—”

“No,” Blaise cut him, “If you must, then go without me, I’m done looking at her crooked nose and-” he reached and took the round object from Draco’s hand, earning a gasp, “maybe find a way to revive or alter-”

“Alter? In what way?” Theo interjected, standing abruptly causing the chair to sway before fall down

Blaise glanced at him and shrugged, “I don’t know, turn her to a new device? new project?” his hand start caress the device, playing with it

Suddenly, Draco snatched CIME and shouts, “Are you giving up on our daughter?! How could you! Have you forgotten the pain we’ve been through just to make her? I was not sleeping! for months! Do I need to remind you the process of me created her core?! It was something that hasn’t exist before! I ! Me ! was the one who-”

In respond of Draco’s out burst, Blaise grabbed the device back and shouted back, “I know, Draco! I was there! You did not need to scream at me like a lunatic! I was the head of the project! This- her was born from my idea-”

“Alright, Mates-” Theo steps forward, tried to place himself between the two heated men.

“Born from yours? I beg you pardon!” Draco screamed, his hand still gripping CIME despite Blaise’s attempt to take it back.

“Yes! It was my idea! I was the head-” Blaise snapped, but Draco’s hand was now actively pulling the device away.

“You were not the head of this project! nor-” Draco growled as Blaise added more force, managing to resist his grip.

“Oh? and who is it? You, Draco? Were you the-” Blaise sneered as their hands turned the device into the center of a tug-of-war.

“For Salazar sake! Stop!” Theo yelled, stepping in to grab CIME from both men. But just as his hand touched the device, a sudden, blinding light erupted from their joined hands, freezing Theo in place.

“What—” was all Theo could say before his vision was overwhelmed by the light.

The blinding brilliance burned straight into their eyes, searing with unbearable intensity. Each man screamed in terror, yet no sound emerged. The pain radiated from their eyes, spreading like wildfire through their heads and into their bodies. Their once-white vision twisted into harsh black and white. The agony grew monstrous, as though their bones were being crushed, their flesh melting, and their organs exploding left and right-in a gruesome cascade. It felt as if they were thrown into a giant blender, shredded to a pulp, their existence churned into a horrific, chaotic slurry.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Draco gasped loudly, the faint echo of his own scream still lingering in his ears. Blinking rapidly, he looked around frantically at his surroundings—his vision had returned. His breaths came in quick, shallow bursts as he wiped at the tears streaming down his face. Panicked, he began checking his body, feeling and testing for missing parts or broken limbs. To his relief, he found nothing wrong.

He paused his frantic self-examination and started to assess his surroundings. A sliver of light caught his eye, seeping in from the right. It seemed to be coming from behind a curtain- a window, he thought. His hand tightened instinctively, and he looked down to see he was clutching a sheet- A bed? He questioned himself, confusion washing over him. How did it get here?

However, his questions were put on hold as his ears picked up a sound nearby. His gaze snapped to a figure on his left, and the sight that met him froze his terror-stricken heart. A face with sagging, wrinkled skin and bulging eyes loomed before him, sending a fresh wave of fear through his body. Draco screamed.

“Master Draco, it’s Meep, Did master has a nightmare?” a meek voice, questioned him

Draco cut his scream and gawked at the source of the voice, he immediately recognized the figure as an elf, a familiar one, “Meep?! what are you doing here?”

The elf tilted her head to the side, “Meep doesn’t understand Master Draco’s question”

Draco shook the remain dizziness inside his head and scoot closer to the elf, “Here, the laboratory, in department of mystery, you can’t be here. I didn’t called you, nor giving you permission— no, wait, how did you passed the ward?!”

Meep the elf, blinks at Draco. Her wrinkles face morph into expression between of confusion and concern. She shook her head, her big ear flapped, “Meep still doesn’t understand the question. Meep is the Malfoy’s elf, Meep should be in Malfoy Manor, Malfoy Manor’s ward has accepted Meep—”

“Wait, slow down,” Draco put his hand up, signaling the elf to stop talking. Draco’s scanned his surrounding again—and this time his eyes were able to picked familiar things. The first thing is the bed he was on, he couldn’t see the sheet’s pattern nor the colour clearly but he could see the size of the bed and it was clearly too big for a typical bed in the ministry. The second thing is the canopy bed— whose in the right mind put canopy in the ministry’s dorm?

Draco’s eyes travel up, staring at fabric that cover the canopy. He could pick the patterns as the light travel pierce into the see-through fabric. Veins and roses. Draco then see a flash of memory of him pointing the same fabric in a store to his mother, he remember how proud he was to find a perfect canopy cover for himself and how the patterns match the wallpaper that he chose earlier that day. Draco’s eyes jumped to wall near him and saw flowers and birds.

In that moment he understood. He was in his own room. In the Manor.

How?

“Master Draco? Should Meep call Mistress Narcissa?” the elf asked with a voice full of concern

Draco shook his head and move closer to the edge of the bed. He swung his foot down but found it was a bit too far from the floor. Frowning, Draco asked, “Did you raise my bed, Meep?”

“Meep doesn’t remember doing that, Master. Does Master want Meep to raise it?”

“No, it just— never mind,” Draco gave a small jump to the floor. He tried to recall the moment when the light had emerged from CIME, and the lingering ghost of pain in his body—it all felt too real to be a simple nightmare. Did CIME teleport him here? Did that mean Blaise and Theo were also at their manor? Had CIME always had this capability, or was it something they had just discovered?

He scanned the room once more and felt that something was off. His shelf, his nightstand, even the silhouette of his table seemed bigger than Draco remembered.

Leaving the bed, Draco took several steps forward and when he turns his head to the left, he meet with a familiar figure.

Draco felt his stomach drop, and in a rush, he patted his body. “Where—my wand? Wait, why am I in pyjamas?” He brought his hand closer to his eyes and saw a design on the clothes he was wearing, a pattern of mermaids he had seen repeatedly in his life.

“Meep! Summon the light!” Draco shouted in panic, feeling his heart begin to race.

“Yes, Master,” Meep responded. With a snap of her fingers, the candles in the room flickered to life.

Disbelief. Fear. Confusion. All surged and mixed inside Draco’s body.

His mouth hung open, agape like a dying fish. His eyes were wide, as if they might jump out of their sockets.

“What- How-” He gasped between words, his voice trembling. He touched his face, patted it and pinched. Next, he touched his own hands and bring his legs up.

“No— No—” he twirled around and stopped.

“Meep.” he called the elf that has been silently observing.

“Yes, Master Draco?” the elf steps forward, closing their distance

“Where is my wand?” Draco asked with his eyes glued to his own reflection on a tall mirror.

“Master will received Master’s own Wand tomorrow, when Master and—”

“Meep, answer me—why… I… don’t have my own wand?” he asked again, blinking rapidly as if trying to process the situation. His breath began to shorten. Deep down, he already knew the answer to his own question.

“According to Ministry rules, young wizards and witches can only receive their own Wand once they reach the age of 11. That’s why, Master will receive Master own Wand tomorrow, accompanied by Master Lucius and Mistress Narcissa.”

As soon as the elf finished her explanation, Draco’s legs gave way, and he collapsed to the floor.

“Master Draco!” Meep exclaimed and rushed to Draco’s side, “Please, Master, let Meep help.”

The elf snapped her finger and Draco’s body start floating toward the bed.

“Master Draco?” The elf asked, her voice soft, as if to avoid startling the blonde. Draco didn’t respond— his eyes were fixed on the ceiling of his bed canopy. A minute passed, and suddenly the elf was no longer beside him, but his mind was too loud for him to care. A stream of questions rushed through every corner of his brain, none of them able to be answered in any logical way.

“CIME was unstable,” he muttered to himself. “But it could only be activated once the time, date, and year were set in place.” He paused for a moment, digesting his own words. “CIME required an enormous amount of magical energy. The further the destination, the higher the cost.”

Draco replayed Theo’s words in his mind. “With this amount of magic required, the operator might lose their life as soon as they press the button.” The memory shifted to Blaise: “Then we can’t go further than eight months—at least for now. You might need to revisit your core-making recipe, Draco, after we test her out.”

Suddenly, his bedroom room swing open and a tall woman heading toward Draco with a concern expression, “Draco, my dear? Meep told me you had a nightmare?” his mother, Narcissa, asked him with her soft motherly voice. She then graciously sit next to Draco on the bed. Her hand touched Draco’s forehead, then move to caress his hair, “Are you okay, dear?”

Draco closed his eyes and nods, unable to answered.

Couple of seconds passed before he heard her move, making herself comfortable before pulling him into her arms.

“You can tell me tomorrow, okay? Let’s try to go back to sleep. Mother will lie here, next to you,” she said, her hands gently patting Draco’s back.

Draco nuzzled into her chest, inhaling her perfume—a familiar scent that helped his mind slow down. He tightened his arms around her, and his mother responded in kind. Draco could feel the warmth of her embrace slowly melting away the ball of horror that had consumed him moments before.

He decided to set his questions aside and let the mental exhaustion wash over him. Whatever happened tomorrow, he would face it then.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Blaise could laugh. Should have laugh. Waking up with a pounding headache only to found out it was not from dousing in alcohols but far more troublesome was a peak comedy. If he could produce this level of humor as part of his own show, Blaise might have to resign from the ministry. Seriously, who needs a job that has to deal with tons of highly dangerous theories and things, with a salary that lower than her own mother’s? His mother didn’t even have a job! Well, maybe not a job, job.

“Blaise,” a voice called him and he snapped his attention toward the woman in front of him, “Are you okay, tesoro?” his mother asked, her voice full of concern as she stare at him. A glass of wine floating on her open palm.

Blaise smiled, “Yes, Mamma, just tired. I think I should head to bed.”

The woman, Sabrina, nodded at her son’s words, “Of course, tesoro. We need to go to Diagon Alley tomorrow morning. Buonanotte.” She caught the glass and took a sip as Blaise stood up and walked away, leaving her to her book and wine beneath the floating candles in her boudoir-room.

As Blaise walked through the hallway, he felt a little annoyed by how short his legs were and how he could only take tiny steps. His eyes roamed over the walls, windows, and decorations. His mind was playing a comparison game. His mother and his ex- wife, always easily bored, was constantly changing things in the manor—whether by vanishing or adding items, or rearranging the furniture and decor. They were such a duo. Blaise had already spotted at least 55 differences based on his memory of the future.

The sound of the door closing, followed by the click of the lock, echoed as Blaise stepped into his room. His eyes immediately found a plate of grape on his nightstand, silently thanking his mother’s elf. He smiled, picked one and toss into his opened mouth. His eyes travels to his room while chewing, he picked a few furniture that she vanished when they move here together. He closed his eyes immediately, putting enough force behind it to push back any attempt of tears from falling. This was not the time to be swallowed by a memory of what he had lost.

When he was certain no tears would come, he opened his eyes and saw a pile of golden dust next to the plate. A familiar shade of gold— if you were happened to be a certain Blonde who has ridiculous knowledge of colours and style you would recognized where this dust came from at the first glance.

Blaise exhale when he thinks about one of his best friend. Draco must have screamed, cried, hyperventilation, and other dramatic antics as soon as he wake up. Blaise snorted and playing with the dust— or more precisely, the remain of their daughter, CIME.

“Oh, how young you were, mi caro,” he said to no one but himself, “I can not believe your life would cut this short. Died in the hands of your own parents and turned into a collect of dust. How tragic.” he plopped one more grape before threw himself on his bed.

Staring into nothing in particular, Blaise arranged his thought on the situation. ‘Time’ was his subject, the soul of his work, essentially. He might not be considered an expert in this field, however the amount works he has poured into this subject has given him enough experience to conclude that: 1) CIME has exploded, 2) it happened after or at the same time as she sent him in the past, 3) this was a reality, not a dream, 4) if he was here, then it’s mean Draco and Theo also here, 5) Madame Loxley, if not already—would, fired them, 6) the three of them was now, 11 years old & unemployed, 7) they were utterly—absolutely, fucked.

Blaise massaged his pounding head as the potential consequences of their actions began floating through his mind. He sighed, He was way too young for this amount of stress.

He shifted his thoughts to his two best friends. Draco would be fine, he knew. He had a mother who coddled him like a baby and a father who, despite looking like he had a cane permanently stuck up his rectum, would clearly buy the world for his beloved son. But Theo? Blaise wasn’t so sure. Theo’s father, Tiberius Nott, was a textbook example of a horrible father—a literal personification of a broken wand: useless and dangerous. Blaise hated the thought of Theo having to live with that old man again.

Theo’s mother, Elena Nott, was a weird woman. Blaise couldn’t think of her without feeling guilty, as if even considering her oddities might offend his best friend. He had met her once, alongside his own mother, just a month before her passing. He remembered how frail she looked—her thin frame, her drooping eyes that seemed ready to melt along with her skin—but what struck him most was the way she spoke about death.

To summarize, that woman truly wanted to die. She adored the concept of death, almost relished the feeling of it creeping through her fragile body. What made it worse was her complete indifference to how her absence might affect her son. She showed no concern for Theo’s feelings or the impact her departure would have on him.

Blaise hated her for it, but he knew Theo well enough to keep his personal feelings about Mrs. Nott to himself.

He sighed and stared at the green fabric that covered his canopy, almost seeing her—the only woman who had ever owned his whole heart. Blaise slapped his face and rubbed his eyes. This was not a problem he could solve alone, locked in a room and trapped in the body of a child. He pushed his scrambled thoughts to the back of his mind and let sleep take over.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Theo watched as the tree branches swayed, snapping and being blown away by the wind. He could hear the wind outside, growling like a pack of wild cats. The elm tree his grandmother had once planted was fighting for its life just outside the window where he stood. He might have run to the tree and found a way to strap it down, but the sight of his father sitting in the room next to the door was enough to keep his feet glued to the floor.

“Theo, my son,” a soft and distance voice called for Theo’s attention.

Theo turns toward the source of the voice, he smiled and walks away from the window, “Sì, Mamma.” he asked as he took a seat on a chair, next to a bed. He reaching toward the woman’s hand, gently holding it. “Is something matter?”

“Mio figlio,” she said in breathy voice, “I saw him, he was there.”

Theo’s body stiffened as the umpteenth wave of déjà vu clawed at his heart. For a moment, he was paralyzed by his mother’s expression—her distant eyes, her teeth-smile, and the weight of her words. But when her pale blue eyes blinked at him, Theo mentally shook himself and forced a smile in return.

“Vedo.” he said with a calm voice unlike his beating heart, “I’m glad you see him, Mamma.” he grasped her hand slight tightly before he kissed it gently.

The woman smiled, her eyes dropped and her body swayed—right, left, right, and left, as if she heard a music played.

“You are tired, Mamma. Let’s sleep, okay?”He patted her hand, stood up, climbed into the bed, and reached toward her. He placed one hand on her back and the other on her upper arm, gently guiding her down onto the bed. She followed his lead and lay down, giggling as she blinked at the ceiling, “He is waiting for me, Theodore. quanto è dolce da parte sua.”

Theo bit his lip, feeling his hands begin to tremble, but he remained silent. Once his mother was settled on the bed with the blanket covering her, he smiled at her, and she kindly reciprocated. Theo then kissed her forehead and whispered, “Sogni d’oro, Mamma.”

Once he closed his mother’s chamber door, Theo let out a sigh. His legs were trembling, and his eyes were filled with tears. Oh, Merlin, what had he done to deserve this hell—again?

A faint sound of footsteps snapped Theo out of his thoughts. He immediately straightened up and wiped his eyes as quickly as possible. He stood still in front of the door, his gaze fixed on a painting of a puppy with a cracked surface and yellowed canvas. The puppy was mid-jump, chasing a fractured butterfly. The darkened colours at the animal’s smile were noticeable. Theo didn’t know which of his ancestors had painted or purchased this, but the painting was one of the things he chose to leave untouched when he inherited and renovated the manor.

“Theo.” a rough voice called his name.

“Yes, Father.” Theo answered immediately in the same time he move his attention to the man standing not to far from him.

“How’s your mother?” the man asked and continue his walks toward Theo.

Theo’s legs start shaking again. He brought both his hands to his back. His left hand grips his right wrist, digging it with his nails.

“Mother is sleeping, father.” he answered, thanking Merlin for the steadiness in his voice. The man nods, standing in front of him. He deep blue eyes staring Theo down, he has faint frown on his forehead, strands of hair falling down framing a rough face. Theo gulped and his grips become tighter.

“Look at me, boy,” the man commanded, and Theo flinched before obeying. “Tomorrow, we will go to Diagon Alley. No staring, no running. Walk behind me and do not speak unless I ask you a question. Understand?”

Theo nodded, doing his best to keep his eyes locked on the pair of blue eyes that had haunted him all his life. “Understood, Father.”

The man threw Theo one last glare before straightening himself and walking away. Once Theo could no longer see his back, he immediately turned in the opposite direction and ran. He ran on his shaky legs, his breathing frantic, tears streaking down his face. He knew his wrist was bleeding, but nothing was more important than reaching his room.

As soon as he closed his door, Theo collapsed to the ground. He began chanting every spell he could remember, his open palms pressed against the floor. He knew, realistically, without a wand and with the magic of an 11 year old, there was nothing he could cast. But with Merlin’s, Salazar’s, and the Muggle gods’ names on his lips, he allowed himself to believe that his magic could take shape, protecting him within the confines of his room.

“In the name of Salazar— defendat me, quaeso, quaeso, please, please.” he chants in a weak voice with streams of tears coming down, fall on the floor and on his hands, joining with the red liquid coming from his wrist.

“Please, please, Merlin, god, jesus, anyone, please.” he sobs as he slowly sinking down the cold floor.

🐍🐍🐍

Chapter Text

Once upon a time, when Draco was—a literal 11 years old, he would jump with joy while holding his mother’s hand. He would try his best to contain his excitement at the prospect of getting his own wand and shopping for his school supplies. Too bad, he was 26 years old—at least mentally. Draco took a deep breath, he has to thank Meep for the chamomile tea she made for him before the portkey time, because Diagon Alley was exactly as Draco expected; crowded, humid, and loud. He has to silently reminded himself not to attempt wandless apparate, although he would 99,999% failed.

“Come on, dear.” his mother grasped Draco’s right hand gently and pulled him along as they walk into the street. Draco followed his parents with caution, his little legs were not helping on the wet-busy street. He looks up to the sky and saw nothing but grey clouds, he huffed. His mood turns even more sour, where was the sun when a child need it?

They walked for a while as Draco did his best to hide between his tall parents. He was not in the mood to deal with any acquaintances who might test his patience; losing his temper in a public area in front of his mother was akin to a suicide attempt. They passed several stores, most of which were familiar to Draco. He could count the ones that had been destroyed during the Dark Lord’s reign, those lucky enough to survive, and others that had changed businesses after the war.

When Draco passed a certain store, his feet almost hesitated, wanting to stop and change direction. He might not have his own Wand yet, but with his knowledge of potions and runes, he could still cause damage.

The store that awakened Draco’s violent side was a potions shop. At 20 years of age, Draco Malfoy had not only been a former convict but also a newly certified Potion Master. Armed with his degree, he applied to this very store. In return, he received not only the nastiest glare he had ever endured from an old man with a receding hairline— but also several burns from the insults for the audacity of his application.

That disgusting, greasy old man hadn’t stopped at bringing up Draco’s “criminal record” (A teenager made a mistake? What a shock!), but had also bringing up his family’s history (Did he really expect the famous Malfoy and Black families to be paragons of virtue?) and his house’s reputation.

What do you mean Slytherin shouldn’t have any rights? What in Merlin’s name was that old man high on?! Thankfully, the 20-year-old Draco Malfoy was a man who had repented; a calm and kind individual. So, instead of causing a scene, he left the store with peace… and several undetected curses hiding in the man’s shelf. Hopefully, his baldness will come full force and be decorated with tiny bumps like the skin of giant purple toads.

“Our first destination is Madam Malkin’s for your robes, dear. Remember to be polite and let the madam do her job, okay?” Narcissa pet her son’s head as they enter the fitted clothe shop.

Draco nods along and followed her, with his Father trailed behind him. The shop was colourful as Draco remember, decorated beautifully with fabrics, lace, ribbons, and floating robes. Showcasing Madam’s product and creative ability.

Draco’s eyes happily wandered over the various haute-couture displays, scanning the embroidery and ornamentation while silently critiquing them. Green olive with imperial red? Ugh! What an awful decision! Oh, look, a pink flower dress—how revolutionary! Sure, it’s pretty, but it lacks sharpness. It needs something—an element that can caused awe—

“Draco, darling?” A voice snapped him out of his judgmental musings. “Are you all right, my dear?” Narcissa asked, leaning down slightly to meet his gaze.

Draco blinked at her, momentarily surprised. “Yes, Mother. I was just admiring.”

“Ah, of course,” she replied, straightening and turning to an old woman standing beside her, whom Draco hadn’t noticed. “Madam Malkin always has the finest garments.”

The woman chuckled politely, “You flatter me, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Not at all, Madam,” Narcissa responded, placing a gentle hand on the back of Draco’s head and giving it a light pat. “This is my son, Draco.”

“Hullo, Madam. Good morning,” Draco greeted her with a polite nod.

“Oh, hello, young Mr. Malfoy. How polite you are! Welcome to my humble shop. I believe you’ll need your robes for Hogwarts, yes?” Madam Malkin asked, offering him a kind smile.

“That’s correct, Madam,” Draco said, returning the smile.

“Good. Shall we?” she said, addressing both Draco and his mother. When her gaze fell on Draco’s father, Draco noticed her smile falter for a fraction of a second before she returned her focus to Narcissa.

Narcissa gave her a pleasant smile and a small nod, then turned to Draco. “Go on, dear. Your father and I will wait here.” She gave him one last pat on the head before letting him follow Madam Malkin.

Draco’s little legs struggled to catch up with the woman, all the while trying not to scream at himself. Because as soon as he left his parents behind, his genius, pretty brain, finally decided it was a perfect time to remember something. He—a genius Potion Master, responsible for countless breakthroughs, not just in the field of Potions, but also in medicine, engineering, and beauty, had somehow forgotten that this cloudy day was no ordinary day. It was the fateful day he would meet the one, the handsome saviour of the magical world.

“Please, step here, Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Malkin instructed. Draco complied, his eyes drifting downward. He mentally chanted Merlin and Salazar, hoping for something—anything—that would prevent the Chosen One from seeing him.

“Okay, now put your arms up. Very good.” With his eyes still glued to the carpet, Draco held his arms in place, allowing the woman to do whatever was necessary. He could hear various children’s noises around him. It was clear that other soon-to-be Hogwarts students were present. He just hoped that a certain boy wasn’t among them. Maybe the half-giant was late fetching him. Maybe they had got lost. Or maybe they were stuck in traffic, like the rest of the Muggles.

Draco closed his eyes and mentally counted numbers to calm himself. His future memories began to resurface—a particular one regarding the Chosen One.

It was in a bar, dimly lit, where all the former Hogwarts students from their year loved to gather. Harry Potter always chose the seat by the window, right beneath a copy of a painting by Caravaggio. The jagged shapes and irrational light of the artwork created a striking, dramatic effect. Draco loved that painting. He’d spent a good ten minutes staring at it the first time he saw it.

But then his eyes landed on the bespectacled man with the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. After that, even Merlin himself couldn’t tear Draco’s gaze away. Art be damned.

They weren’t really friends. Not in Draco’s eyes, at least. Still, the hours they spent talking in that rustic establishment gave him more insight into Harry Potter’s life than he’d ever expected to have. And one of the most important information of it all? The first time Draco pissed Harry off.

It had happened here. In this very shop. In this very spot.

Funny, wasn’t it? How could Draco have forgotten? Their very first conversation, the one that led to the Chosen One—the Boy Who Lived, smacking Draco’s hand away and rejecting his offer of friendship.

How could he forget that? Forget the sting of it? The humiliation?

Well, to be fair, he didn’t remember exactly what little Draco said to Potter. Probably some self-important bragging, a little Muggle mocking, maybe even a collection of classic Weasley slander.

But what could anyone expect from a boy born a Malfoy-Black?

It might be an awful first meeting, but at least it was an honest one. For Draco.

Heh.

“Hullo. Hogwarts too?” a question coming from his left, bursting his bubble of nostalgia. The voice was sweet, laced with clear enthusiasm.

A child just talked to me— Draco thought with annoyance.

“Hullo.” the child spoke again and Draco could feel his patience was being tested, “Are you okay? Are you falling a sleep?” he asked, his tone so innocent it was almost disarming.

Draco sighed, It just a child, be nice.

He then turns to face the child, “I’m fine—”

And there he was with all his glory. A boy with striking green eyes, shining like polished emeralds, gazed up at him with genuine concern.

“Hullo?” Harry Potter asked again, waving a hand in front of Draco’s dumbfounded face.

Draco stared at the boy; the 11 years old boy who occupied a thousand roles in Draco’s dream. A lanky frame housed a chaotic collection of black hair, a tousled mess that reminded Draco of a wild shrub. The collection of black loose waves, that Draco’s knew, bounce in every step, framing a bright expression. He has a smile of a spring’s sun. A bright, warm, sunny smile that could bring life back.

Draco’s brain was on the verge of reciting “Bright Star”, by John Keats, when the small hand pat his cheek. He couldn’t help but flinch.

“Ah, sorry. Did I hurt you?” he asked again.

Draco, now a fish—eyes wide open and jaw hanging—didn’t respond. It was as if his brain had become a failed potion: the cells melted, overflowing and vaporizing the longer he locked eyes with the boy.

“Hey—

“Young Mr. Malfoy? We are done. Now, come on. Let me walk you to your parents,” Madam Malkin’s modulated voice interrupted their exchange. Draco blinked at her as she smiled and shifted her attention toward the waiting Malfoys. Draco followed her gaze and saw his mother nodding at him, signaling him not to dilly-dally.

Draco’s eyes returned to Harry, weighing his options, whether it was worth disobeying his mother and standing here staring at the other boy like a charmed cobra, or being a good Malfoy and following the Madam.

Eventually, he chose the latter as Madam Malkin placed her hand on Draco’s shoulder and gave him a gentle push. Her initiative felt disrespectful, but Draco let it slide when he caught his mother’s gaze. Her eyes seemed to catch on Draco’s hesitation.

“Dear?” Narcissa asked when Draco’s feet stopped before her.

Draco smiled at her, as sweetly as he could manage while battling the urge to turn back. “Yes, Mother. I’ve finished.”

Narcissa nodded at him and turned her attention back to the old woman. “Well, Madam? I believe my son’s robes will be delivered directly to our manor?”

Madam Malkin smiled and nodded, confirming Narcissa’s statement. After a brief exchange of pleasantries, the Malfoys left the shop. Draco followed his mother obediently, fighting the urge to turn around. He noted his father walking behind him and resisted the temptation to look back at Harry Potter. He could feel Harry’s burning gaze on him, and he didn’t know how to feel about it.

𓆚

As they returned to the busy streets, Draco’s mind wandered back to the meeting. He marked a few things, 1. He didn’t insult anyone, Weasley nor Muggle, niiceee, 2. He didn’t even boast himself! hm, should he be proud?, 3. Well— he didn’t actually manage talk to Potter, curse you and your awful dress, Madam! 4. Harry sounded like a dying puppy; it was soft and kinda wobbly, how could he have such a deep voice later on? 5. That pair of eyes will definitely haunt him, those was literally two giant green orbs!

Narcissa stopped and turned toward her son, her expression soft. “Ready to get your own wand, my dear?” she asked.

Draco’s eyes widened in excitement, and he beamed. “Yes, Mother! Let’s go!” he almost squealed.

“Calm down, Draco,” his father warned. Draco felt his father’s cane poke him in the leg. “Don’t hurt yourself,” Lucius added before opening the door for Narcissa to pass through, followed by Draco, who responded obediently to him like a good son.

Just like the Madam Malkin’s, this store was exactly as Draco remember. A faint, earthy scent welcomed Draco as a soft golden hue filtering through the a single window near the door. It wasn’t too bright, as the sun outside was dulled by heavy clouds, but neither was it dark; the warm tones of polished oak and mahogany seemed to hold the light. Draco could see dust motes danced lazily in the light beams when a tall slender man emerged from a room behind the counter.

His eyes immediately locked with Draco’s, and for a moment, Draco froze. A fleeting thought crossed his mind— did Mr. Ollivander somehow know he wasn’t truly a child?

“Good day, Mr. Ollivanders. My son is here for his wand.” Lucius said, his voice breaking the silent tension and pulling Draco out of the eye-to-eye standoff.

“Welcome, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy, and I presume this young man must be Mr. Draco Malfoy, here for his first wand?” Mr. Ollivander replied, his sharp eyes flicking back to Draco.

Draco stepped forward as his father moved aside, clearing the way for him to face the shopkeeper. “That is correct, Mr. Ollivander,” Draco said, sounded confident—he hoped.

The man nodded thoughtfully and began moving around the counter toward the towering shelves that lined nearly every wall of the shop. He moved with such speed that Draco found himself wondering if the old man could really take note of every wand he passed.

Draco’s eyes followed Mr. Ollivander’s movements, trying to see if he could recognize any of the wands from their boxes. His thought traveled back to brunette boy, he hasn’t received his own wand yet, hasn’t he? That 11” holly with phoenix feather.

I wonder how it feels to use Potter’s wand— Draco thought, Would it be fair for one day exchange, since Potter defeated that bald-snake-head-unlovable-stink-of-rotten-flesh-lunatic-bastard-of lord with his wand?

Speaking of his first wand, Draco’s eyes scanned the shelf near him. It had to be here somewhere, sitting and collecting dust—the 10-inch hawthorn with unicorn hair. For a moment, he felt a pang of sadness, imagining the wand waiting silently for someone to wield it again. Someone who wasn’t him, because it was no longer his. Ever since Potter had taken it from his hand, the wand had answered to him. Not that Draco minded, honestly. There was something oddly satisfying about having an object that connected him to Potter, however tangentially.

Though Potter had returned it after the trial, the wand never felt quite the same in Draco’s grasp. Using it had become uncomfortable, like trying to wear a shoe that no longer fit. As bittersweet as it was, that was simply life in a world where magic followed its own rules.

Draco, however, was content with the second wand he’d acquired when he decided to return to Hogwarts to finish his education. The second wand, identical in length to his first, was made of Alderwood with a dragon hearthstring core. He loved how easier it handled dark magic. And as a potion master who was striving for perfection, he needed to study every branch of magic to refine his creations.

Suddenly, Mr. Ollivander stopped moving. He crouched by the bottom shelf, reaching out to retrieve a wand box. “Ah, here it is,” he said in his croaky voice, standing back up and extending the box toward Draco.

Draco stared at the box before him and glanced at the man across from him.

“You may open and try it,” Mr. Ollivander said, pushing the box slightly closer to Draco.

Draco bit his lip and opened the box, letting the man hold it steady.

To his surprise, it was hawthorn.

“Go ahead,” the wandmaker encouraged, his tone softer this time.

Draco grimaced, “Can I try something else?”

Mr. Ollivander raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, maybe, a wand made from alder wood? or apple? I like apple, sir, so—”

“Is something wrong, my dear?” Narcissa leaned down, her gaze soft as she studied her son’s face.

Draco shook his head. “N-nothing, Mother. It’s just… I was wondering—does Mr. Ollivander take special requests? A custom wand, perhaps?” His voice trailed off as he glanced at the wandmaker, doing his best to appear childlike and innocent

An uncomfortable pause followed before Mr. Ollivander responded. “The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Malfoy. That has always been clear—”

“What if it rejects me? What if it doesn’t want me as its wizard?” Draco interjected, his voice rising in pitch. His hands clenched as his heart pounded faster.

“Draco,” Narcissa said softly. She crouched beside him, gently holding his shoulders. “It will be fine, my dear. Mr. Ollivander is renowned as the best wandmaker in the world. Let’s trust him, shall we?”

Draco frowned at the dark brown wand before him. “But—” He stopped himself swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. Forcing himself to continue, he added, “What if it leaves me and chooses someone else?” His voice was brittle, his gaze flicking back to the man before him.

Mr. Ollivander’s eyebrows rose at the question. Instead of answering outright, he crouched down to meet Draco’s eyes.

“When a wizard is disarmed, their wand may change allegiance to the victor,” he began, his voice calm. “This signifies the wizard has been defeated—”

“I know that,” Draco muttered, sniffing.

“But the bond between a wizard and their wand is complex,” Ollivander continued, unfazed by Draco’s rudeness. “It begins with an initial attraction and grows through mutual experience. The wand learns from the wizard, just as the wizard learns from the wand. This wand, made from hawthorn, is particularly intriguing. A complex wandwood. Combined with its core, unicorn hair, it has the most faithful qualities of all wand cores.” He paused, then guided Draco’s hand toward the box.

Draco blinked, still hesitating to touch the wand.

“We wandmakers do not fully understand this connection, yet.” Ollivander said thoughtfully. “But I’ve created, handled, and observed enough wands to know that time and shared experience can forge a deep bond. A wand comes to understand its master’s behavior, personality, loyalty, and even feelings. Though wands can shift allegiance, I believe, it does not mean the connection is permanently severed.”

He pushed the box closer to Draco once more and offered a small smile.

Draco’s mind raced as he processed the man’s words. He already knew wands could change allegiance—he’d witnessed it countless times. But his situation felt different. His hawthorn hadn’t been taken in a proper duel.

How could a simple expelliarmus caused his wand to forget about him? Is it because he was weak? or it is because it was Potter who did it? Is hawthorn gay? he never thought of that possibility before— a wand has the same sexual orientation as it’s owner, hah! make sense..

Draco’s thoughts spiraled until Lucius cleared his throat, pulling him from his reverie. Taking a deep breath, Draco reached for the wand.

The moment his fingers closed around the polished wood, a long-lost warmth spread through him—a sensation he had deeply missed. Slowly, he pulled the wand from the box and gave it a tentative wave.

“Cast the lighting charm, dear,” Narcissa whispered gently in his ear.

Draco nodded. “Lumos,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

The wand responded instantly. Its tip lit up brightly, casting a soft glow around them. Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Good,” Lucius said, watching his son’s expression soften as his eyes sparkled with relief.

Mr. Ollivander straightened, nodding approvingly.

“Very good, Mr. Malfoy. Congratulations on your wand, a 10” hawthorn wood with a unicorn hair core as it’s core,” Turning to Draco’s parents, he added, “I trust your son will achieve great things with this wand in his possession.”

While his parents spoke with the wandmaker, Draco turned his attention back to his wand. He moved it experimentally, like a child with a new toy. But who could blame him? After everything, he never thought he’d feel this connection again. A bond that finally let hawthorn fit comfortably into his palm.

𓆚

They still had two destinations left, but Draco’s father suggested splitting up. Lucius would visit the bookstore while Draco and his mother headed to the potions shop to collect his assigned ingredients. However, just as his parents were about to part ways, a familiar man stepped into Lucius’s path.

“Mr. Malfoy,” the man said in a guttural voice. His wide, toothy grin revealed too many teeth, and his piercing deep-blue eyes stared hard at Lucius.

Draco noticed his father stiffen for a brief moment before responding with a curt greeting. The man was none other than Mr. Nott, the-undisputed-champion-of-worst-father- at least in their year. Behind him stood his best friend, head bowed and looking thoroughly miserable.

“Theo,” Draco called softly. His friend startled at the sound, then looked up and offered Draco a faint smile.

Draco was about to approach Theo when his mother’s hand stopped him. Before Draco could ask why, the bastard-of-a-father spoke.

“Hello, Draco. I see you’ve found your wand,” Mr. Nott said, his smirk as unpleasant as his tone.

Draco nodded politely, “Yes, Mr. Nott.”

Mr. Nott raised an eyebrow, clearly preparing to offer his unwanted opinion, but Lucius interrupted smoothly.

“Yes, it’s hawthorn wood with unicorn hair,” Lucius said, his voice laced with smug pride. Draco felt a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction at his father’s tone.

“Unicorn, huh?” Mr. Nott sneered, looking Draco up and down. “I can see how that suits you.”

Draco tightened his grip on his wand at the blatant mockery, but before he could react, the sharp sound of Lucius’s cane striking the floor echoed through the air.

“I’m not sure how you can see much of anything, Tiberius, given your nonexistent magical talents,” Lucius said, his voice cold and cutting. “But I’m glad you recognize my son’s abilities.”

Lucius smirked as Mr. Nott’s face darkened with offense. Without giving him a chance to respond, Lucius continued, “My wife and I have more shopping to do for Draco, so we’ll take our leave. Good day.”

His gaze softened as it shifted to the silent boy behind Mr. Nott. “I wish you luck with your wand, Theodore. I trust you’ll be a fine friend to my son at Hogwarts.”

Theo smiled faintly. “Thank—”

But before Theo could finish, Mr. Nott clicked his tongue impatiently and grabbed his son by the arm, dragging him toward the wandshop. “Good day, Malfoys,” he sneered.

Draco clenched his jaw, his wand now raised, but his mother’s sharp voice stopped him. “Draco, no!” Narcissa hissed. She met his gaze firmly, her eyes warning him. “Not in public, okay?”

Draco sighed, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. “Of course, Mother.”

Lucius huffed, muttering under his breath, “Quel mec stupide et ennuyeux!”

Despite his worry for Theo, Draco had no choice but to continue with their errands. That was how he found himself once again standing in the shop he despised most in Diagon Alley.

The greasy shopowner man wasn’t as fat as Draco remembered from his future memories, but he still looked as though he had bathed in oil. He smiled at Draco’s mother, revealing yellow, rotten teeth, and rubbed his hands together as he boasted about how his shop offered only the best ingredients in Diagon Alley. Draco nearly gagged.

He watched his mother converse with the repulsive shopkeeper, allowing her to handle the shopping. Though he overheard some outrageous pricing—fluxweed stem for 500 galleons?! Had Merlin himself harvested it?—he decided to hold his tongue. Instead, he wandered around the dusty shelves, gripping his hawthorn wand tightly.

Draco’s heartbeat quickened as he whispered, “Insectum,” to the row of vials.

He began counting.

One… two… three…

Narcissa let out a shrill scream, quickly followed by the shopkeeper’s panicked voice.

“Mother, what’s wrong?” Draco asked innocently, stepping toward her.

“Careful, Draco! There are cockroaches! Salazar, where are these flies coming from?” Narcissa shouted, flailing her hands as she tried to shield her head from the swarm of bugs.

“Oh no, Mother!” Draco cried dramatically, clinging to her arm with tears brimming in his eyes.

“What is happ—” the man began to say, only for a giant cockroach to land squarely on his head. His reaction was immediate—he let out an embarrassing, high-pitched scream. Draco nearly broke character.

The man’s hands flailed wildly across the counter as he searched for his wand, but Draco had already acted. A quick, subtle spell sent the wand clattering to the floor. Before the shopkeeper could react, the enormous cockroach suddenly reverted into a vial of potion. The contents spilled over the man, drenching him entirely and transforming him into a bright green wizard from head to toe.

Narcissa gasped loudly, her hand flying to her mouth, while Draco buried his face in her dress to hide the fact that he was shaking with silent laughter.

Glad to have you back, hawthorn!

🐍─୨ৎ─🐍

Blaise was standing outside a tea shop, waiting for his mother, when he saw a familiar group of blondes. Leading the trio was a tall, stunning woman with dual-toned hair, holding the hand of her flushed blonde child. They were followed closely by a tall, grumpy man with long blonde hair.

Blaise chuckled to himself, amused by how red his best friend’s cheeks had become.

“They definitely have just meet,” he muttered under his breath.

The poor friend of him was so obviously desperate wanted to run back to the clothing shop. Blaise chuckled even more, noticing just how flustered Draco was.

“Oh, aren’t you Blaise Zabini?” a woman’s voice suddenly greeted him. Blaise turned to his right.

“Sabrina’s son, right?” she asked further.

“Yes—” Blaise began, but his words faltered as his brain registered who the woman was. She looked younger than he remembered—obviously.

“Hello, Mrs. Parkinson. A pleasure to meet you,” he continued smoothly.

“You remember! oh, my. The last time I saw you, you were just learn how to walk! You were such a adorable baby! and look at you now, a young gentleman!” She exclaimed and reached for Blaise’s right cheek, pinching it.

Blaise smiled at her, carefully masking his emotions as a wave of déjà vu washed over him.

“Oh, here—you remember her, right? My daughter!” she said, stepping aside and gently nudging a black-haired girl forward.

The girl stared at Blaise with a familiar frown he hadn’t realized he’d missed. One of Pansy Parkinson’s famed expression that could both work as a warning and intimidating tactic, which Blaise honestly adored. He remembered when he first admitted that to the girl and made her laugh with such joy before calling him disgustingly sappy.

When Blaise failed to address her immediately, she folded her arms and deepened her frown. “Hello, Mr. Zabini. It’s a delight to meet you,” she sneered.

“Pansy, be nice,” her mother scolded gently. “You two used to play together as babies!” She turned to Blaise with the joy only a mother could muster.

Blaise forced a smile, “Yes, Mother has mentioned,” he replied, all the while internally screaming for his Mamma to come and rescue him.

Mrs. Parkinson gasped, “Oh, where is Sabrina? Did she leave you here and go shopping on her own?”

Blaise shook his head, doing his best to ignore Pansy’s grumpy expression. “Mother’s in there,” he said, pointing to the shop behind him. “She said she needed a new set of teacups.”

“Ah, of course—” The shop’s door suddenly opened, cutting the woman off mid-sentence. Sabrina Zabini stepped out, her eyes locking onto the other woman before she let out a delighted screech.

“Amy!” she exclaimed.

“Rina! Oh, it’s been so long!” Amaryllis Parkinson responded with equal excitement.

“I didn’t know you were back in England,” Blaise’s mother said as she embraced her old friend.

“Oh, we just returned yesterday. My little girl is starting at Hogwarts! So, of course, we had to get everything prepared,” Amaryllis explained before gently nudging Pansy toward Mrs. Zabini.

“Hello, Pansy. You’ve grown into such a beautiful young witch!” Mrs. Zabini greeted warmly.

Pansy smiled at her, her grumpy expression gone. “Thank you, Mrs. Zabini. It’s lovely to meet you. You’re even more beautiful than the picture my mother has.”

Blaise tried his best not to rolled his eyes, to which, he failed.

He stepped back from their conversation, leaving the women and the younger version of his ex-wife to carry on. He hoped they’d run out of steam soon.

His eyes wandered across the busy street, scanning the crowd. He noticed some familiar faces; fellow students of Hogwarts. Suddenly, A tall, broad figure caught his attention, and he immediately recognized the man as his professor from Care of Magical Creatures. The half-giant moved through the bustling crowd with careful, apologetic steps, doing his best not to jostle anyone. Blaise watched as the professor stopped in front of Madam Malkin’s.

A small boy with messy black hair and round glasses emerged from the shop, smiling up at the half-giant. Even from a distance, Blaise couldn’t see the famous scar on the boy’s forehead, but he didn’t need to. He knew instantly that the boy was Harry Potter. It wasn’t because of the half-giant accompanying him or the boy’s distinctive glasses (he now realized Potter was the only wizard in the area wearing glasses). What gave him away was, the way the boy immediately started glancing around, scanning the street as though looking for someone.

And Blaise would bet a thousand galleons that he knew exactly who Potter was trying to find.

He chuckled.

“What are you laughing at?” Pansy asked, startling Blaise with how close she suddenly was.

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, stepping to the side to give her some space.

Pansy rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s wrong with you?”

Blaise blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her head, there was curiosity in her eyes, “Have we met before this?”

He blinked again, now completely flustered. “Uh, no? I mean, yes? babies? your mother just said that…haha” He could feel his palms start to sweat.

“Then why are you acting like I killed your pet?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Blaise grimaced, “You did. Not my pet, but my heart,” was what he wanted to say. Instead, what came out was a strangled, “What? No. I did not.”

“Hmm,” Pansy murmured, just about to step forward when her mother interrupted to announce they needed to continue their errands.

Blaise sighed in relief.

𓆚

Blaise cursed silently a few minutes later.

Just as her grandmother always said: Non tutte le ciambelle riescono col buco.

Instead of parting ways, Blaise found himself standing next to the girl in Madam Malkin’s. They stood still, side by side, as two witches took their measurements. Blaise tried to focus his attention anywhere but on the girl beside him. He began scanning Madam Malkin’s garments, silently critiquing them in his head.

“Hey,” Pansy whispered to him, but he ignored her.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked for the second time, her tone soft but laced with annoyance. Blaise continued to ignore her.

He could hear her huff, which almost made him laugh.

“You’re so boring. I didn’t know Zabini could be this boring,” she muttered.

“My mum often talks about how fun Mrs. Zabini is, but her son? A boring, mute—”

“I’m not mute. You’ve heard my voice,” Blaise retorted.

“Well, still boring,” she replied, pausing as if waiting for a response. When none came, she added, “You’ll probably end up in gryffindor for sure. Or hufflepuff—”

“Cos’hai appena detto?! I was born a snake!” Blaise snapped at Pansy, glaring at her.

The girl looked surprised for a moment before smirking.

“Ah, it would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? A Zabini ending up as a lion or a badger,” she said in a condescending tone.

Blaise rolled his eyes, “It won’t happen. You should worry about yourself, Parkinson.”

Pansy dropped her smugness and frowned, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Blaise smirked, “For the way you can’t stay still, you might end up in the lion’s den.”

Pansy gasped audibly, “Excuse me?! I will not! How dare you!”

Blaise’s smile widened, “Well, we’ll find out tomorrow.”

Pansy glared daggers at him, “That won’t happen! I’ll be part of Slytherin, and you— even if you are a snake, you’ll be the most boring, lame snake ever!”

Blaise snorted.

“And ugly too!”

Blaise snapped his head toward her, “Come osi! Me? Ugly? Are you blind, Parkinson?!”

Pansy burst into laughter, “What is that face?!” Her body shook with glee as she staggered backward.

Blaise moved forward quickly, catching her by the waist before she could lose her balance.

Their eyes met—brown with black— locked into each other.

“Ahem.” A loud, authoritative voice caught them off guard, and Blaise lost his grip, causing Pansy to fall to the floor.

“Ouch!” she whined, throwing a sharp glare at Blaise.

He offered her a sheepish smile and extended a hand to help her up, but she slapped it away and stood on her own.

Blaise sighed as the woman announced that they could return to their mothers. He felt a pang of guilt for causing Pansy to fall, but even as he considered apologizing, his mind reminded him to keep his distance. Letting himself get too close again would be a mistake. Staring into those dark, obsidian eyes had been enough to stir feelings he didn’t want to confront, at least right now.

Realizing this wouldn’t be their last stop shopping together, Blaise resolved to stay quiet, offering only curt responses to Pansy’s repeated attempts to catch his attention. And by the power of Merlin and Salazar, he managed to maintain his distance, refusing to let his gaze linger on her like a lost sailor gazing at the stars.

When their mothers finally said their goodbyes, Blaise muttered under his breath while Pansy continued to send daggers his way with her glare: Voi che per li occhi mi passaste ’l core e destaste la mente che dormia—

🐍─୨ৎ─🐍

Theo took a deep breath as his feet finally landed on the carpet—he kept them planted there, not daring to take another step. His eyes fixed on the giant portrait of his grandmother. She gazed down at him with concern, but like all the portraits in the house, she couldn’t speak without the lord of the manor’s permission.

A gruff grumble echoed through the room as the said lord threw himself onto the sofa in front of Theo. The man unleashed a string of profanities aimed at Lord Malfoy. Theo remained completely still, doing his best to become invisible, hoping the man would tire himself out and leave. Unfortunately, the universe wasn’t so kind.

“Boy,” Tiberius called, and Theo snapped his attention to him. “Wand,” he commanded, extending his open palm.

Theo stepped forward and placed his wand in his father’s hand.

Tiberius grasped the wand, twisting, and flick it with his magic.

“Beech wood with dragon heartstring,” he muttered, smirking as he spun the wand between his fingers.

“Not bad, eh?” Tiberius asked, glancing at Theo.

Theo nodded. “Yes, Father.”

❗⚠️

Tiberius cackled, leaning back against the sofa and tossing the wand back to his son.

“Finally, you’ve done something better than that snotty Malfoy.”

Theo caught the wand and held it behind his back as he bowed his head. There was a brief pause before Tiberius continued.

“Where is your gratitude, boy? Did you think you’d get this wand without my effort?” His voice grew louder with each word.

Theo closed his eyes and responded, “Thank you, Father. Thank you for the wand. I’m—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tiberius interrupted. “Come here.”

Theo took a few hesitant steps toward his father. The moment he was close enough, Tiberius grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking hard enough to make Theo cry out in pain.

“Shut it,” the man barked, pulling him closer by his hair. “Listen to me. When you’re at Hogwarts, get close to that little Malfoy. Watch him, and inform me if you find anything. Do you understand?” he growled, giving another sharp tug.

Theo nodded weakly, squeezing his eyes shut to hold back his tears.

Tiberius released his grip, only to follow it with a sharp slap that sent Theo sprawling onto the carpet. He whimpered softly, keeping his eyes tightly closed.

Tiberius laughed loudly, watching as his son buried his face in the carpet, doing his best to stifle his sobs.

“You’re still weak. Useless,” Tiberius sneered, standing up and striding toward his son’s sprawled body.

He kicked Theo, “Oh, don’t cry, my puny boy,” he taunted in a singsong voice, landing one kick after another, “Come on, don’t cry—”

🟢

Suddenly, a high-pitched voice echoed through the room, coming from the open door. Tiberius halted his raised foot and clicked his tongue in annoyance. The piercing voice grew louder, prompting him to cover his ears in anger.

“Go get your mother!” he growled, glaring down at his son.

Theo pushed himself up and ran from the room. His pace slowed as he followed the sound of his mother’s singing. One hand clutched his wounded stomach while the other trailed along the wall, helping him drag himself forward.

At the end of the hallway, he saw his mother spinning gracefully. Theo paused to wipe his tears away before walking toward her as casually as he could manage.

“Mamma,” he called softly.

Elena turned at the sound of his voice, her face lighting up.

“Mio figlio,” she replied with a warm smile.

Theo smiled back. “What are you doing, Mamma?”

“Dancing!” she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Why?” Theo asked, stepping closer to her. He reached for her hand, intending to guide her back to her room. But as soon as he grasped her soft hand, she pulled him into an embrace and began swaying their bodies together.

“Mio figlio,” she began singing, gently, “Il vento forte sta arrivando, e la pioggia sarà qui

Oh, mio caro. Tieni duro, ma il ramo si è spezzato. Oh, mio caro.”

Theo closed his eyes, allowing his body to follow his mother’s movements. Despite his best efforts, tears still flowed, staining her dress. He tried to wipe them away, but his mother wouldn’t loosen her embrace.

Theo chuckled wetly, finding the situation amusing. Just moments ago, he had been nothing more than a punching bag. Now, he was a son—dancing with his mother. Letting her sing a song she had written, and move to dance she had choreographed.

As warm as he felt in her arms, Theo knew they weren’t safe yet. So, with careful steps, he guided his mother toward her room, while dancing together.

🐍─୨ৎ─🐍

A man stood on a cloud, his hands moving as if reciting something. Surrounding him were twelve winged babies, flying in chaotic patterns, occasionally squabbling with one another. Their movements played on a loop, a mesmerizing scene painted on the ceiling, while Blaise’s mind replayed the events of the day.

His eyes were fixed on the moving artwork, but his thoughts were elsewhere—on someone. Someone who had just spent nearly the entire day with him, shopping. Well, their mothers were there too, but still.

What a strange day, he thought. Something that hadn’t happened before.

He hadn’t expected to run into Pansy in Diagon Alley, much less spend the day shopping with her while simultaneously pretending to ignore her. This wasn’t supposed to happen—when he was a real 11 years old.

Huh…

Suddenly, a familiar shrieking voice called his name, and Blaise sat up, turning toward the door. A blonde head popped in, scanning the room before the boy’s eyes landed on him.

“Here you are!” Draco said, his voice tinged with obvious relief.

Blaise rolled his eyes, “You’re in my home, Draco. Where else would I be?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco replied, striding into the room and stopping by where Blaise sat on the floor.

“How come you’re here?” Blaise asked, watching his best friend settle beside him, leaning against the sofa legs.

“Told my mother I needed to talk to you before Hogwarts tomorrow,” Draco said with a smirk, “So, how was your shopping day?”

Blaise rolled his eyes again, “I know you met Potter. Ugh.”

Draco’s eyes widened, “What! How did you guess that?” He folded his arms and pouted.

Blaise sighed, “Because I can see Potter’s name written on your forehead.”

“What?” Draco exclaimed, touching his forehead in alarm.

“It was a joke! Merlin, you’re 26!” Blaise scoffed, and Draco pouted even harder.

“Salazar, Draco. We haven’t even past the 48 hours mark, and you’re already turning into a complete child.”

“Se taire.” Draco, sounding like a whining child, said, “Okay, fine, I did meet Potter. But I didn’t say anything!” he declared proudly.

Blaise raised an eyebrow, “You sound proud. Is it really that hard for you? To not say a single word to Potter?”

Draco nodded earnestly, “Yes, and somehow, I managed it.”

“Somehow? So, it wasn’t intentional?” Blaise asked, skeptical.

Draco shrugged, “Madam Malkin interrupted us.”

Blaise sighed, “Meraviglioso. So, you met him, didn’t say a word. Hooray.”

Draco huffed, “I didn’t insult him nor anyone, okay! I didn’t make him angry at me!” he protested.

“And for that, I congratulate you. Hooray! Hooray! Shall we call the elf to bake you a cake?”

Draco grumbled, pouted, and shook his shoulders like the brat he was, “Whatever.”

Blaise sighed and lay back down on the floor. Silence filled the room before he finally said, “I met Pansy.”

Draco gasped dramatically, “And?” He scooted closer.

“Our mothers are close friends,” Blaise explained, catching a glimpse of Draco nodding along out of the corner of his eye, “So naturally, they dragged us along to shop together.”

“Oh my! And? And?” Draco pressed, now lying down beside Blaise.

Blaise huffed, “Don’t sound so happy,” he muttered, turning his head to glare at the blonde.

Draco rolled his eyes, “Oh, I’m so sorry~ for getting excited about my two best friends love lives~”

Blaise exhaled, ignoring Draco’s teasing, “Nothing really happened. We didn’t talk much—”

“Liar. Pansy? Not talking much?” Draco chuckled, “Merlin must have risen.”

“Not her, you berk. Me,” Blaise snapped, his voice tinged with a brittle edge, “I tried not to talk to her much.”

Silence filled the room once more until Draco spoke.

“I met Theo and his father, by the way,” he said, changing the topic.

“You did? How was he?” Blaise asked, a mix of worry and guilt washing over him.

Draco sighed. “It felt like I went back in time—”

“We did.”

“I know that!” Draco snapped, glaring at Blaise, who simply shrugged. “It felt like I went back in time, seeing Theo like his past self. He couldn’t even reply to my greeting. He was so thin and shaking. And Mr. Nott was a proper butters.”

Blaise sighed deeply. “I can only hope he can hold on. His mother is still around for now, and he got his wand today. Until we see him tomorrow, I just hope Theo can find a way to keep himself safe.”

Draco nodded, biting his lip as he imagined what Theo might be enduring at that moment. “Theo is sharp-witted.”

“Yeah,” Blaise agreed. Then, after a pause, he added, “Okay, so… shall we talk about our dead daughter?”

Both boys sitting cross legs facing each others.

“I didn’t kill her. It wasn’t my fault,” was the first thing Draco said, opening the next conversation.

Blaise groaned.

“Hey! I tried to save her okay! You wanted to changed her into- into something he was not! So, naturally, me, being a great unspeakable-father has to take a step, to stop your madness!” Draco explained, passionately.

“Merlin, dai forza,” Blaise said while messaging his temple.

“What?!” Draco challenged.

Blaise inhaled and exhaled, “Whatever. Let’s move on. It happened and we are here now. What’s the next step?”

Draco frowned, thinking deeply and Blaise copied him.

“Wait— CIME is dead?!” Draco suddenly shout, shock flashed in his eyes as he turned to the other boy.

Blaise nodded, his expression grew serious, “I found a collect of dust in my hand when I woke up in this body.”

Draco winced, “Is it really from her?”

“Yes, no other possibility.” Blaise responded with absolute certainty.

“Oh, merde.” Draco rubs his face with both hands, “We are trapped.”

“I’m glad you finally realized that.” Blaise sneered, earning a glare from Draco through the gap in his fingers.

“What? Did you come here with expectation we could go back in one click?”Blaise asked, his tone accusing Draco of naivety.

“No, git. I expect you to at least has her remain, not her complete ashes. I expect us to be able to fix her and go back.” Draco shot back.

Blaise clicked his tongue, “No. We can not fix something that has turned into dusts.” he said, shaking his head. Voice tinged with sadness.

Another silence come between them and both boys retreated into their thoughts. Working their brains to come with a rational solution.

“I still remember the formulas. The rituals. The potions. And the steps it need for the core,” Draco said, staring at Blaise.

Blaise leaned forward, glaring at him, “And you think I don’t?”

Draco blinked, “That’s not—”

“We don’t have the tools. The altars. The wards. And all the facilities that Ministry has,” Blaise interrupted, squinting, daring Draco to argue.

Draco smiled sheepishly, “Uh, can we just… ask?”

Blaise stared at him in disbelief. “Oh yeah, sure! Let’s just walk to the ministry, told the people there that we, 11 years old boys, are actually 26 years unspeakable who stranded here with nothing but the ashes of CIME as proof. They’ll definitely help us, right? And won’t call our parents to check if we need a curse-breaker, a mind-healer, or both!”

Draco’s face fell. “At least not Azkaban?” he muttered.

Blaise let out a heavy sigh and facepalmed. “Of course, as long as they don’t start a full investigation into our failed and rejected, project that we activated without our superior’s permission.”

“Hey! It was an accident,” Draco snapped.

Blaise’s head whipped toward him, his face a mask of anger. “And you think that makes a difference? Us? A bunch of Slytherin alumni? You really think they’ll—”

“Okay, okay! Jeez,” Draco said, throwing up his hands and leaning back from Blaise’s outburst. He paused before asking, “So… what now?”

Blaise exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I don’t know,” he said, his tone heavy with apathy.

“Oh, come on! You’re the head of the project!” Draco protested, throwing his hands in the air, gesturing at Blaise, who shot him a sharp glare.

“Oh, so now you’re admitting it, huh?” Blaise retorted immediately.

Draco flinched before crossing his arms and huffing. “Ugh, fine. I apologize or whatever.”

Blaise stared at the blonde, a look of perplexity written across his face. Draco avoided his gaze, sulking, and Blaise let him. With a loud exhale, Blaise relaxed his body, his tension easing. He was about to lie down when Draco spoke.

“What about— we make her again?!” his tone blithe and childlike.

Blaise froze mid-motion, staring at Draco. His expression shifted between dumbfounded, tired, and annoyed, “Did you just suggest us to build CIME? Again?”

Draco nodded eagerly, “Yes, yes. We are lacking everything. Bla..bla.. But! We have our memories! We should try it!” he finished with a bright, hopeful smile..

Blaise stiffened. His lips pressed into a thin line as he bowed his head, massaging his forehead with his fingers. His body began to sway slightly, rocking back and forth. Draco wisely chose to stay silent, watching as his best friend processed his emotions.

Finally, after a minute or two, Blaise took a deep, steadying breath,“Merlino, aiutaci tutti,” he muttered under his breath, then looked at Draco, who was still wearing that stupid smile, “Alright. What’s the worst that can happened?”

Draco’s grin widened,“Great!” he shouted, shifting into a cross-legged sitting position, “Let’s just wait for tomorrow so we can form a plan with Theo!” he declared, exhilarated.

Blaise nodded, succumbing to the blonde. He didn’t have anything any more, to object.

Draco clapped his hands and announced, “Excellent! now, I need to go home before supper. So, bonne nuit Mr. Zabini and see you tomorrow.”

He jumped and run out of the room with his right hand waving at the air.

Blaise watched as his best friend’s blonde hair disappeared behind the door before lying back down on the cold floor. His eyes drifted back to the painting on the ceiling.

“I really can not understand how is that guy be so carefree in this situation.” he muttered to nobody.

“Maybe he hit his head when he got sent here. or maybe CIME rewired some of his nerve. or maybe Potter did get angry and cursed him. Huh. ” He shook his head.

“No. But it might happened six year from now,” he added, a hint of dry humor in his tone.

🐍🐍🐍

Chapter Text

The bustling life of platform 9¾ greeted Draco in the morning. He tried his best to stifle a yawn, a proper Malfoy shouldn’t open his mouth in public like an oaf. The symphony of footsteps, a loud collective of conversation, and the occasional screech as people spotted someone they recognized was quick to fill Draco’s ear. The muffliato charm was on the tip of his tongue, but he held back, imagining his parents’ expression when they heard their 11 years old cast it. His father would be proud for sure, but his mother? She would bombard him with question. It wasn’t worth it, and Draco didn’t have enough sleep to deal with something he hadn’t predicted.

When he left the Zabini’s residence and had his dinner, he planned everything he would do as soon as the three of them meet again. This intention supposed to put eased on his mind, instead the image of them getting exposed in the train and arrested by the Aurors leaving him awake for most of the night. Not to mention, the face of a certain raven-haired four eyes also joined in and haunted him in his dream. Draco shivered, recalling his dream of 26 y.o Harry Potter apparate in front of him and declared locking him in Azkaban for eternity.

The rhythmic clatter of heels and the low rumble of rolling suitcases were coming back when Draco left those memories away. He looked around the platform and spotted some students in his year, as well as the older ones. He recalled their names silently to fill his time, as two of his parents were busy entertaining their friends. He saw the Greengrass; both sibling chatting happily with their parents, and The Bulstrode with their grumpy daughter. His eyes move again to find the other Slytherin, but a tap on his shoulder caught him by surprised.

He looked to his left and found his best friend raising his eyebrow at him.

“Why are you gawking at people?” Blaise greeted him with a question.

Draco beamed, “Good morning Blaise, about time you arrived.”

Blaise gave him a pinched expression, “It’s not even 7, tone down with that smile, ugh.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Wow, what a delightful person you are.”

“You are welcome,” Blaise said and turned his attention to the sea of people, “Who did you try to find?”

Draco shrugged, “No one in particular. But I did see Daphne, Astoria, And Millie.”

Blaise snorted, “We aren’t in Hogwarts yet, and you managed to spotted your ex?”

He groaned as soon as he finished his question, pulling his feet away from Draco’s attacked.

The blonde glare at him, and Blaise responded with a roll of his eyes, putting distance between them.

“Boys?” Narcissa called for their attention and both boys smile at her, “Have you checked everything, Draco? Blaise? Your books? Vials?”

Draco nodded, giving his mother a reassuring smile, “Yes, mother. I’ve checked my trunk and nothing missing.”

Narcissa pet Draco’s hair and shifted her attention to the next boy. Blaise nodded when their gaze meets, giving her a similar answer and receiving a pet on the head. Mrs. Zabini then stole Narcissa attention and the two mother chatting happily. They left Draco’s father out, so the man went to the boys for entertainment.

“Draco,” he called and Draco tried his best not to grimace, he knows what kind of talk his father would do, “Yes, Father?”

Lucius’s eyes moving up and down, assessing his only son, “Don’t forget to take care of your appearance.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Make sure your hair won’t stick out of place.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Don’t stay up too late—”

“Father, please, I know,” Draco sighed, he could feel Blaise was holding his laugh.

Lucius frowned, “Listen son, I know how first day of Hogwarts feels, but you have to remember—” and so Draco’s first class started even before he step on the magical school (again). He huffed, folding his arms, but not trying to stop his father any more. Letting the man rambling as always.

On his left, Blaise was crying from holding his laugh watching the father and son. Draco glared at him, took out his wand, and sent a stinging hex toward the boy’s leg. Blaise yelped and Lucius sent him a questioning look.

The young Zabini smile sheepishly at the man and mumbling his apology. As if Lucius finally realized that Draco wasn’t alone, the man then shifted his lecture subject to young Zabini. Repeating what he said to Draco, reminding Blaise everything that he deemed important for 11y.o wizard, like using conditioner after shampoo, shower before bed, and never let gryffindor out smart you.

A sudden burst of white steam stopping any of the conversation around Draco. The three adult look at the wisps of smoke and to the boys. Narcissa & Sabrina smile at their son and Lucius clearing his throat before announcing that Draco & Blaise should enter to the train immediately. Obeying the older Malfoy, Draco & Blaise said their goodbyes to their parents, promising to be a good student and heir for their family.

𓆚

Draco took Blaise’s arm and led him to the farthest compartment they could reach as quickly as possible. Once inside, the blonde closed the door and threw himself onto the bench. Blaise raised an eyebrow at his best friend as he cast a levitation charm on his trunk, letting it drop onto the rack above. Draco huffed, did the same, and then shifted his attention to the window, watching a mix of long coats, robes, and pointy hats pass by. His thoughts began to drift when suddenly the door slid open, revealing a face he had been waiting for.

“Theo!” Draco exclaimed, starting to rise but stopping midway when he saw that Theo wasn’t alone. Behind the brown-haired boy appeared two others trailing him. The first was bald, and the moment his eyes met Draco’s, they lit up. “Draco!” he called, running toward the blonde to hug him tightly. Draco allowed the boy to squeeze him, his eyes still fixed on the second boy, who had the same reaction—calling Draco’s name excitedly and following the first to give him a hug.

With both arms hanging awkwardly in the air, Draco let the two boys take turns expressing their excitement. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling, blinking away a film of liquid that had begun to build up. Swallowing down a hiccup that threatened to escape in response to the sudden wave of guilt and sorrow, Draco struggled to keep his composure.

Blaise cleared his throat, “Greg, Vincent, I think Draco’s had enough.”

The two boys let out a loud gasp, apologized to the blonde, and stepped away to stow their baggage. Draco’s eyes followed their movements, watching their familiar backs and listening to their silly stories about their morning. He felt a tug and glanced to the side, making eye contact with Theo, who had stayed silent the entire time. Draco immediately noticed the slight shadows beneath his eyes.

Draco sat down, “You need to rest,” he muttered to Theo, who responded with only a nod before laying his head on Draco’s lap and closing his eyes.

“What’s wrong with him?” Vincent asked, sitting next to Blaise and watching Theo with a frown.

“Tired,” Blaise answered, his attention seemingly fixed on the window as though he were observing the people outside. But Draco knew better. The black-haired boy was trying his best to control his emotions, just as Draco was.

Vincent hummed and shifted his attention to Greg. Less than a minute later, the two boys were immersed in their own world, talking about candies and toys. Draco leaned back and sighed. The three of them were supposed to discuss and start planning how to proceed once they entered Hogwarts. But with this flood of emotions ruling his mind, Draco couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Instead, he watched the boy who had been taken by the fire, the boy who had done nothing but follow Draco and his parents’ will.

Draco bit back the surge of emotion and shifted his gaze as the train began to move. He caught Blaise’s attention. The other boy didn’t say anything, but Draco understood him perfectly. The train ride to Hogwarts was filled with Greg and Vincent’s happy noises, while two boys contented themselves with silence, and one boy remained deep in slumber.

Draco watched the scene outside as rolling hills gave way to forests before shifting back into undulating terrain. He could spot small villages alongside rivers and distant highlands—or perhaps mountains; he wasn’t sure, as the clouds were too thick to tell. Raindrops streaked across the window, making it harder to see and adding to the drowsy atmosphere. Greg was the first to let out a big yawn, followed by Vincent, Blaise, and finally Draco, despite his best attempt to stifle it. Draco rubbed his eyes and leaned against the window, letting his mind wander back to his first day at Hogwarts. He couldn’t remember much, but he knew he had been an ecstatic child, probably spending the train ride gossiping, full of energy. And yet here he was, repeating the same event but with an entirely different energy.

Draco took a deep breath. He caught sight of some ruins and a few more villages. He knew they were about to arrive at the station. Glancing at Blaise, he caught the boy’s eyes and whispered, “We need to talk.” Blaise nodded in agreement.

When the rhythmic chugging of the steam train began to slow, Draco straightened up. Gently, he shook Theo awake, mumbling, “We’re here.” Outside, the world seemed to come alive with the sounds and sights of arrival. Draco could see Hogsmeade Station’s grand architecture—buildings made of stone with charming ornate ironwork and small arched windows. A sea of Hogwarts robes suddenly filled his sight, though he could still pick out a few normal passengers trying their best to navigate through the bustling students.

“Firs’ years! Firs’ years!” A loud, rough voice called out to the youngest members of the Hogwarts students. Suddenly, their compartment door slid open, and a large man with thick, unruly hair bowed his head to peer inside. He instructed them to gather outside and follow his directions.

The five boys quickly collected their belongings and stepped out, joining the crowd of young witches and wizards.

“Who was that? Why did he look like that?” Greg was the first to speak, his voice filled with curiosity about the man they had just seen.

Vincent nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he was so big and disheveled!”

“Draco, wait!” Greg called out, running to catch up with the blonde boy before walking beside him. “Do you know who that was? Is he one of our professors?”

Draco shook his head, his tone disinterested. “I don’t know,” he replied. His gaze was fixed on the vast landscape beyond the station. Although a light fog hung in the air, the sky was clear enough for him to see the ancient castle in the distance. A heavy sensation washed over him—a mix of longing, relief, and fear. The last time he had seen the castle was when he had finished his education, and he had never imagined he would return.

A firm smack on his back brought Draco back to the present.

“Come on,” Blaise said, smiling gently at him. In his eyes, Draco could see the same emotions he himself was feeling. Draco returned the smile and glanced around to find Theo. He noticed Theo standing silently, staring at the castle with a distant expression. Draco approached him and gave him a gentle nudge, much like Blaise had done for him.

Theo looked at Draco and sighed. He didn’t smile.

The three of them walked together, trailing behind Greg and Vincent, who were enthusiastically gasping, marveling, and sharing their opinions about everything they saw.

Blaise elbowed Draco, “So? Our talk?”

Draco glanced at him and slowed his pace, creating some distance between themselves and the two boys ahead. Blaise and Theo followed suit.

“Listen,” Draco whispered, “Our first step is making sure we’re sorted into Slytherin.”

Theo gasped. “You think the hat might put us in different houses?” His voice was laced with worry.

“There’s a possibility,” Blaise agreed. “We can’t let that happen.”

“Uh, okay. How? Demand? Threaten? Debate with it?” Theo asked, though his tone made it sound as if he were talking to himself. His face contorted as he imagined arguing with the ancient, talking hat.

Draco and Blaise snorted, their minds conjuring the same absurd image: a 11 y.o pointing finger at the Sorting Hat in the middle of the Great Hall, shouting ‘Objection!’. It would be a scandalous—yet undeniably marvelous sight.

“Aye! Over here! Careful now!” The booming voice of Rubeus Hagrid echoed through the ears of the young students. With slightly hesitant steps, the huddle of first-years followed the half-giant’s direction. He led them down a steep, narrow path to the edge of the vast lake, better known as the Black Lake—a body of water that held a special place in the hearts of every member of Slytherin House.

Draco huffed as he navigated the path, his tiny feet moving cautiously. He had forgotten how small he used to be, though he was thankful that the Malfoy genes wouldn’t let him stay this way forever. When he misjudged a step, Blaise and Theo were quick to catch his arms, holding him up like a doll. Draco felt the urge to yell at his best friends, to tell them to back off and stop treating him like a child. But drawing attention to himself at this moment wasn’t a wise choice, so he bit back his anger and pulled his arms free once he regained his balance.

Draco could hear muffled laughter coming from both sides. He knew the two of them were holding it in; they, too, understood that causing a scene wasn’t worth it.

“Shut up,” Draco hissed, glaring at them in turn. “Listen, the Sorting Hat judges our personalities, skills, and traits. So don’t forget, ambition, cunning—”

“Resourcefulness—” Blaise continued.

“And leadership,” Theo finished.

Draco blinked at them, slightly annoyed at being cut off but also relieved that the traits of their house were still deeply ingrained in their minds.

“Very good. We’ll be fine,” Draco said, nodding with a sense of optimism.

“Relax, we were born as snakes,” Blaise added, sounding far too smug for Draco’s liking.

“I think the hat also takes the student’s preferences into account,” Theo muttered, again, more to himself than to the others.

“Good to know,” Draco replied as their steps slowed, finally reaching the edge of the Black Lake. Several small boats floated on the water, waiting for them. Hagrid’s voice boomed again, giving instructions to the new students and warning them about the creatures that lived in the lake. A chorus of panicked murmurs rose from the crowd, and students who knew each other began gathering together to share their knowledge of magical water creatures.

“Can’t wait to meet Nessie again,” Theo murmured.

“You mean Windsor,” Draco corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“I still don’t understand why you chose that name. It sounds so posh,” Blaise protested, earning a glare from Draco.

“It’s a perfect name for him!” Draco insisted.

“You still believe Nessie is a male?” Theo asked, tilting his head at Draco.

Draco clicked his tongue. “I don’t believe it. It doesn’t matter. I’ll still call Windsor, Windsor.”

“You two are rubbish at giving names,” Blaise sneered.

“You called Nessie Marco, Blaze,” Theo argued.

“And? Marco is a perfect name for a perfect squid,” Blaise shot back.

“Careful! Don’t let the squid catch yer leg!” Hagrid called out in a playful tone. Slowly but surely, the line of first-years began to move as the boats filled with 3-4 students each. The boats floated and moved on their own, forming a curving line as they glided across the lake toward the castle.

𓆚

Draco and Theo let out a collective groan as they stepped into the boathouse and saw the long staircase leading to the giant door.

Blaise smacked both of them on the shoulder. “Stop acting like old men and walk.”

“Can’t we just apparate to the door?” Theo huffed.

“The wards, Theo. The wards,” Blaise replied, pushing the brown-haired boy forward, eliciting a whimper.

Draco clicked his tongue. “Stupid giant castle. No Apparition, no brooms, just sore muscles,” he muttered bitterly, recalling the endless exercise he’d endured as a Hogwarts student.

“And that’s why you’ll turned into a bony-man,” Blaise chuckled. Draco stomped on his foot, causing him to yelp.

“My body isn’t bony. My body was perfectly curved. My body was extremely desirable. Thank you very much.” Draco snapped.

“Sure, desirable brat,” Blaise rolled his eyes, continuing to push Theo toward the stairs.

The new students climbed the stairs, each reacting differently. Some, like Greg and Vincent, ascended with wonder and excitement. Others, like Draco and Theo, whined and complained. And then there were those like Blaise, who climbed with exasperation and annoyance, forced to pull and push their friends along.

At the top of the stairs stood a tall, elderly witch waiting for them. She led them through the courtyard and through a grand, weathered door. They walked into Hogwarts’ entrance hall, where the school motto was carved into the wall: Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus¹.

They passed through another grand door into the reception hall, where the students saw 4 towering hourglasses, each filled with sparkling sand in four different colors. The hourglasses were glass & granite-sculpted, adorned with the symbols of the four houses. A chorus of astonishment erupted from the students as they marveled at the intricate, figure-eight shapes.

The elderly witch stood tall, her emerald-green robes slightly sweeping the stone floor as she paused in front of yet another door.

“Is it another door?” Greg whispered. And Vincent answered, “I think so.”

Blaise and Theo burst into laughter.

“You’re right, Greg,” Draco said, biting back a laugh of his own.

Greg turned to Draco, beaming, before looking back at Vincent. “I was right?!”

Vincent nodded, his expression proud. “That was a good prediction, Greg.”

Witnessing their silly exchange, Draco felt a familiar sensation creeping back—the same feeling he’d had on the train. The fire, the agonizing screams, and Greg’s hollow expression when it was all over, when the weight of their actions had finally sunk in.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” the witch spoke with a clear, authoritative voice, instantly silencing the first-years. “My name is Minerva McGonagall. You may address me as Professor McGonagall. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses.” She paused, observing the students’ mixed expressions.

“The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be like your family within Hogwarts. You will attend classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. Many of you may already be familiar with the four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and has produced outstanding witches and wizards.” She paused again, allowing the students to absorb her words.

“While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points,” she paused to gesture toward the hourglasses, “while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. The Sorting Ceremony will begin shortly.” She stepped aside and gestured to the door behind her.

“The Sorting Ceremony will take place in the Great Hall in front of the entire school. I suggest you all prepared yourselves as much as possible while you wait. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.” With that, she concluded her speech and disappeared through the door.

As soon as Professor McGonagall left, the noise erupted. A collective wave of exhilaration and anticipation filled the air. Draco stepped back, overwhelmed by the cacophony, followed by Theo and Blaise.

“Merlin and Morgana, I forgot how loud children are,” Draco muttered, covering his ears with both hands.

“Can we cast a silencing spell?” Theo whimpered.

“No,” Blaise said firmly, stopping Theo as he reached for his wand. Theo let out a quiet sob, grimacing at the chaos around them.

Blaise sighed. “I know. We’re too old for this.”

“What do you mean, ‘too old’? You’re eleven, Zabini,” a sudden female voice interjected. “Stop acting like you’re decades older than us. Do you want to be called Grandpa?” Pansy Parkinson smirked mockingly at Blaise.

Theo blinked at her. “Oh, Pansy.”

Pansy dropped her smirk and raised an eyebrow at him. “And you must be Theodore Nott,” she said, scowling.

Taken aback, Theo scratched his neck and shifted his gaze. “My apologies, Miss Parkinson.”

Pansy crossed her arms, looking up and down at him. “It’s Lady to you, Nott.”

Taken aback, Theo scratched his neck and shifted his gaze. “My apologies, Miss Parkinson.”

Pansy crossed her arms, looking up and down at him. “It’s Lady to you, Nott.”

“Enough,” Blaise said, stepping between Pansy and Theo. “What are you doing, Parkinson?”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Are you blind or deaf, Zabini? I’m correcting his manners—”

“Pansy,” Draco called, and the girl froze. “Do not speak to Theo like that.”

Pansy stared at Draco, clearly surprised by his objection. Her lips twisted in displeasure as her dark eyes darted between the three boys.

She then smirked. “Malfoy and Zabini? Sure. But Nott? Malfoy and Nott? Zabini and Nott? Really?” she asked, her tone soft and almost innocent; if not for her expression.

Draco took a step forward, trying to appear intimidating despite his smaller stature. “Indeed, as you can see, we are capable of distinguishing our friendships from our parents’ relationships. Or is that something a lady like you cannot comprehend?” he retorted, his voice honeyed and his head tilted slightly.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s wrong with you, Draco? You, of all people, should know that some wizarding families are much better than others—”

“Bollocks!” Draco shouted. “What I know is that it’s all poppycocks! I don’t care what family Theo belongs to! he’s my friend!” He ended his outburst with heavy panting, glaring daggers at Pansy and ignoring the shocked expressions of those around him.

Blaise called his name, trying to pull him back by the shoulder, but Draco ignored him. When Blaise tried again, Draco turned his head—

“Wow. Your voice is really loud!” Harry Potter stepped out from the crowd, smiling at Draco. “And brilliant! The way you defended your friend.” He nodded, stopping in front of Draco.

“Hullo, we finally meet again. I’m Harry Potter. What’s your name?” The boy with unruly hair extended his hand toward the astonished blonde, his smile widening.

f someone had used legilimency on Draco at that moment, they would have heard the sound of explosions and a thousand alarms blaring in his mind. His inner self was a chaotic mess, running around screaming the boy’s name as if the boy were an angel who had descended before him, bestowing him with that charming smile.

A shake on his shoulder and a whispered, “Pick up your jaw. You’re embarrassing yourself,” snapped Draco back to reality.

Potter was still standing there, his hand awkwardly extended, his smile smaller now but no less sincere. He tilted his head, studying Draco’s face.

Oh no! Draco thought. What does my face look like right now? Do I look ridiculous? Is my expression wonky? I feel hot—Am I sweating? No, No; My face will be oily—in front of Potter!

“Harry, you don’t need to concern yourself with them,” a red-haired boy said, stepping forward and gently pulling Potter back. “Those are the lads I told you about. Especially him—Draco Malfoy. His father is the worst.” He shot Draco a familiar, nasty glare, which Draco returned with equal venom.

Potter glanced at the boy—Ron Weasley—his expression a mix of confusion and surprise. He looked back at Draco, blinking, his hand now at his side. For the hundredth time since Draco had woken up in this body, a crushing wave of nostalgia threatened to overwhelm him. But instead of succumbing, Draco clenched his fists and stood his ground. He held Potter’s gaze, shot him a sharp look, raised his chin, and turned away.

He could hear Weasley mutter, “See? He’s awful,” behind his back. Determined to ignore whatever the Gryffindor idiots said about him, Draco crossed his arms and glared at the one who had started it all.

Pansy deepened her scowl, her eyes filled with puzzlement.

However, their stare-down was cut short when the door opened, revealing Professor McGonagall standing tall, scanning the group of children.

“Is everything alright?” she asked, her sharp eyes sweeping over the young witches and wizards. The students murmured nervously, glancing at one another.

“The Sorting Ceremony is about to begin. Follow me, and ensure you walk in an orderly manner,” she announced. At the same time, the giant door swung open, revealing yet another door that also opened for her.

The new students followed her without issue, their footsteps echoing as they entered the Great Hall. The vast room was breathtaking, illuminated by floating candles and adorned with the emblems of the 4 houses. Long tables stretched across the hall, laden with food and drinks, while students from all years sat on either side, watching the newcomers with keen interest. Some of the first-years began waving and calling out to family members or acquaintances they recognized.

Draco, Blaise, and Theo spotted several familiar faces—not just from their memories as students but also from their experiences as adults. Silently, the three of them cataloged each person’s flaws and strengths, their traits, and the pros and cons of building relationships with them.

𓆚

“Remember, our traits,” Draco murmured to his best friends as they waited in line for their turn in the ceremony.

“So²,” Blaise replied, while Theo hummed in confirmation. But Draco had spent enough time with the boy to know what that tone meant.

“Don’t cry!” Draco hissed. The brown-haired boy sniffed weakly.

“I’m not!” Theo lifted his head, staring at Draco with red-rimmed eyes. “I forgot how mean Pansy was.”

Blaise sighed and pulled Theo into a one-sided hug. “Ou³, mate. You’re not alone now, okay? We’ll deal with her together this time.”

“You mean you’ll deal with her,” Draco said, scowling. “She’s your responsibility.”

Blaise clicked his tongue and shifted his gaze but refused to argue further as they stepped forward, following the line’s movement. Draco rolled his eyes and brought his attention back to the Sorting Ceremony.

Hannah Abbott had just been sorted into Hufflepuff when Harry Potter sat down on the chair and received the talking hat on his head.

“Potter? Wait—why is he ahead of me?!” Draco asked, perplexed. The other boys only responded with a confused, “Huh?”

“I was supposed to be sorted before him!” the blonde explained, giving his best friends an incredulous look.

Theo shook his head and shrugged, while Blaise raised an eyebrow. “So? You can’t be petty about—”

Draco slapped his arm and hissed, “I’m not being petty! I’m telling you this didn’t hap—”

“Draco Malfoy!” Professor McGonagall’s stern voice called for him. With a mix of hesitation and determination to get the ceremony over with, Draco sat on the chair.

The wrinkled, worn-out hat began thrumming on Draco’s head—something it definitely hadn’t done during his first Sorting. Draco clenched his robes, letting the ancient hat make its thinking noises, but he soon ran out of patience.

“Just put me in Slytherin!” he whispered. “Both my parents are Slytherins!”

However, instead of granting Draco’s plea, the hat began to speak: “Interesting, very interesting… This is not your first time, is it? Most intriguing.”

Draco’s eyes widened as his stomach dropped. He silently cursed himself. Zut!⁴ Of course, this ugly hat knows! It can read minds!

“Fear not, young one, for I pass no judgment here. My purpose is to guide, to make your path clear. Created to help witches and wizards find their way, To a house where talents grow, day by day. I see in you a thirst for knowledge, bright and true, A wit that shines, a wonder that drives you. You reach for heights where few dare to climb, And so, I say, Ravenclaw is—”

“No!” Draco’s eyes snapped open as he shouted, drawing a concerned glance from Professor McGonagall. He quickly offered a sheepish smile in response to her questioning look.

“Sorry, Professor.” he muttered, brushing it off before refocusing on the hat.

“Listen,” he said under his breath, his voice low but firm. “I have a goal in mind. A big one. Bigger than my body—my current body. I’ll grow.” he paused and continue, “What I mean is; there’s something I need to do, something I need to achieve. So, just put me in Slytherin.”

The hat paused, as if considering his words. “Ah, ambition,” it mused, its tone almost teasing. “It burns brightly within you. A cunning mind, with goals you’ll surely pursue—”

Draco’s patience snapped. “Putain!⁵ Just put me in—”

“Slytherin!” the hat bellowed, cutting him off.

A chorus of cheers erupted from the Slytherin table as Draco stood, his face a mix of relief and lingering irritation. He straightened his robes and strode toward his new housemates, his head held high despite the lingering embarrassment of his outburst.

Draco let out a deep breath and smile at his fellow house members as he took a seat next to Gregory & Vincent’s happy face. He smile at them, but when he heard Blaise’s name being called next the euphoria and relief evaporate in an instant.

🐍─୨ৎ─🐍

Blaise had a very-not-so-good-yet-not-the-worst kind of day. The expected train ride, with its expected feelings of guilt and grief, had been compounded by the not-so-unexpected clash with his younger version of his ex-wife. And now, to top it all off, there was the whole ordeal about his brilliant mind and wisdom, which apparently made him a perfect candidate for Ravenclaw’s heir.

“—In Ravenclaw, where the clever and wise reside,

You’ll find your place, where ideas collide.

So wear the blue and bronze with pride,

For in Ravenclaw, your brilliance will never hide.”

The hat finished its song with a flourish. Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“That’s a nice song, sir—old hat. But I suggest you look deeper into my briliant mind and see how cunning I am, how quick I am to spot opportunities and seize them. I was born to lead, not to sit around staring at dusty books for knowledge—”

“Ah, but you’ve done just that,” the hat interrupted. “In your pursuit of your goals, you’ve collected seeds of knowledge and nurtured them into fruition.”

“Ovviamente!⁶ How else am I supposed to complete my projects without research?” Blaise shot back, incredulous at the hat’s absurd reasoning.

The hat, however, was undeterred. “One who values self-expression is unafraid to stand out from the crowd. That, too, is a celebration of uniqueness—a hallmark of the house of blue.”

Blaise tilted his head slightly, staring up at the hat. “Did you even hear yourself just now?

“You have a mind so sharp, so curious, so keen—”

“That’s my cunning side!”

“A thirst for knowledge, a love for the unseen—”

“Yeah, because it’s related to my goals!”

“You seek the truth, in wisdom you delight—”

“I want to achieve my goals!”

“With wit and wonder, you reach for greater heights—”

“That’s ambition! I have the ambition of a serpent, of a snake! Merlin, you need fixing! How many years has it been since someone checked the spells attached to you? Your runes? Because, in the name of Salazar’s long silky white beard, what makes you think a man with as much ambition as me would be perfect for a house that cares more about their books than their appearance? Have you seen them? Have you seen me?”

Blaise panted, his hands raised as if ready to yank the old hat off his head.

“Mr. Zabini!” Professor McGonagall’s stern voice cut through the air like a bucket of cold water. The witch scowled at him. “Please refrain from personal judgments and allow the hat to do its job.”

Blaise nodded, his face burning. “Y-yes, Professor.”

He could hear loud murmurs from the Ravenclaw table, and even with his eyes closed, he could feel their hateful glares. Fantastica! Making enemies with an entire house as a first-year! this is some Harry Potter-level achievement!

Taking a deep breath, Blaise closed his eyes and hissed through gritted teeth,

“Stronzo. Ti strapperò la pelle.” ⁷

There was a pause before the hat finally announced: “Slytherin!”

Walking to table was met with cheers and laughter from his own house and even some from the red-house. The yellow-house were doing their best to remain neutral with their expression, though he could tell they agreed with his earlier outburst. As for the house he just ‘innocently’ attacked; their murderous gazes was now followed him, some even muttering his name like a curse.

If he thought today had been a very-not-so-good-yet-not-the-worst kind of day, it had now officially become a very-very-definitely-bad-hopefully won’t-lead-to-worst kind of day.

🐍─୨ৎ─🐍

Theo was shocked but deeply entertained by how his two best friends had dealt with the sorting hat. He knew they needed to secure their place in Slytherin, doing whatever it took to convince the hat. But could he do that? Argue loudly and publicly against a hat that, for centuries, had held the power to determine the futures of young witches and wizards? Could he be as assertive as Draco? As argumentative as Blaise? Could he?

Theo questioned himself as he watched the eldest Greengrass sit on the chair. He knew ending up in another house would only bring trouble;not just for the three of them and their need to fix their situation, but for his family as well. Being sorted into a house other than Slytherin would give his father another reason to torment him—or worse, drag his mother into it.

“Theodore Nott!” Professor McGonagall’s voice called, snapping him out of his thoughts. Theo obeyed, stepping forward and sitting on the stool.

He closed his eyes as the hat was placed on his head, letting it search through his mind.

“What a peculiar year,” the hat mused. “Not one, not two, but three young wizards sharing the same… situation. Interesting!”

Theo stiffened. Of course, the hat knew about their lost-in-the-past situationship. It was useless to hide anything from a hat created solely to read minds. He nodded slightly, acknowledging that yes, it was indeed peculiar and interesting.

“Ah, you too share a thirst for knowledge,” the hat continued. “You have a drive for innovation and imagination. You love exploring new ideas and seek to understand the world around you.”

Theo blinked, listening carefully before replying in his mind, “Y-yeah, you’re correct, sir-hat. But… can you put me in Slytherin? I think I also have a high drive to achieve my goals. I have so many goals, sir-hat. I could list them for you if you allow me?

“Hmm,” the hat hummed, considering his words. “But one can also see you possessed a heart so true and kind. A loyal soul, with a steadfast mind. You care for others, and you lend a hand. In Hufflepuff, you’ll find your stand. Where hard work and kindness go hand in hand, and friendships are built to forever withstand.”

Theo’s face heated at the hat’s words. A kind heart? Him? with a steadfast mind? He felt a flicker of bashful pride but quickly mentally slapped himself. No! Focus! Theo, you were born a snake!

“Thank you, sir-hat,” Theo replied, still communicating through his thoughts. “I’m sure you’re right, but I need to be in Slytherin. It’s not just for me, but also for my friends and my family.” he paused before added: “Please?”

The hat hummed again, this time longer and more thoughtfully.

“A harsh situation can shape one’s determination,” it finally said. “A desire to achieve greatness, paired with the ability to use the tools and opportunities around you, and the pride you hold despite everything you’ve endured.”

and then the hat finally announced: “In Slytherin, you shall belong!”

A chorus of applause and cheers erupted from the Slytherin table as Theo stood, relief washing over him. He made his way to the green-and-silver table, where Blaise and Draco greeted him with beaming smiles.

“Well done, Theo,” Draco said, patting his head.

“Ci hai messo abbastanza, ⁸mate.” Blaise teased, ruffling his hair.

Greg and Vincent, sitting nearby, gave him hearty pats on the back and slid a few of their hoarded cupcakes toward him.

Theo grinned, finally feeling he could breath normally.

𓆚

That was how the Sorting Ceremony unfolded for them. A couple of hiccups from the two new Slytherin students didn’t disrupt the proceedings, and it concluded just as everyone had expected.

Now, standing before the young snakes was a tall man draped in long black robes, his tired yet annoyed expression fixed on them. His dark eyes darted from one student to another as he muttered something under his breath. With a dismissive wave, he allowed the older students; the prefects—to guide the first-years to their common room: the infamous dungeon.

They walked back through the reception hall, turned left, and took a path leading to the grand staircase. Dozens of moving paintings waved and smiled at them, some even welcoming them in cheerful tones. The grand staircase, however, was as frustrating as they remembered. It shifted and disappeared at random intervals, as if testing the students’ reflexes. This was why most slytherins preferred to take alternate routes to reach their common room.

Along the way, some of the prefects began whispering praises about Blaise’s bold statement earlier. They spoke as if he were the star pupil, and Blaise could do little but smile and nod, masking the dread he felt. Draco, walking beside him, pretended that Blaise didn’t just waged war in front of the entire school. Instead of stifling laughter like Theo, Draco focused on his surroundings: the familiar stone ornaments, the cheerful chatter of Vincent and Greg, and most notably, the presence of their Head of House—who also happened to be his godfather—Severus Snape.

The man strode ahead of them with confidence, his long robes swaying like wings. His black bobbed hair bounced with each step. Seeing Snape again, a man he had doomed in his previous life, added weight to Draco’s heart. He nearly vomited when those dark eyes locked onto him, recognition flickering within them. Guilt and shame made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. But this wasn’t the time or place to process it all. Later, when he could finally retreat to the small bed in the room he shared with his housemates, he would let it all out.

They stopped before a blank stone-wall as the Head of Slytherin announced the password: Voluntas⁹. He spoke loudly enough for the new students to remember it for the next 48 hours before it changed. A big snake slithered out from the stone-wall, revealing a giant door. Inside, they were greeted by a water fountain adorned with two mermaid sculptures.

Despite having spent much of their childhood here, Draco, Theo, and Blaise never grew immune to the awe their common room inspired. Serene, elegant, and luxurious were the three words they would always use to describe it. Another fountain stood in the corner, this one featuring a statue of Neptune. The gentle dripping of water echoed not only from the fountains but also from the ceiling, blending with the soft notes of a piano. The room was bathed in ambient light from greenish lamps, candles, and the eerie glow filtering through the lake.

The high ceiling was supported by stone pillars, and the color palette was dominated by emerald, silver, and black. A massive, ornate fireplace surrounded by couches served as the focal point. Portraits of Slytherin’s predecessors lined the walls, their judgmental eyes offering a warm yet scrutinizing welcome. In the center of the room, a grand staircase adorned with snake motifs led up to a towering sculpture of Salazar Slytherin, holding a snake and a skull in his hands.

Professor Severus Snape introduced himself in his iconic deep, slow, and measured tone. He listed several rules they were expected to obey before directing the girls to follow the Head Girl to their dormitory. He personally led the boys to theirs. The room contained eight beds, four on each side, with a large window at the center showcasing the underwater life of the lake. Greg and Vincent immediately claimed their favorite beds, while the other three boys stood still, clutching their belongings, knowing what was coming.

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow at their behavior but said nothing. He allowed the excited boys to marvel at the room as if they weren’t from wealthy, well-known families. When he decided they had wasted enough of his time, he ordered the five of them to stand before him and open their belongings.

Greg and Vincent were visibly surprised but complied nonetheless. With a flick of his wand, all their belongings floated out of their trunks, hovering in front of Professor Snape’s piercing black eyes. With careful assessment, he took mental notes of each item. Slowly but surely, Greg’s belongings floated back into his trunk as Snape shifted his attention to Vincent. The two boys didn’t have anything worth scolding aside from a large basket full of candies and biscuits. As a wise Slytherin, Professor Snape chose not to comment on their dietary choices and instead moved on to Theo, who stood ready with his belongings already open.

Theo’s trunk contained a complete list of the assigned items for a new student—nothing more, nothing less. Seeing this, the professor narrowed his eyes at the brown-haired boy’s innocent smile before casting, “Revelio.”

Theo choked audibly, Blaise cursed silently, and Draco sent a quick prayer to Merlin, Morgana, and Salazar. Inside Theo’s trunk, a hidden compartment was revealed, and Snape demanded he open it. More items floated out, hovering before the professor’s surprised eyes.

“What is this, Mr. Nott?” Snape asked, his voice dripping with skepticism. “Rubbish?”

“No! It’s, uh, leftovers from my ancestors…?,” Theo answered, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Are you asking me or answering my question?” Snape scowled.

Theo shifted his gaze downward, scratching the back of his neck. “No, sir—I mean, Professor. It’s just a bunch of knackered old stuff I found in my manor. I believe it once belonged to my great-grandparents.”

Professor Snape eyed the floating assortment of metal, stones, and gems, each varying in size and shape. “And what purpose do these serve for a first-year student?”

There was a pause before Theo responded, a tremor in his voice. “For learning purposes, of course! Haha…”

Professor Snape narrowed his eyes. “Hm. Sadly, I fail to see how any of this serves your education, Mr. Nott.” With that, he confiscated the items, tucking them into his robes.

“Wait! No!” Theo protested, pleading. “Please, Professor! I promise they’ll only be used as, uh, toys! For finding inspiration!”

Professor Snape stared at him with a bored expression before turning his attention to Blaise. Theo muttered under his breath, “Che palle¹⁰,” and the professor immediately replied, “Non preoccuparti, me ne prenderò cura¹¹,” without even glancing at him.

Theo stiffened and blurted out an apology. He had forgotten that the head of his house was fluent in multiple languages, including Italian.

Despite Blaise’s best efforts to mask his distress, Snape’s sharp eyes caught something that earned him the same treatment as Theo. Instead of random clutter, however, the professor discovered several Arithmancy and rune-related books, along with some blank scrolls.

Snape hummed thoughtfully. “For someone who detests caring for books as much as he cares for his appearance, you certainly have an interesting collection here, Mr. Zabini.”

The other boys stifled their laughter, and Blaise cleared his throat, trying not to recall his earlier bold statement in the Great Hall. “Y-yes, Professor. As you heard, I have a brilliant mind, and that’s why I brought these books—to help me with my studies at Hogwarts.”

Professor Snape’s mouth curled slightly at the response. “I see. That’s a good plan. However, I must remind you that you are a first-year, and these books are far too advanced for—”

“I can understand them!” Blaise interjected, feeling offended. “I’m fully capable of understanding, Professor. I inherited these books from my great-grandmother, and I’ve been studying them since I was an infant.”

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold statement, Mr. Zabini. Since you were an infant, hmm? Shall I inform the headmaster of the arrival of a new professor?”

Blaise’s frustration grew as the other boys burst into laughter. “No, no! That’s not what I meant, Professor. I just need these books for my own studies. I thought it would be better to prepare early, you know? Like an ambitious snake.”

“I see,” Snape said, pausing for effect. “You are a very argumentative individual, Mr. Zabini. That’s not necessarily a bad trait for this house. It might even take you far in life…”

Blaise began to smile, feeling a flicker of pride.

“…far from most people, probably,” Snape finished, and the other boys couldn’t help but howl with laughter. “And as I stated to Mr.Nott, you don’t need to worry. I will only keep them until I you are old enough.”

Blaise maintained his smile, though inside he was cursing the head of his house in a hundred different ways.

After confiscating the books, Professor Snape turned to the last member of his youngest snakes. Draco offered his best smile as the contents of his trunk spilled into the air. Unlike with the others, Snape didn’t waste time silently judging the items. Instead, he immediately cast the spell to reveal a suspicious pouch.

Potions-related objects began pouring out: a mini cauldron, a mini mortar, several vials, pipettes, a stirring rod, Draco’s personal grimoire, and various ingredients that were definitely not on the assigned list.

Professor Snape stared at Draco, his expression unreadable.

“I want to develop my skills further!” Draco explained, his tone melodic and his eyes pleading. “You’ve taught me enough for self-study, Unc—Professor! So, I plan to practice my brewing in my spare time!”

The professor frowned but said nothing. Draco held his ground, maintaining his pleading expression.

Seconds passed before Snape sighed. “Very well. But you don’t need these,” he said, confiscating the various ingredients.

“Ehh,” Draco whined, but Snape’s deepening scowl silenced him. “You’ll learn potions appropriate to your age, Draco.”

Draco pouted and muttered, “Fine.”

Professor Snape shook his head before announcing his departure and granting the boys some rest.

As soon as the professor’s bat-like robes disappeared behind the door, all of them collapsed onto their chosen beds with loud sighs. They chatted about random things as they organized their school supplies and tidied their clothes into their respective closets.

Vincent was the first to mutter goodnight, followed by Greg. When silence fell over the room, the remaining boys sat up and exchanged glances. Theo pulled out his wand and cast a silencing spell around them as Draco and Blaise approached his bed.

Theo nodded, gesturing for them to start the conversation. Blaise suggested that Draco explain their plan to Theo about rebirthing C.I.M.E.

Theo listened intently, and as they had predicted, he agreed. “I think it’s the most logical thing to do. We need to try. But what about the ingredients?”

“Confiscated,” Draco muttered bitterly. “Well, not like all of them would’ve covered what we need, but still…”

Blaise smacked Draco’s back, causing the blonde to groan in pain. “Shut it, brat. You’re the only one who still has your stuff. Ugh, I’ve always hated his favoritism.”

Draco smacked Blaise back, and Theo snorted. “Well, it can’t be helped. He is Draco’s godfather. And you still have your scrolls,” he added, throwing a questioning glance at Blaise, who was in the middle of putting Draco in a headlock. Blaise nodded in confirmation.

“And I have nothing…” Theo sighed. “Moving on, what should we do?”

Draco pushed Blaise away and began explaining about wild magical plants, stones, and other materials they could acquire by searching the area around Hogwarts.

Blaise whipped his head around, his eyes wide. “Did you just suggest we fight Mongrels? Spiders—”

“Which ones? Because I won’t step inside the Acromantula’s lair. Remember what happened last time?” Theo interjected.

“—Dugbogs, Inferi, or Trolls?!” Blaise continued, his eyes full of terror as he stared at Draco. “In case you’ve forgotten, Draco, we’re 11 years old with 11-year-old bodies and 11-year-old magic!”

Draco crossed his arms and huffed. “I know! But we have experience! We can make strategies, set traps, or something. I didn’t mean we should launch into full combat. I’m not stupid,” he said, glaring at Blaise.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Debatable.”

“Okay, so we’ll hunt strategically. Did you make the list?” Theo asked Draco, who shifted his angry gaze from Blaise to summon his personal grimoire and hand it over. Theo scooted closer to Blaise and began reading.

Theo’s eyes moved quickly as he traced the words, while Blaise flipped through the pages in horror. “Cazzo¹². This could take years ! Not to mention the rare ones !”

Theo sighed beside him, his face falling. “This is on top of the non-existent equipment, all the calculations, and the rune work…”

Draco shrugged. “And the altar.”

Blaise groaned and flopped onto the bed, his head beginning to throb. “Can we not do this now? Maybe tomorrow? I’ve had a loooong day.”

“We all have,” Draco sneered. “But whatever, let’s just sleep,” he said, taking his grimoire and walking back to his bed.

Blaise did the same, pulling his blanket over himself. He yawned, muttered goodnight, and received the same in return.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the steady breathing of the boys. Then Theo, unable to help himself, broke the silence.

“Uh, Dray? Blaze?” he murmured. Only Draco responded with a faint hum.

“Uhh, what should I do about Pansy?” The question caused Blaise to jerk upright. “I mean, she’s my friend--was my friend. But now she is her former self.”

Blaise groaned again, louder this time. He paused to consider his words before answering, “Just do what you think is right. Stand up for yourself. I told you, you’re not alone this time.”

Theo smiled, the tension in his shoulders melting away. “Okay, thanks, Blaze,” he mumbled, letting his eyes fall closed.

“Draco,” Blaise called out this time.

Draco clicked his tongue and glared from his bed. “What?”

“What was that between you and Potter before the ceremony? Why did you ignore him? I thought—”

“You thought what? It was nothing. I was just annoyed. Saint Potter was sticking his nose in like a bloodhound.” This elicited surprised laughter from Theo and Blaise.

“Shut it. It’s not funny,” Draco grumbled.

Theo giggled. “It actually is. And I miss the way you say ‘Pot-TAH.’”

“Saint Poo-TTAH,” Blaise mimicked, exaggerating the pronunciation.

“I didn’t say it like that!” Draco protested.

“You definitely did, mate,” Blaise snickered, with Theo nodding in agreement.

Draco huffed and pulled his blanket over himself, ignoring his friends’ quiet laughter. He expected them to drop the conversation and go back to sleep, but of course, they weren’t done yet.

“So, has it started again?” Blaise asked once his laughter died down. Draco forced his eyes to stay closed, ignoring the question.

"What did you call Potter again? Your arch-nemesis?” Theo chimed in, still giggling.

“Oh, he definitely does-‘Arch,’ thinking about Pot-TAH,” Blaise added, and both of them burst into laughter.

“That’s it!” Draco yelled, throwing off his blanket and sending hexes at the cackling boys. Their cries of pain and Draco’s loud French curses finally stirred Vincent awake.

“What’s wrong?” Vincent sat up, rubbing his eyes.

The three of them froze. Blaise was the first to respond, telling Vincent that nothing was wrong and he should go back to sleep. The boy nodded. “You guys should too. Our classes start tomorrow,” he mumbled, yawning before lying back down.

Once they were sure Vincent was asleep again, Theo straightened up on his bed. “When are we going to talk about…?” he asked, leaving the last word unsaid. He looked from Blaise to Draco. Blaise frowned instead of answering, glancing at the sleeping boy and then at Draco.

Draco sighed, sitting on his bed. “Not now. I don’t want to think about that right now,” he said, staring at his open palm as his vision began to blur.

“Alright,” Theo said, and the three of them settled back into their beds.

Until he spoke again:“But seriously, Dray, you shouldn’t have ignored him like that. Did you see Potter’s face when you turned your back?”

Draco inhaled sharply, but before he could respond, Blaise cut in. “Agreed. Why did you do that to the poor kid? Don’t you remember his situation? Him being an orph—”

“La ferme!¹³” Draco hissed. “I know his situation! And I don’t care! I don’t care about him—”

Just the other day, you were so proud of making a good first impression on him,” Blaise countered, smirking at Draco’s red face.

“So that’s why Potter said, ‘We meet again’! Did you two meet in Diagon Alley?” Theo asked, and Blaise nodded.

“Oh, that’s sweet, Dray! I’m proud of you! So why did you do that?” Theo stared at Draco, unfazed by the blonde’s glare.

Draco’s eyes darted between the two annoying boys he called his best friends, realizing he was outnumbered. To get back to sleep, he knew he had to quenching their thirst.

“He did it to me first, okay? Remember our—”

“I knew it!” Blaise declared. “I knew it was petty revenge!”

“It was not!” Draco yelled back.

“Oh! Dray’s petty drama is back!” Theo reacted, singing his words and clapping his hands happily.

“It wasn’t petty! It was logical!” Draco retorted, feeling his face flush with anger.

“Ooh, was it logical when you ignored my hand because I ignored you first?” Theo asked, his tone teasing and a grin plastered on his face.

Draco rubbed his temples, muttering curses under his breath.

“Fellas, is it wrong for me to ignore my arch-nemesis’s—who isn’t actually my arch-nemesis yet—hand when he extended it to me in friendship?”

“Argh!” Draco shouted. “I told you, it wasn’t petty! I wasn’t being petty because I don’t care! I don’t care about his hand being extended to me! I don’t care if he hates me because of that ginger twerp’s stupid comments about my father, who isn’t me! I’m my own person! I don’t care if he got sorted first! I don’t care if people start chanting his name like it doesn’t make him uncomfortable! I don’t care if he looks confused wandering around the castle, clueless about the magical world! I. Don’t. Care!” Draco yelled the last three words, ending his outburst with heavy panting. He looked at them, expecting apologies for making him angry, but instead, he was met with two matching grins.

“Did you hear that, Blaze?” Theo asked.

“Oh, my ears have never felt this clear in all my life!” Blaise replied.

That was Draco’s last straw. He jumped onto Theo’s bed, pulling his hair while casting Incarcerous at Blaise—

“What’s happening? Stop fighting!” Vincent yelled, and Greg pulled Draco back from his attack.

“Aia, Greg! My hair! My hair!” Theo whined, trying to keep his hair intact.

“Draco! Stop!” Greg hauled Draco up and wrapped him in a blanket while the blonde hissed, even tried to bite him.

“What’s going on here?” Vincent asked, throwing a judgmental look at Theo and Blaise.

Theo laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, we were teasing him too much.”

Vincent sighed and looked at Blaise, who could only respond with a, “Hmp!”

Vincent scratched his head, eyeing the ropes restraining Blaise’s whole body. “Er, what spell did Draco use?”

After releasing Blaise, Theo started laughing again, but Vincent stopped him and Blaise with a stern scolding. An hour later, exhaustion won, and all the boys fell into a deep slumber.

🐍🐍🐍

Chapter Text

There was screaming, a high pitch sounds full of questions and demands. A blurry movement of hands, pointing at him before coming back to sway in the air. Blaise remembered dodging and heard the sharp, shattering sound of things breaking into fragments. He saw tears falling down her cheeks, making lines of black rivers from her mascara. He remembers the stings coming from the back of her hands, remembers a pair of black pearls staring at him, pleading for an answer he couldn’t give. 

He remembered pulling her back when she turned away; his mouth was moving. He couldn’t hear what he said, but he could see on her face. Sadness slowly morphed into a rage until she muttered a spell, pushing him across the room. He was coughing, his vision went obscure, but he could see the trails of her dress moving further away. His hands trembled as he reached for hers, the words ‘Please stay’ clawing at his throat, but his lips remained sealed as he watched her back, swallowed by green fire. 

The ground shook alongside his body, and then a voice called his name. Blaise awoke with a loud gasp, cold sweat clinging to his skin. As his vision cleared, Vincent’s concerned face was the first thing he saw.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked, his hand clutching Blaise’s shoulder.

Blaise nodded, shaking off the remnants of sleep. “Yeah. Is it morning already?” He glanced toward the window, where faint beams of morning sunlight filtered through the water.

“Yes, and I think we’re late,” Vincent mumbled, walking away to tap Theo’s cheek in an attempt to wake him. The tapping grew more forceful when the boy refused to open his eyes.

Blaise sighed and got up, moving to the other bed where a blonde boy was wrapped like a caterpillar in a cocoon of blankets. A bald boy clung to him, drooling on the fabric.

One sharp slap to the forehead jolted the boy awake.

“Ouch! What the—!” he yelled, his grey eyes locking onto Blaise. “That hurt!”

“Good morning, princess. Get up. We’ve got morning class.” Blaise yanked the blanket away, inadvertently shoving Greg off the bed. The boy landed with a loud thud and a groggy yell.

Draco scowled as he sat up, glancing around the room. He muttered, Tempus, and gasped at the time. Cursing in French, he scrambled to the mirror.

Blaise rolled his eyes, watching his friend fuss over his appearance. He turned to see Theo finally awake, rubbing his cheek and mumbling something to Vincent.

“Get up. We need breakfast,” Blaise announced, stepping away from the beds to stand next to Draco. He murmured a few spells to erase the traces of his nightmare from his face.

A loud growl from Greg’s stomach served as the final call for the boys to leave their shared room.

The walk to the Great Hall was disorienting. Everything looked the same, yet different. Blaise recognized the stone walls, the paintings, the ever-shifting staircases, but it felt as though he were walking through a pensive-memory.

“Blaze!” Theo grabbed his shoulder, pulling him to a stop. A watery liquid dripped from the ceiling, mere centimetres from Blaise’s face. The foul odour hit him immediately, and he stepped back, glaring at the ceiling. How could the greatest magical school have a leaking roof?

Draco tapped his shoulder, pointing to a group of students in the corner—Ravenclaws, their blue accents unmistakable. They were glaring at him, and yesterday’s memory came rushing back, making him cringe.

“And so it begins,” Draco said, continuing down the corridor.

Blaise sighed. “Is this going to be my life now?”

Theo patted his back. “I’ll be your cane, mate,” he said, his tone a mix of pity and humour, earning a groan and a shove from Blaise.

“Why did you even say that?” Vincent asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You were mocking them in front of everyone,” Greg explained, as if Blaise didn’t already know what he’d done.

“It’s not my fault. It was the hat,” Blaise gritted out, scanning the area for any sign of blue-trimmed robes.

“I think the hat was testing us yesterday,” Theo mused. “We all have traits from other houses, so maybe it was poking us to see how we’d react.”

Draco huffed, crossing his arms. “Rubbish. The hat just wanted to make fools of us. It’s a Gryffindor hat, after all.”

“The hat belonged to a house?” a new voice chimed in. Blaise’s eyes landed on two boys approaching from the other side of the corridor.

“Not exactly,” Draco replied. “But if I recall correctly, which I know I do, Godric Gryffindor was the one who created the Sorting Hat. So, that’s why the—” 

“That’s why, what?” Harry Potter asked, tilting his head at a suddenly speechless Draco.

The blonde eyes widening as they settled on the boy who had asked the question.

Theo suddenly grabbed Blaise’s arm, squealing like a teenager reading a romance novel. Blaise bit back a laugh, stepping to the side to get a better view of Draco’s expression. The blonde’s eyes were as wide as the lake, staring unblinkingly at the famous boy. Thankfully, it was only his composure that had slipped this time—not his jaw, like last time. 

A redheaded boy standing next to Potter huffed impatiently. “Come on, Harry, I’m starving,” he said, tugging at Potter’s sleeve in an attempt to drag him away from the awkward staring contest. or whatever this was. But the boy who lived stubbornly held his ground.

“Draco Malfoy, right?” Potter took a step closer, his piercing green eyes locking onto Draco’s. “So? What’s the deal with gryffindor, the hat, and your problem?”

Draco gasped, pressing a hand to his chest as if he’d been struck. “My problem?”

Potter nodded, unfazed. “Yes, your problem. Why are you being so mean?”

“Me? Mean?” Draco scoffed, his voice rising an octave. “To whom?”

“To me!” Potter shot back, louder than necessary. Blaise could see the faint flush creeping up the boy’s cheeks. The boy seemed to be getting warmer.

“Impossible!” Draco fired back, matching Potter’s volume. Their voices echoed down the corridor, drawing the attention of passing students. Blaise noticed the curious glances and the start of whispered.

“We need to stop them,” Blaise muttered under his breath to Theo.

“Wait, wait,” Theo said, his eyes glued to the spectacle with a grin. He was enjoying this far too much.

“You two!” A sharp, grating voice sliced through the tension like a poorly tuned violin. The five kids turned to see a tall, gaunt man with hair so thin you could count the strands, barrelling toward them with a bony finger pointed accusingly.

“It’s him! We need to hide! quick, Harry!” Weasley yelped, already bolting down the corridor and leaving his best friend behind. Potter cursed under his breath, shot Draco a glare, and muttered, “This isn’t over,” before sprinting after the redhead.

Argus Filch, Hogwarts’ caretaker, skidded to a halt, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. At his feet, Mrs. Norris, his ever-loyal feline companion, let out a low, ominous meow. Filch straightened, his beady eyes narrowing as they settled on the three slytherin.

“Are you lot, friends with those troublemakers?” he rasped, his voice like nails on a chalkboard.

“Friends? As if!” Draco sneered, folding his arms across his chest. Blaise snorted, unable to suppress his amusement. It was like watching a scene from their first year all over again.

Which, technically, it was.

Damn it, CIME!

Filch grunted, scooping Mrs. Norris into his arms. “Watch your step in this castle,” he warned, his yellowed teeth bared in a crooked smile. “Or I’ll have every reason to drag you to the Forbidden Forest.” His eyes gleamed with a malice that could curdle milk.

If the three Slytherins hadn’t spent their childhoods staring down Filch’s broken-gargoyle-like face, they might have fled like the two lions. But Draco merely scoffed.

“No need to concern yourself with us,” he said airily, turning on his heel. “We’re Slytherin.”

Theo followed suit, brushing past Filch without so much as a glance. Blaise lingered for a moment, the last one standing under the caretaker’s withering glare.

“This castle is no playground for the careless,” Filch hissed, his voice low and menacing. “Be warned! Or you might just find yourself wandering a shadowed forest, where beasts with glowing eyes whisper your name.”

Blaise fought to keep a straight face. “Aye aye, sir!” he said with a mock salute, before turning on his heel and sprinting toward the Great Hall, laughter bubbling up as he went. 

The metallic clatter of cutlery echoed through the hall, mingling with the loud chatter of students. Blaise strode to the left side of the room, where the Slytherin table stood, and shoved Draco aside to make space before sitting down.

“Eat,” Greg mumbled through a mouthful of eggs, sliding a plate toward Blaise the moment his hands touched the table. Blaise blinked at the offering: beans, sausage, and eggs stared back at him.  

He coughed. “Thanks, Greg, but uh…” Gently pushing the plate aside, he added, “Beans were once in my nightmare so… ” Instead, he reached for a bowl, filling it with fruit, yogurt, and a slice of focaccia drizzled with olive oil. The only sounds from their group were the occasional chewing and Blaise’s appreciative hums as he savored his meal.  

“Stop that,” Draco protested, icy eyes glinting with judgment.  

Blaise paused mid-bite, then turned. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did my sounds of happiness disturb your yearning gaze at that member of the rival house?” He tilted his head, lips pursed, eyelashes fluttering. “Mm?” Then he took an exaggerated bite of his bread.  

Draco’s nose wrinkled, his eye twitched, and his lips parted—only to snap shut when he caught Theo’s gaze. The brunette across the table watched with undisguised amusement, waiting for Draco’s retort.  

The blonde clicked his tongue and turned back to his brioche, staring pointedly at his plate as if it could erase the past moment. Theo’s expectant grin faded, and the trio returned to their meals, until Draco cleared his throat, having finished his bread.  

“So… about what Filch said,” he began, pausing as Theo swallowed. “This enormous castle must have…” Another deliberate pause. “Secret places,” Draco whispered, leaning forward, his gray eyes alight as they darted between Theo and Blaise.  

Theo’s smile widened. “Oh!” he rasped, eyes gleaming like Draco’s. “Blimey, yes! I’ve always wanted to explore this ancient palace!”

Blaise chewed the last of his fruit, organizing his thoughts. The idea wasn’t bad—Hogwarts was ancient, and ancient places held secrets. There was the library’s restricted section, the infamous Chamber of Secrets… Surely there were more. And why were students forbidden from wandering beyond certain areas, unless it held something….more? Rules existed for reasons: safety, order, fairness… or concealment.  

This castle was over a thousand years old, built by four legendary wizards, home to countless extraordinary witches and wizards since. Its walls had witnessed wars, inventions, and mysteries. Somewhere in those cracked stones lay traces of the past, even if just a forgotten trinket or a stain on the floor. For the Unspeakable ;ike them, this was familiar territory.  

Blaise finally spoke, mirroring his friends’ grins. “When do we start?”  

𓆚

“Your first class is Transfiguration,” a seventh-year Slytherin stood before them, her eyes narrowed at every member of the first-years. “To reach the class, go through the door you came from, into the courtyard, and take the stairs on the left. Follow the path to the giant door. It will lead you to the viaduct entrance; go down to the Central Hall. You’ll find the library there. Take another left, and you’ll reach the Transfiguration courtyard. The class is on the west side, tucked into the corner. Understood?”

“No, Ma’am,” Greg and Vincent shook their heads in unison, and the seventh-year sighed in annoyance.

“I understand,” Pansy spoke up, folding her arms and lifting her chin slightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll lead this herd to class on time.”

The seventh-year blinked at her, sighed, and let Pansy direct her housemates. The black-haired girl cleared her throat. “Snakes! Follow me if you don’t want to stray and look daft in front of everyone!” Her voice was sanguine—bright as the sun, sharp as summer heat, and lifting the spirits of the group.

“Ugh, look at her,” Daphne Greengrass muttered bitterly.

Well, almost everyone.

Beside Blaise, Bulstrode grumbled—a sound closer to a growl than a sigh. When he glanced at the others, their faces were etched with irritation.

Huh. Not almost, then.

They moved like a den of snakes, huddled together, eyes wary of older students. When Greg or Vincent strayed with childish curiosity, another would yank them back. Their collective presence was impossible to ignore, drawing stares from lounging upper-years.

A shiver ran down Blaise’s spine, despite the fine weather. He knew it was the weight of eyes on his back, from the blue-robed students who didn’t bother hiding their disdain.

Blaise shuffled to the centre of the group, bending his knees to stay out of sight. As one of the tallest in their year, it was infuriating, but self-preservation came first.

He could feel someone watching him—no malice, just intensity. A peek revealed obsidian eyes locked onto him before darting away. He halted mid-step, making Theo bump into him.

“Heavy,” Theo whined like the pint-sized git he was.

Blaise, petty as ever, let his full weight slump onto the brunette.

“Blaise!” Theo yelped, flailing. “Ou! Orso pesante!¹ Greg, help!” Greg, ever obedient, hauled Blaise off him.

“You ill, mate?” Greg frowned, scanning him head to toe.

Blaise huffed. “Only from Theo’s whining.” He ignored the boy’s protests; turning to the scenery. The day was lovely;clouds drifting, the lake still as glass. On the viaduct bridge, stone braziers lined the walls. Suddenly, Blaise recalled the “Hogwarts mysteries”, & this bridge was part of it. He remembered something along the line of: light the braziers in order to unlock a secret. 

He’d eavesdropped plenty as a student—well the first time around. Even when they sound rubbish; those mysteries were his favourite distraction from Hogwarts’ dreary routines.

“Why’re you smiling?” Draco sneered.

Blaise pinched his arm.

“Ouch!” Draco slapped his hand away like a defensive maiden, glaring. Blaise rolled his eyes, dodged a hex, and stuck out his tongue. Predictably, Draco retaliated with a volley of spells. Years of friendship had sharpened Blaise’s reflexes—he smirked as Draco scowled.

Just as both raised their wands, their classmates intervened.

Vincent caught Blaise’s wrist, disrupting his spell.

“Hey!” Blaise yanked free, tucking his wand away.

Across from him, Draco tried to smack Greg for putting him in an air jail by lifting the blonde.

“What are you two gits playing at?!” Pansy stormed between them. “We’ll be late, and it’ll be your fault!”

“Me?” Blaise pointed at himself.

“Yes!” She whirled on Draco. “And you! You’re the Malfoy heir! You are supposed to set an example for all of us! ”

Blaise saw Draco’s temper flare, decided to step in—until

“‘YoU’Re sUpPoSeD tO sEt aN eXaMpLe,’” Draco mocked, flapping his hands.

Blaise halted his intention, staring wide eyes at his childish-best friend. 

Laughter erupted around them. 

Pansy shrieked and lunged at the blonde.

“Pans!” Blaise caught her waist. “Stop!” She clawed his arms, stomping his feet. She was as ruthless as he remembered. 

“Slytherins!” Professor McGonagall’s voice froze them.

“Professor!” Pansy straightened. “My apologies—I was trying to—”

The professor raised a hand. “My class began five minutes ago, yet half the students are missing. Is this Slytherin conduct?” Her glare sent shivers through the group.

With a clap, she snapped, “Enough dilly-dally!” and strode off, the first-years scrambling after her.

Blaise sighed, watching his friends’ terrified faces—especially Pansy’s. He knew their thoughts: Am I in trouble? What will Father or Mother say? Being a child from high-ranking wizard family wasn’t easy, and being a Slytherin on top of that? They bound to be anxious; trying to uphold the ‘perfect image’. Such silly thoughts for children, yet no one could escape that, including him and his bestfriends. 

This time, he kept his eyes down—still avoiding making eye contact with passing students. Until a strange symbol on the floor of the bridge caught his attention. His mind start to wonder, questioning the symbol. 

“Blaise!” Vincent hissed, tugging his arm. “Come on!”

Reluctantly, he followed the group to start their first class of the semester. 

𓆚

“It was… easier than I remembered,” Theo mumbled as they packed their belongings.

“Did you remember something else, too?” Draco asked, carefully tidying his books, notes, and ink into his alligator-skin bag. “Something about graduation and the department of mysteries, perhaps?”

Theo huffed and swung his bag over his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant.”

“The department of mysteries? D’you fancy working there?” Greg chimed in. He was already standing, haphazardly cramming his things into his bag— anyone could see the poor, crumpled notes begging for mercy.

“Theo definitely will,” Blaise said, smirking. “He loves being a slave to mysteries, after all.”

Theo rolled his eyes and pushed away from his desk. “Ha ha. Hilarious.”

Blaise chuckled, recalling their first assignment together. How excited Theo had been—that wide-eyed new-employee spirit, ready to discover the painful reality of work . A cute memory, if you ignored the comments they’d got for being serpent house alumni (or for their part in the war).

The five of them walked together to their next class in the north hall. Blaise slowed his steps and sidled up to Draco. “Speaking of mysteries… Remember your suggestion this morning?”

The blonde turned his head and nodded. “Secret Places?”

“Yeah,” Blaise replied, tugging at the robes of the brunette boy ahead. “Psst. Theo.”

Theo didn’t stop walking, but the tilt of his head signalled he was listening.
“I’ve got an idea where we should start exploring this castle.”

Blaise saw the exact moment excitement lit up his bestfriend. Theo halted mid-step and spun round, eyes twinkling, mouth splitting into a grin. “Really?”

Blaise sighed and shook his head at the genuine reaction, while Draco snickered beside him.

“What’re you three on about?” Vincent cut in, eyeing them. “You’re not planning another row, are you?”

“A row?” Blaise threw an arm each over Theo’s and Draco’s shoulders, flashing a grin at the boy’s scowl. “Why would we fight? We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Vincent hummed, forehead still creased. “Ever since we got to Hogwarts, you three have been… odd.”

Blaise froze. He’d forgotten how perceptive Vincent could be. The boy might seem aloof, but he observed people—often picking up on things no one expected him to notice.

“I beg your pardon, Vincent!” Draco huffed, folding his arms. “Are you implying I’ve become odd? This perfect, me? Don’t lump me in with these two—they’ve always been odd. Hmph.”

Vincent blinked, unfazed by the Malfoy heir’s brat behavior. “Er… but—”

“Nuh-uh! No more words! We’ve got a class to get to. Chop-chop, children!” Draco spun on his heel and marched off, leaving Vincent visibly baffled.

Greg giggled and clapped Vincent on the shoulder before trotting after Draco.

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Blaise admitted, patting Vincent too. “Maybe it’s ’cause we’re finally living away from our parents. Our manors.”

“Oh!” Vincent’s eyes brightened, as if seeing a new world. “You’re right! No one to scold us here.”

Blaise relaxed at the cheerful response. At least, for now, Vincent wouldn’t pry further. Still, he couldn’t shake the worry about what ideas might be brewing in the boy’s head.

“He bought that,” Theo muttered as they resumed their trek to history of magic class.

Blaise exhaled. “For now. Anyway, we should start with that bridge we passed this morning. Let’s talk to Draco. We’ve got time to sneak off today.”

𓆚

History of magic was the hardest subject for Blaise. In all his years studying at Hogwarts—despite all those ridicule things that happened because of certain gryffindor, or even that particular green-house alumnus obsession with immortality and power—this class still reigned supreme as the most excruciating experience he’d ever endured.

The grey classroom, the monotone voice, the floating dust coating every surface—it was driving him mad! His brain had long lost count of the yawns echoing since Professor Binns began talking. Theo was already dead to the world, while Draco had succumbed to dreamland, grinning like a madman. 

Vincent was right, Draco had become odd.

Behind him, Greg and Vincent were whispering. It probably meant nothing—or they could be plotting something, thanks to Blaise’s earlier answer. Well, if they’ve found something to occupy themselves in this school, good for them. Something about “children needing freedom to develop,” wasn’t it?

“—the goblin’s name was Ranrok, hence the event’s title: Ranrok’s Rebellion. A brutal uprising against wizardkind. Records indicate Ranrok harnessed power from the research of Isidora Morganach—a genius witch and Hogwarts alumna. With that power, Ranrok and his followers, later termed the Ranrok Loyalists, terrorised wizarding villages by seizing castles and cutting off trade routes. The most notable aspect, however, was the involvement of a Hogwarts fifth-year student—”

Blaise exhaled sharply, his brain was on the verged of jumping out of his skull. He couldn’t stomach another second of goblin this, goblin that. Desperate, he poked the stupid blonde beside him.

Draco swatted his finger away. “What.”

Blaise rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “Listen—” He began explaining the Hogwarts mysteries and the strange symbol he’d spotted.

Draco hummed, leaning back carefully to avoid noise. “Sounds daft. But worth a look.”

“Daft?!” Blaise sneered. “And what’s your brilliant idea, Mr. Malfoy? Checking the restricted section like a certain boy and his sidekick? Can’t conjure an original thought, so you—OUCH!”

“What is it? Is there a question?” Professor Binns’ translucent form floated closer.

Blaise cleared his throat. “My apologies, Professor.”

“Is something troubling you, young mister?” Binns hovered directly beside him, making Blaise sweat. He smacked Draco’s thigh repeatedly, pleading for backup.

“I believe Mr. Zabini has thoughts on Ranrok’s Rebellion, Professor,” a voice interjected, and Blaise saw Anthony Goldstein’s smirked at him. Cazzo.

“Oh! I always welcome student perspectives. Do share, Mr. Zabini.” The ghost professor beamed with his ghostly enthusiasm.

“Yes, do enlighten us, Zabini!” another ravenclaw called out, snickering. Instead of recognising the taunt, Binns mistook it for eager participation.

Why the fuck does this esteemed institution employ a century-old ghost—a literal floating transparent talking corpse—to teach? To skimp on wages? Someone ought to start a petition.

“Well, Mr. Zabini?” Professor Binns pressed, his smile unwavering, as if starved for student engagement in this morgue of a classroom.

Blaise exhaled. Here goes nothing.

“Right, Professor. Regarding Ranrok’s Rebellion—it’s unfair to overlook wizardkind’s role. Yes, Ranrok led it, but a descendant of Rookwood was pivotal in his army. Rookwood enabled Ranrok’s power, yet many people often forget. To ignore that—is to ignore wizarding bias—and might repeat past mistakes. We must remember, wizardkind haven’t always been the right side of history.”

The class fell silent. Binns’ smile vanished, replaced by genuine shock.

“An excellent point! Even centuries of teaching can still breed oversight. Indeed, Ranrok’s rise relied on wizards collaborators, like Rookwood, and other. Your remark on societal bias is profound. Ten points to Slytherin!”

 
A chorus of claps followed suit, pat to his back, and shout of his name. Blaise could only smile, hiding his beating heart and cold sweat. He peek to the other side of the room where students of the blue house openly glared at him. Feeling victorious, he flashed his winning smile at Goldstein’s angry face. 

His eyes then locked with a pair of obsidian, the owner was proudly grinning at him, “Good job, Zabini.” She said, sending butterfly straight to Blaise’s stomach. 

“Pick up your jaw. You’re embarrassing yourself.” 

The statement snapped Blaise back. 

“Stronzo.” He whispered not only to Draco but also Theo, who was grinning happily at him.

  𓆚

“We cannot do it in the middle of the day,” Theo said after swallowing his lunch.

“Obviously,” Draco replied, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. “But I believe we might have a chance in the afternoon. From what I remember, that part of the castle is usually deserted at those hours.”

“It wouldn’t hurt for us to secure a spot there early. We can start investigating while pretending to enjoy the scenery,” Blaise said, voicing his thoughts as he sipped the last of his juice.

“Agreed,” Draco said, swinging his legs from the bench. Blaise and Theo followed suit. Blaise made an excuse to Greg and Vincent about wanting to watch the lake from the courtyard—thankfully, the two boys seemed content with their lunch and their own plans. Just before he turned away, his eyes met those of a certain girl. Again.

“Where are you three going?” Pansy asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Uh… exploring?” he answered, his body stiffening under her suspicious gaze.

“Exploring? Seriously, Zabini?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you a child?”

Blaise sighed. We literally just got sorted yesterday.

“Well, you look like one,” he shot back. The moment the words left his mouth, Blaise bolted from the great hall as fast as he could. He heard the girl’s outraged shriek just as the enormous door slammed shut behind him.

His best friends were waiting for him in the corridor. The three of them then walked the same route they’d taken that morning.

“Stop fidgeting. I’ll hex any spotted raven,” Draco muttered, his icy gaze scanning the students they passed.

“Relax, Blaise. You know we can fight,” Theo added, keeping watch on his right.

As much as Blaise appreciated their attentiveness, he also felt deeply embarrassed. Like them, he wasn’t a regular 11y.o —yet here he was, being protected by his own friends. Bloody hell.

Thankfully, they crossed the courtyard without trouble and soon settled on a stone bench near the viaduct entrance, giving them easy access to the odd section of the bridge.

The sun was still high, casting sharp light on the symbol etched into the bridge floor. Draco was already sketching it in his notebook, while Theo seemed more intrigued by the stone braziers.

“So, we’re supposed to light these in a certain order?” Theo asked, still studying the braziers.

“I think so. Draco?” Blaise tossed the question to the blonde, who was humming thoughtfully.

Draco nodded, his eyes flicking between the symbol and his drawing. “Yeah. Let’s try. We should start with… that one.” His quill scratched across the parchment on his lap as he noted the sequence. “Then that one, and then…”

“Right,” Theo said. “Bombarda—"

“WOAH! Mate!” Blaise snatched the brunette’s wand.

“I said light it, not blow it up!” Draco smacked Theo’s shoulder.

Theo scratched his head sheepishly. “Ah, scusa,” he said, gesturing for his wand back. Blaise handed it over, and Theo tried again: “Incendio.”

A burst of flames erupted around them for a split second before vanishing. A chorus of screams rang out from nearby students, all now staring at Theo in horror.

“You absolute pillock!” Draco screeched. “RUN!”

“Cazzo,” Blaise and Theo said in unison, sprinting after Draco. The blonde steer away from the main corridors, searching for an abandoned room. They ducked into a cramped storage space tucked just beneath the grand staircase leading up to the library below.

“Alohomora,” Draco whispered, and the door creaked open just enough for the three of them to squeeze inside.

Blaise cast a lumos, wincing as the light revealed Draco’s foot was responsible for the pain on his own. He smacked the blonde’s leg. Thankfully, the boy, still gasping for breath; didn’t protest. Blaise scanned the room for a place to sit, but finding none, he slumped onto the floor. A cloud of dust erupted around him, coating the air and sending them into a coughing fit.

Theo waved a sleeve over his face, breaking the silence. “I can’t believe I just did that…”

“I can’t believe your first instinct was an explosive spell,” Draco muttered between ragged breaths.

“And I can’t believe your second attempt was a. Short-range. Fire. spell. while we were still on the bench!” Blaise snapped. “The braziers were on the bridge wall, Theo!”

A heavy silence fell as the three boys replayed the chaos: the panicked screams, the horrified stares. Then, abruptly, the dusty room erupted with laughter. Blaise collapsed onto the grimy floor. Shaking; Theo braced himself against the wall. Wheezing; Draco clung to a wooden shelf, his giggles muffled against his sleeve.

When their laughter finally subsided, the absurdity of it all settled over them: a 20ish men trapped in children’s body, forced into hiding because one of them couldn’t light a brazier without causing a spectacle.

Draco exhaled sharply. “Well, I hear no shouting. Reckon we’re in the clear.”

“Yeah,” Blaise sighed, hauling himself upright.

“Where are we?” Theo asked, already on his feet, peering at the shelves behind Draco.

“Storage room. Obviously,” Draco said, though his gaze followed Theo’s—drawn to the odd assortment of objects lining the shelves.

Theo brushed a layer of dust off a shelf, triggering another coughing fit. “ugh,” he mumbled, undeterred, as his fingers closed around a small silver box. It was rectangular, delicately engraved with floral patterns.

“Huh. Boîte à bijoux²,” Draco said. “Why’s it here?”

“A jewellery box?” Theo turned it over in his hands.

Blaise leaned closer, then inspected the shelf where it had sat. “No dust on this one.”

Draco snatched the box, testing the lid. “Sealed,” he announced, unsurprised.

“This belongs to someone,” Blaise said aloud, rifling through the other items. He found yellowed parchment, dried inkwells, stacks of ancient student essays. “Just rubbish here. Nothing useful.”

Theo reclaimed the box, his wand tracing slow circles above it. His frown deepened. “Complex magic,” he murmured, a thread of excitement beneath his suspicion. “A miniature ward, to keep unwanted people out...huh, Interessante.”

Draco tilted his head. “Why d’you sound like that? Haven’t you dealt with this before?”

Theo smirked. “Yeah.” He tucked the box into his robes. “Need to study it properly. Might be useful.”

Blaise scowled at his sudden confidence.

“Don’t worry, Blaze,” Theo said, flashing a reassuring grin. “I’ll explain later. Trust me.” Blaise could see something in his eyes: an excitement? Yeah. But there was also… recognition? 

After confirming the room held no other oddities, the trio slipped back into the corridor. They edged toward the bridge, praying no one would remember Theo’s 'pyrotechnics' or they’d found themself in the detention room. 

As expected, the hallway was emptier than before. The sun had descended toward the horizon, and most students had taken the free time to play outside or study in the library. Blaise finally felt he could breathe easily—no other raven-pupils to watch out for.

Yet their steps halted at the edge of the grand staircase when a figure appeared abruptly. One of Hogwarts’ professors descended the left staircase, his gaze locking onto them instantly.

Blaise’s heart plummeted into his stomach.

“Oh, hello. Students, good afternoon.” A tall man approached with a polite smile. He hunched slightly, his pallid face giving him a sickly appearance. Small silver ornaments adorned his wrinkled, faded plum robes, and a lumpy purple turban sat awkwardly atop his head, shifting with every unsteady step.

“H-hello, Professor,” Draco greeted with a slight bow. Theo and Blaise mirrored him.

Professor Quirrell’s brown eyes lingered on Draco before sliding to Theo and Blaise. Blaise forced himself to steady his breathing, wishing his small body not to betray any discomfort.

“I know that hair colour. Mr Malfoy, I believe?” The professor’s voice trembled, though his gaze remained sharp.

“Yes, Professor. I’m honoured to be recognised,” Draco replied smoothly. Blaise felt a flicker of pride.

The professor laughed, sounded reedy and high-pitched. “And I’m honoured to meet you. I knew your father very well. An astounding wizard. A man of his word.” He paused, staring at Draco, and Blaise silently pleaded for an escape without any incident.

“A man of his word,” Quirrell repeated. “I hope you’ll follow his example.” His smile widened as his eyes flicked to Theo, then Blaise. “What a wonderful friendship. I hope it lasts. Nothing’s more important than harmony within one’s house, eh?” His tone turned lighter, almost playful.

“Of course. Thank you for your kindness, Professor. We’ll remember that,” Draco said. “Please excuse us.” Blaise could recognize a plea when he heard one.

“Ah, yes. Be on your way.” Quirrell smiled one last time before continuing toward the path they’d come from.

The trio walked stiffly until they were out of sight—then broke into a sprint, hurtling through the giant doors. They collapsed onto the bench, gasping. Blaise stared at the sky, chest heaving; Draco buried his face in his hands; Theo slumped onto the floor, legs splayed. All three trembled, drenched in cold sweat.

“He… recognised me,” Draco mumbled.

“Everyone does. You’re a Malfoy,” Blaise said. “And I’m sure even if he didn’t recognize me & Theo, he definitely checking us in his mind.” He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly until his heartbeat steadied.

Peering down at Theo, Blaise nudged him. “Theo. Breathe. Don’t cry.”

Beside him, Draco sucked in a sharp breath before leaning back. “None of you felt that your mind was breached, right?”

“Nope. My occlumency still stand,” Blaise confirmed. He glanced at Theo, and the boy gave a nod.

“Come on, Theo. Mission’s not over.” Draco softly scolded him. 

Theo sniffed, wiping his tears as he stood and perched on the bench’s edge. “Right. Fire spell.” He pulled out his wand.

“Want me to do it?” Blaise tugged at his sweat-dampened undershirt.

Theo shook his head. “Which one first?”

Draco directed him, and soon, each brazier blazed to life with Theo’s Confringo. When lit in the wrong order, the flames snuffed out entirely. Fortunately, they didn’t need to waste time because Draco’s second guess proved correct. The strange symbol on the bridge floor split apart, revealing a small opening to the stream below.

“Nice.” Blaise grinned, high-fiving the others. Without hesitation, they leapt into the gap. The moment their shoes hit the damp stone, the entrance sealed itself shut above them.

They stood directly beneath the bridge, not deep in the river itself. The water lapped at their sodden shoes, but the current was too weak to sweep them away. A slick, moss-covered stone path still offered footing.

“Wooden box,” Theo observed gruffly, nodding at the object sitting a metre ahead.

Blaise snorted. “What’s this, an actual treasure? Just like the story?” He clapped Theo’s shoulder and strode forward, taking the initiative .

“It’s safe,” he announced after casting a series of detection spells. Behind him, Theo and Draco exhaled in unison and joined him. Blaise yanked the box’s handle open.

He’d expected junk—perhaps galleons if they were lucky. What he hadn’t expected was an entire hidden staircase connected into darkness beneath them.

“Che cazzo?!³” he and Theo shrieked in unison, while Draco screeched, “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas aujourd'hui, putain⁴?!”

Suddenly, as if his actual age finally caught up, Blaise altered a rock into a chair and slumped onto it, massaging his temples. Theo copied him—though, of course, he opted for a rocking chair.

Draco didn’t join them. Instead, he paced like a madman, muttering and gnawing his knuckle. A familiar behavior he used to witness back in their laboratory. A chill breeze swept past, drawing an exaggerated yawn from Theo.

“So?” Blaise said. “Move or retreat?” He deferred to Draco.

Draco shot him a glare—no, not at him, but at the absurdity of their situation. With a sharp tch, he squared his shoulders before the eerie box. “Let’s just get this over with.”

𓆚

"Aye-aye," Blaise said, stepping onto the stairs after Draco, with Theo close behind. The moment their feet touched the bottom, the entrance above slammed shut and the stairs vanished. Darkness enveloped them—thankfully, Draco had his own original spell: Ignisphaera, which conjured orbs of light. Several glowing spheres floated around the trio, illuminating their path through the vast chamber.

The space was enormous, filled with smooth stone pillars that echoed their footsteps. Yet there were no markings, no engravings—nothing to hint at what they'd stumbled into. Blaise ran his hand along a pillar, feeling neither magic nor malice. Under normal circumstances, the absence of curses would have reassured him, if only they weren't now trapped with no visible exit. Theo confirmed the same: no magical traces detected.

Draco, however, was different. He moved with unusual certainty. Blaise frowned, watching the blonde. 

"Draco, where are we going?" he finally called when Draco took another abrupt turn.

"Hah? This way," Draco replied, not bothering to glance back.

A knot tightened in Blaise's stomach. Knowing him, Draco's confidence wasn't inherently suspicious—but here? now?

He caught up and grabbed Draco's arm. "Look at me."

"What?" Draco snapped, forehead creasing in irritation. His grey eyes were clear, his expression normal.

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "What's the name of your favourite peacock? The one who won't drink unless a Malfoy purifies his water?"

Draco blinked. "Why the bloody hell are you asking—"

"Answer."

Theo had edged sideways, wand now subtly pointed on Draco.

With an exasperated sigh, Draco rolled his eyes. "Caspian Cair Paravel, Emperor of the Lone Island. India Blue Silver Pied, son of Arthur and Merlin, born August third—happy? Or need more?"

Blaise exhaled. "Sorry. You were acting weird."

"Yeah, Dray," Theo added, lowering his wand but still frowning. "Have you been here?"

“Uh…” Draco’s eyebrows knitted together, his fingers pinching his lower lip as he stared blankly—a sign of his bewilderment. “I didn’t even know this place existed under Hogwarts. But there’s… something. My magic’s been reacting to it since we entered.”

“Oh?” Theo exchanged a glance with Blaise. “I don't feel anything. Neither do Blaze.”

Draco shook his head. “I can’t explain it. Never felt anything like this.” He tilted his chin upward, scanning the darkness. Blaise followed his gaze but saw only pillars.

“Is it uncomfortable?” Theo ventured, trying to coax clarity from him.

“No, not at all,” Draco murmured. “It’s like… my magic’s humming in response to something. And sometimes I hear—well, not quite sounds. Static, maybe?”

Blaise hummed. “But it’s not dangerous?” Draco shook his head. “So you followed that static? And this… odd magical pull?”

“Yeah,” Draco admitted. “Thought it might lead us to an exit or something…”

“Right.” Blaise clapped Draco’s shoulder. “Not our first dodgy adventure. And your magic’s always had a flair for the dramatic.”

“My magic is not dramatic!” Draco swatted Blaise’s hand away, huffing, and stalked ahead.

Theo sidled up to Blaise. “Miss fieldwork. We should ask permission for outdoor research when we get back.”

Blaise smirked, ruffling Theo’s hair. “Sure. When we get back.”

Time blurred in the suffocating dark. Though barely an hour had passed, the void twisted minutes into something heavier. “Revelio,” Blaise muttered again—still nothing. Theo had long abandoned spellwork, his wand limp at his side.

Then Draco froze. His rigid silhouette made Blaise and Theo snap their wands up in unison. Ahead, darkness clung thick as ever, Draco’s orbs still hovering above them. 

“There’s… something,” Draco whispered, voice taut. “I can sense it.”

"Battle positions," Blaise commanded, sidestepping left as Theo mirrored him on the right.

With a flick of his wrist, Draco sent the orbs drifting forward. Their glow peeled back the darkness inch by inch, revealing what lay ahead. The trio advanced in lockstep, wands raised, every sense taut with anticipation.

Then—just as abruptly as every other discovery today—the orbs illuminated a vast circular pattern etched into the floor. At its centre knelt a suit of armour, far grander than the decorative knights dotting Hogwarts' corridors. This one stood four times taller than any they'd seen, its steel plates pitted with age yet gleaming faintly in the magical light.

"What the…?" Theo's frown deepened as he glanced between his friends. "Uh…?"

Draco's expression mirrored his bewilderment. "No idea," he muttered, gaze locked on the motionless figure.

Blaise studied the monstrous metal sentinel, then the symbol beneath it. "That’s the same symbol from the bridge."

Draco gave a terse nod. "Identical." His flat tone betrayed unease.

Theo snorted. "So… this is our treasure, Blaze?" amusement laced his voice.

"I don’t thi—"

"SHIELDS UP! DEPULSO!" Draco’s spell slammed into the knight’s chest, hurling it backward—but not felling it. With a screech of grinding metal, the colossus rose, its greatsword slicing upward toward Theo. 

"Bombarda!" Blaise's spell struck the greatsword with a deafening crack, sending fissures spiderwebbing across its surface. The blade swayed violently—just as Theo lunged beneath it.

"Expulso!" The shattered steel exploded outward, shards crashed themselves into the distant pillars.

"Any potions? Glacius!" Blaise iced the knight's leg joint, frost crawling up its greaves.

"No! Just fight! Wingardium Leviosa! Accio!" Draco wrenched a broken pillar through the air, smashing it into the knight's breastplate with a resounding clang.

Theo danced clear of falling debris. "Diffindo! What's the plan?!" His slicing charm carved a gash across the knight's helm as he backpedalled.

"It's too damn big! I’m calling water! Blaise, you freeze it! Theo finished it! " Draco sprinted backward, wand raised as the cavern's humidity thickened. A torrential wave erupted from empty air, crashing over the knight—

"Glacius Maxima!" Blaise's spell flash-froze the tidal-wave, encasing the colossus in a prison of ice.

Theo, dripping but undeterred, planted his feet. Magic crackled around his wand as he bellowed: "REDUCTO!"

The frozen knight shattered. A thousand glittering fragments hung suspended before raining down like lethal hail.

Blaise's legs buckled, sending him crashing to the stone floor. Darkness swallowed them whole since they had exhausted their magic; Draco’s orb had disappeared. 

Gulping air, Blaise finally rasped, "We are too young for this. Can either of you move?" His arms trembled as he tried to push himself upright.

"Just... rest a moment." Draco's voice floated from across the chamber, thin as parchment.

Blaise managed a nod, throat too raw to speak. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing his pulse to slow. Pathetic, really—for Unspeakables to be laid low by a single enchanted suit of armour. Their current vessels might be a child, but his pride still stung.

Silence pooled around them, broken only by ragged breathing. Blaise tracked Theo's location by the wheezing coming from his left.

"Theo. Still with us, mate?" The words scraped his throat.

"Ou." Theo's response was barely audible.

Minutes oozed past. Feeling better, Draco conjured a single, faltering orb. Its sickly glow barely reached their faces, but it was enough.

"Up," Draco croaked, hauling himself vertical with visible effort.

Theo & Blaise followed, “Where to?” 

Draco guided the faltering orbs forward, it sickly glow revealing an aberration among the pillars. Desperation drove the trio toward it.

"Not a pillar," Blaise muttered. "A bloody plinth with a frog!" a half-pillar with a frog sat atop standing before them. 

Are they gonna fight a frog next? Well, at least this one is smaller. 

Theo kicked at the burlap sack slumped beside the structure. "This the real treasure, then?"

Blaise's patience shattered. He snatched the sack, yanking it open—

"Oi!"
"Blaise!"

The reek hit first—pungent, herbal, familiar. His eyes confirmed it: dried ingredients, some rare enough. Huh.

He thrust the sack at Draco like contaminated evidence. “Yours.” And managed not to throw up from the smell. 

Draco's eyebrows shot up. "Potion ingredients!" His shriek of delight echoed grotesquely, "This is treasure!"

"Seriously—?" Theo's complaint died as he lurched against the plinth. "Woah—!" His hand clamped onto Blaise's arm an instant before the frog's stone maw yawned wide—

—to swallow them whole.

𓆚

If the three of them had a sickle for every time they’d been sucked into a spiral and dumped in some godforsaken place, they’d collectively own six sickles by now.

Blaise blinked away the dizziness, taking in their new surroundings: stone walls, a dimly lit room, stacks of wooden crates and sacks. A cramped space—he could see the exit clearly, an iron grille door standing between them and freedom.

Behind him, Theo began whining while Draco unleashed a stream of french curses that would’ve made his ancestors faint.

“We’re back in Hogwarts,” Blaise announced, turning to his friends’ miserable faces. “Never touch anything frog-related again.”

Theo nodded, shooting a venomous glare at the stone frog that had spat them out.

Blaise tested the door. Locked, naturally.

Fortunately, he was wise 20ish man that know a proper spell was needed instead of blasting it open, no matter how satisfying that’d be. 

“Dungeon,” Draco observed.

“Oh?!” Theo perked up.

“No, not our dungeon, but the other dungeon.” Draco explained further as he stepped forward, “That’s a Muggle studies classroom,” he pointed, “And that’s the alchemy class. Abandoned, obviously.”

“Hm. Chiaro⁵.” Theo practically skipped ahead, fatigue forgotten. Blaise envied his reserves of energy.

“Didn’t know you took muggle studies,” Blaise muttered as they trailed after him.

Draco clicked his tongue. “I didn’t. I just know the location. This damn castle basically our second home, anyway.” A faint blush crept up his neck.

Blaise smirked. Draco retaliated by shoving the ingredient sack into his arms. “Carry it. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m not your house-elf!” Blaise held the reeking bundle at arm’s length.

“Don’t care. Didn’t ask.” Draco sniffed. “You’re the tallest.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Blaise carried the sack, fantasising about dinner and his fluffy bed.

“Oi, Dray!” Theo had stopped before a dormant dragon statue. “This you? Bloody brilliant!”

Draco ignored him, mounting the stairs.

“I’m complimenting you, you prick!” Theo bounded after him. “Never knew this part of the castle existed!”

Blaise had no idea how Theo could still bounce like a crup puppy after everything. Then again—he looks happy & that was the most important part.

As they slipped through the doorway, Blaise understood why he’d never found this place; tucked beneath the North Hall, its entrance obscured by shadow.

"It's dinner time," Blaise said, hefting the sack. "We need to stash this before—"

"What are you doing here?"

Harry bloody Potter. Perfect.

Blaise felt the first throb of a migraine behind his eyes.

Draco folded his arms, chin jutting defiantly. "Since when this is your business, Potter? Bugger off."

And there you have it: a full-blown migraine attack.

Blaise shot Theo a pleading look, only to find the boy practically vibrating with glee at his ‘favorite ship’. Useless.

"Merlin, dai forza," Blaise exhaled through his nose.

Potter opened his mouth, then froze—his gaze locking onto Draco's face. "What happened to you?"

Draco stiffened. "What d'you mean?"

Potter's scrutiny swung to Theo and Blaise, accusatory. "What've you done to Malfoy?"

"I beg your pardon?!" The simultaneous outburst from him & Draco made Potter flinch.

"He looks ill," Potter pressed, undeterred. "Did you two—"

Blaise's jaw dropped, he leaned closer to see Potter better. "Potter, what actual fuck are you on about?" His voice bounced off the stone walls.

"You heard me." Potter squared his shoulders; typical gryffindor stupidity. "Everyone knows you bully ravenclaws. Did you turn on him too?"

Blaise tilted his head skyward. "Per favore, Merlino, portami con te.⁶" He'd rather take that giant knight again over Potter's saviour complex.

Theo wheezed with laughter while Draco launched into a ‘scathing’ rebuttal—until Potter blinked.

"Ah, so he is your bestfriend?"

Draco's nod seemed to short-circuit Potter's brain. "Then why do you look like you've been trampled?"

Right. Blaise pivoted on his heel. Without any word, he abandoning the draft of a romance novel to its devoted fan.

🐍🐍🐍
 

Chapter Text

Theo shifted the box in his hands, tracing its surface with his fingers. His magic felt weaker in this body, untrained and sluggish—yet, he still recognised the wards wrapped around the thing. Placing it on his lap. He pointed his wand and murmured an incantation. The ward deflected it easily—too easily. It stung his pride. Cazzo. 

He clicked his tongue, sighed, and dumped the aggravating box onto his nightstand. A glance around the room confirmed only Draco remained, hunched over his cauldron on the floor. Blaise had claimed he was "bored" and left for the library, but Theo knew the truth: Blaise felt useless. Draco had his potions, Theo had his tinkering, but Blaise? His skills lay in theory, runes, numbers, and in piecing together puzzles—not fiddling with gadgets or stirring cauldrons. He was the one who usually lead their projects, despite Draco’s petty protests.  

“Dray, what’re you brewing?” Theo hopped off the bed and sauntered over.  

“Why? Giving up already?” Draco muttered, not bothering to look up.  

Theo huffed and flopped down beside the cauldron. “No. I know how to crack the ward, but my magic’s not strong enough.”  

That made Draco pause. His head lifted, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Hah. That’s fixable.” He yanked a brown sack closer. “We’ve got enough ingredients for Wiggenweld.”  

Theo blinked. “Will that even help?” He didn’t quite see how Wiggenweld could help with the sealed box, since the potion was for magic fatigue. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Who do you think you’re talking to? The standard recipe’s rubbish. But my version?” He preened, tossing ingredients onto the floor. “It’ll give you a temporary boost. Like an explosion of power in your magic.” He smirked, clearly bragging.   

“Woah.” Theo clapped.  

“Heh.” Draco puffed out his chest. “However, it won’t last. But I know it’ll get that box open.”  

“Brilliant. Get on with it, then.”   

Draco’s smirk vanished. “I don’t take orders.”  

Theo tilted his head. “So you won’t help me?”  

Draco’s eye twitched. “I’m brewing it because I want to. Not because you asked.”  

You have that idea because I have a problem, and that idea supposed to help me fixed the problem, that’s why I asked for it. What’s the different? 

Dray with his oddity.

Theo bit back a laugh as Draco chucked an ingredient into the cauldron—something that Theo couldn’t for the life of him remember the name.  

“It’ll take a while,” Draco grumbled, adjusting the flame. “Piss off ‘til it’s done.”  

“Va bene.¹” Theo stood, brushing off his trousers. “Where’ve Vin and Greg got to?”  

“Dunno. Kitchen, probably.” Draco waved a dismissive hand.  

Theo hummed, gaze drifting to the bay window. Murky water warped the light, casting rippling shadows across the room. A school of fish darted past, chased by the sinuous green silhouette of a siren.  

“I’m off to say hello to Nessie,” Theo announced. Draco barely acknowledged him.  

He won’t stop at Wiggenweld, will he? 

𓆚

Theo descended the grand staircase, the soft notes of a piano mingling with the chatter of students. Near the fireplace, a group of older Slytherin laughed over some shared joke. He kept his head down, pace steady—until a floating figure materialised in front of him.  

He yelped.  

The Bloody Baron loomed beside him, chains clinking. Theo’s throat went dry.  

“H-hello, Baron…?”  

The ghost’s sunken eyes bored into him. “First-year,” he rasped. “You know my name. Good. Mind your manners.”  

“R-right.” Theo stared fixedly at the floor.  

With a disdainful sniff, the Baron drifted away. Theo exhaled, pressing a hand to his racing heart—  

“Pfft. Scared of a ghost, Nott?”  

"Oh, Pan—" He cut himself off as he took in her appearance, suddenly remembering that this Pansy wasn’t his Pansy. "Hello, Ms. Parkinson," he said instead.

Her smirk was a knife’s edge. “Glad to hear you’ve got manners now.” She circled him, gaze raking over his frame. “You don’t look like a Slytherin. Did the hat make a mistake? Or did you sweet-talk your way in?”  

Theo swallowed. "Uh..." Theo wasn't sure if telling her about how the Sorting Hat had mentioned Ravenclaw first would improve their conversation, so he chose to remain silent.

She snapped her fingers. “Oi. Cat got your tongue? Or are you just thick?”  

“I—uh—”  

“Tch.” Her lip curled. “What did Zabini and Draco even see in you? You’re all skin and bone. Sound like a dying rat. And—” She leaned in, nostrils flaring. “Your magic’s about as strong as a leeches'.”  

Theo’s fingers twitched.  

“So?” she hissed. “What’s your deal with them?”  

“Deal?”  

Parkinson’s face twisted further in contempt. 

"Yes. A deal. There’s absolutely no way Zabini would’ve wanted to be friends with you on the very first day. You two must have met before, surely? But that can’t be right either. Why on earth would Mrs. Zabini permit her precious son to associate with the likes of a Nott?" 

The corners of her mouth curled into a sneer as her expression darkened with fury. "And Draco. I know him. There’s simply no possibility he’d say those things to me. I’ve known Draco for years, and had he friend with you before Hogwarts, he would have told me. But he didn’t. And yet he shouted at me, for you?! Absolute bollocks! You must have done something to make him take your side like that." She steps forward until she was mere inches from Theo, the pointed tip of her shoe grinding down on his foot. "You’d better start talking right now, Nott."

Theo winced from the pain, drew his feet back, and stared her down. He did not know what or how to answer her. Her accusation was spot on. Blaze and Dray would never speak to him, let alone be close to him, just because they had been sorted into the same house. Slytherin solidarity would not make a Malfoy heir acknowledge his existence so easily, especially given the infamous Mr. Nott’s personality. Being housemates would not make Zabini care enough to strike up a conversation with him either—even if they both spoke Italian, or their mothers had been somewhat friendly in the past. Again, with how his father had acted and how close Blaze was to his mother, there was no way Blaze would befriend him just like that.  

The girl in front of him still stared at him with visible irritation, her lips curled, her forehead scrunched, and the tip of her shoe tapping the floor—signalling that she was waiting for Theo to give her whatever answer she expected.  

Theo sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Che palle²,” he muttered under his breath.  

“Did you just curse at me?” Parkinson demanded, sounding baffled.  

This is bad. She’s going to take offence and might demand something unreasonable from me, Theo thought.  

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I met Blaze—uh, Blaise and Draco in a train compartment. I’ve seen them a few times at parties, mostly the Malfoys’. So, if you’re asking me why they, er, speak to me… I suppose it’s because they’re just… nice?”  

Parkinson’s eyebrows furrowed. “Why does it sound like you’re questioning me instead?”  

Theo rubbed his face. “Because I’m not sure either, Pan—Miss Parkinson.”  

“Ugh, drop the Miss.”  

“I’m not sure either, Parkinson. Sorry…?”  

“You need to stop ending your sentences like that,” she snapped, clicking her tongue. “And nice? Them being nice? Seriously? Who do you think they are? Malfoy being your friend just because he’s nice? Blergh!” Her face twisted in disgust.  

“Well, when you put it like that…” Memories of Dray from their first year resurfaced: a blonde boy with a voice full of entitlement, introducing himself while standing before them with crossed arms and an air of arrogance, demanding respect and loyalty as if he owned the house. Hardly the demeanour expected from someone so small.  

“Dray was a right prick back then, wasn’t he…” Theo muttered, pursing his lips. “But it was understandable, coming from him…?” 

“Are you asking me again, Nott?” Parkinson blinked at him, her expression now more confused than angry.  

Theo shrugged. “You reminded me. And, er, about Blaise, back then, if he seemed cold and unapproachable, it was because he was nervous. It was his first time being away from his mother—” He cut himself off, realising how that sounded, and hurried to correct himself. “I mean, this is, err, his first time, uh, being a first year? Haha…” 

Parkinson blinked, digesting his words. “Oh. So even Zabini gets nervous, does he?” She smirked and giggled.  

Her sudden shift in mood made Theo smile. He nodded. “Yeah. You should spend time with him. He’s not as complicated as he seems.”  

“I see—” Parkinson nodded, tapping her chin, before suddenly jolting upright. “No! Why would I even want to spend time with him? What are you on about?”  

Theo tilted his head. “Was I wrong? I thought your mothers were good friends?”  

Parkinson’s face reddened. “W-well, that’s our mothers! Not us! Ugh, you’re weird! I knew you were weird, but now you’re even weirder!” She pointed at him, glaring, her cheeks puffed out in frustration.  

“Parkinson? Nott?” A new voice cut in, it was Daphne’s. She stepped between Theo and the other girl, her eyes flickering between them. “What are you two talking about, hmm?”  

Theo could practically see the moment something clicked in her mind. Daphne was looking at them with a twinkle in her eyes. Theo remembered in fifth year when he had heard people calling her “Grass-Wired.” At first, he had assumed it was an inside joke among her friends, but later he realised it stemmed from her hobby—finding and connecting any dots she could spot among Hogwarts students, turning them into something worth listening to.  

“May I join you as well?” Daphne leaned forward, smiling at him and Parkinson.  

Parkinson clicked her tongue, her expression returning to its usual cool detachment. “I was merely questioning Nott’s friendship with Draco and Zabini. Nothing worth getting excited about, Greengrass.” Her eyes narrowed at Daphne.  

Daphne hummed and shifted her attention to Theo, making him feel like a cornered mouse.  

“H-hello, Greengrass,” he greeted, forcing his best smile. Dealing with Pansy might give Theo a slight headache, but dealing with the eldest Greengrass? That could cost him nightmares. Even though she was just a child now, Theo wouldn’t dare cross her. He had learned through Dray—the incident post Dray and Astoria’s breakup had been hell, even from an outsider’s perspective.  

“Hello, Nott. It’s lovely to see you again. You’ve grown quite handsome,” she replied with a polite, sweet smile—one that could fool anyone. She might be young, but Theo knew Mrs. Greengrass wasn’t someone to be underestimated. She must have prepared her eldest daughter thoroughly to navigate Hogwarts’ social circles.  

Theo took her hand and pressed a small kiss to it. “I’m flattered, Miss Greengrass. I must say, you’ve grown into quite the lovely young lady yourself.”  

Daphne yanked her hand back. “I— Thank you! W-what a gentleman you are!” Her smile remained, but the corners of her lips quivered, and Theo could just make out the faintest blush.  

Still a child. Theo sighed inwardly in relief.  

Parkinson cleared her throat. “What do you want, Greengrass?”  

Daphne collected herself and instantly shifted her focus back to the other girl with a bright smile. “Just a spur of curiosity.” She clapped her hands together. “Ah! Why don’t we all spend some time together? Let’s get better acquainted!”  

𓆚

Chapter Text

Ash, blood, and something rotten filled the air. There was screaming, but he could not see beyond the darkness. Suddenly, pain struck his left arm, and he groaned. The screams grew louder, and that was when he saw the silhouette of a boy standing amidst the flames. The pain intensified, but he knew that boy—he needed to save him. He forced himself to move. When his foot took a step forward, something halted him. He looked down and saw bony fingers wrapped around his left arm, holding him tight.

“Draco,” came a hiss. “You have been found worthy.”

“Draco,” the voice grew louder. “Your arm.”

“Draco,” it sounded guttural. “Must I repeat myself?”

His chest tightened; it was hard to breathe. The pain increased, and he felt his lungs being crushed by black tendrils creeping from his arm.

“Draco,” the voice turned sweet. “You will learn to cherish it.”

“Draco, look at me.” He could see the figure smiling.

“Draco, come closer.” He glimpsed rows of sharp teeth. The voice seemed ready to devour him whole, yet he refused to move, refused to yield.

“Draco! I said, come!” The smile twisted into a snarl. This was it—he was about to be consumed—

“Draco!”

He gasped loudly, pushing himself upright. Panting, he looked around and found four faces staring at him with concern. He clutched his left arm, taking deep breaths to steady himself. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his body trembled.

“Hey, I’ll give you a hug, all right?” someone offered. He nodded, permitting it. The other boy sat beside him and pulled him into an embrace.

“Take a deep breath. Hold it. Now let it out. There you go.” The boy spoke softly into Draco’s ear. “Can you feel my arms?” Draco nodded. “Good. It’s fine, Dray. It’s just us here. Nothing can hurt you. I promise.”

“We promise,” another voice chimed in, and Draco felt a third hand patting his back gently.

“Putain,” he muttered, pressing his eyes shut to keep the tears at bay.

“Draco?” A voice called, and he opened his eyes. There stood the boy from the fire. “A nightmare? Do you need anything, warm water, perhaps?” His voice was soft, laced with worry. His expression mirrored it, as though Draco was the one in danger—not him. As if it weren’t his fault that—

“Draco!” A slap on his back jolted him. “Come on, mate, it’s just a cauldron! You can ask your mother to send another one!”

Blaise’s words redirected his thoughts. He jerked back, and Theo released him.

“Right! I need to send a letter!” he exclaimed, scrambling for parchment and a quill. He dropped to the floor and began scribbling.

“You’re writing on the floor? I thought it was filthy,” Greg muttered.

“Doesn’t matter. No one here can scold him,” Blaise said, patting Greg’s bald head.

“Should’ve brought more cauldrons,” Draco grumbled.

“Then ask for more,” Vincent suggested, sitting beside him.

"Will do," Draco nodded. He crafted a sweet sentence about his life at Hogwarts and how he missed his mother, carefully wording a plea that would surely persuade her to fulfil his cauldron request.

Blaise, Theo, and Greg began discussing their plans, but Draco could feel Vincent’s gaze lingering. He knew the boy had questions—heavy ones. But Draco was in no mood to revisit his nightmare, so he met Vincent’s eyes and forced a smile.

“I’m fine. Just a bad dream. Probably because of my poor cauldron.”

Vincent blinked. “Did you love that cauldron that much?”

Draco nodded, rolling up his letter. “Yes, I’ve had it for ages. Seeing it burnt… because of my mistake… isn’t a pleasant feeling.” He tied the parchment with a ribbon and stood.

“Who’s coming with me to the Owlery?” he asked, glancing around.

Theo was the first to agree. “Sure,” he shrugged.

“Do I have to?” Blaise raised an eyebrow, clearly displeased at the prospect of the smell.

“No, that’s why I asked,” Draco rolled his eyes and headed for the door. “Come on.”

Theo followed, but paused to ask Greg and Vincent if they wanted to join.

Greg covered his nose and shook his head. Vincent hesitated, eyeing Draco before relenting and joining Theo.

Draco wasn’t sure what to make of Vincent’s behaviour. The boy was clearly concerned, but Draco couldn’t—and wouldn’t—discuss the dream. He hoped Vincent would drop the matter soon.

On their way to the school grounds, their path was blocked by an unwelcome presence—someone Draco dreaded interacting with. He closed his eyes, reining in his irritation. As Slytherins, they couldn’t afford to show hostility in public.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Daphne Greengrass greeted them in a sing-song voice.

Draco’s eye twitched.

“She’s a child,” Theo whispered before returning her greeting, as did Vincent.

“Where are you three off to?” Daphne smiled, though her gaze lingered on Draco a beat too long.

Draco’s patience was fraying. “Spit it out, Greengrass. Do you need something?”

The venom in his voice startled her. Her head jerked slightly, and her toxic green eyes narrowed.

“Goodness, Malfoy. What’s got into you this morning? Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?” Her tone remained sweet, but Draco knew her anger simmered beneath.

Fortunately, Theo intervened, slinging an arm over Draco’s shoulders. “He had a nightmare, and last night we all faced Professor Snape. Not the most pleasant experience.” His light-hearted explanation defused the tension, and Daphne and Davis laughed along—though Millicent’s expression remained stony.

“We’re going to the Owlery. What about you?” Vincent asked politely.

Ah, right. Draco recalled Vincent’s crush on Greengrass and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, just strolling—” Daphne began, but Draco turned away, wanted to take a step—only for her to loop her arm through his. “Mind if we tag along, Malfoy?”

“Yes,” Draco snapped, yanking his arm back. They glared at each other.

Theo cleared his throat. “Be civil, both of you. Remember our house’s rules.”

Draco clicked his tongue.

“Believe me, Theo, I do. I wonder if Malfoy does,” Daphne giggled.

Salazar, why did CIME send me back here?

“Of course Draco knows,” Vincent interjected, stepping between them. “We should all be friends, right, Draco?” His smile screamed, Help me get closer to her.

Draco sighed. “Sure—”

“Brilliant! You can call me Daphne, Draco,” she declared, clapping her hands. “This is Tracey Davis,” she gestured to the nervous-looking girl, “and you already know Millicent Bulstrode.”

“Hello,” Millicent nodded at Draco before turning to Daphne. “I need breakfast,” she announced, walking off.

The five Slytherins watched her go.

“That’s just how she is. She doesn’t mean to be rude,” Daphne said.

“I’m aware,” Draco replied curtly, resuming his walk. He could practically hear her seething.

Yet, ever persistent, she sidled up to him. “So, who’s the letter for? Mrs. Malfoy?”

Wouldn’t it be funny if I burned half her hair off?

Theo, as if reading his mind, swapped places, shielding Draco from her prying questions. He even made room for Vincent and Davis to join their conversation, which soon turned to trivial matters Draco couldn’t care less about.

If Theo ever wants a career change, he should become a teacher.

They reached the tower, where the stench of owl droppings hit them like a wall. Draco covered his nose. “Remind me, Theo. Has the headmaster ever hired anyone to clean this shithole?”

“Isn’t that Filch’s job?” Theo mumbled behind his hand.

“Is it?” Draco sighed.

“Who’s Filch?” Davis asked.

The others explained as they ascended the spiral staircase, dodging droppings and damp patches.

“Incoming!” Vincent warned, and Draco barely leaned aside in time to avoid an owl’s mess. He glared upward—only to recognise the culprit. A white-snow owl.

At the top, he found his beloved owl, Odette—a small, brown creature who chirped and landed gracefully on his arm.

“Hello, girl. Miss me?” He stroked her feathers, and she chattered happily. “Wish I could cuddle you to sleep,” he murmured, nuzzling her.

“Aww~” Tracey cooed.

Draco cleared his throat and instructed Odette to deliver the letter to his mother. With a last kiss, he sent her off.

“She’s soo tiny, but she looks clever,” Davis remarked.

“Of course. She’s my owl,” Draco said, watching Odette disappear into the distance.

“So,” he turned to the girls. “Davis, Daphne. No letters to send?”

“Nope,” Daphne smiled. “Just wanted to see what kind of owl the Malfoy heir keeps.”

Draco scowled. Of course—this was another one of her information-gathering schemes.

“The species of my owl has no bearing on my family’s status,” he snapped.

She nodded knowingly. “I’m aware.”

Rolling his eyes, he noticed Davis staring at him with with stars in her eyes.

“Davis?” Draco frowned. “Did an owl hit your head?”

She jumped. “Oh! No, it’s just…”

“It’s rude to leave people wondering,” Draco sighed, recalling why he’d avoided her in the past.

“Sorry, Malfoy. I was just… happy you spoke to me.”

Draco blinked. Ah, I forgot she is the weird one in my year. 

Theo and Vincent stifled laughter behind him.

“Why?” Draco asked, baffled.

Davis hesitated, glancing at Daphne, who took pity.

“She was worried because of her parents,” Daphne supplied.

Draco’s confusion deepened. What do her parents have to do with me?

Theo leaned in. “Her father’s a Muggle,” he whispered.

“And? What’s that got to do with me?” Draco asked, earning a stunned look from Vincent.

Theo sighed. “Blood purity, remember?”

Oh. Right.

Draco exhaled sharply. “I’m too busy to care about other people’s families, all right?”

He strode off, ignoring Davis’s reaction. His declaration would raise eyebrows—a Malfoy indifferent to blood status? Unheard of. Not that he truly didn’t care; he’d avoided Davis in the past because of her odd reactions to him, not her heritage.

Daphne’s gaze burned into his back. She’d undoubtedly twist this into gossip. Salazar, give me strength. The last thing he needed was another scolding from Uncle Sev. He couldn’t start any fight this soon. 

𓆚

On the Hogwarts school grounds, the girls were thankfully distracted by the Summoners’ Court game that had been going on.  

“Should we join?” Vincent asked as he watched students use Accio to guide their balls toward the goal.  

“Can first years participate?” Theo responded, looking at Draco.  

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Yes, as long as every participant agrees. Why? Are you interested?”  

Theo shrugged. “I have never won even once, so maybe?”  

“You have not?” Draco pressed. Theo nodded. “Seriously?” Theo nodded more emphatically. Draco snorted and pushed both Vincent and Theo forward. “Then go for it. Try your luck.”  

“Eh, have you played this before?” Vincent looked at Theo.  

“It does not matter. It is a straightforward game,” Draco interjected. “Try to win, all right? Consider it revenge for the past.” He patted Theo’s shoulder and walked away.  

He heard Vincent call after him and responded with a wave. He did not stop or join them. Instead, he continued toward the specific destination he had in mind. A cauldron was what he needed right now, not some frivolous student activity. True, he could wait for his mother to respond, but why should he? He was not some innocent, obedient first year who knew nothing about this school.  

Discreetly, he surveyed the hallways. Once he was certain no one was watching, he ran to the door tucked behind a staircase. Slowing his pace, he exhaled in relief. This area was always deserted anyway.  

Suddenly, the door he had just passed swung open again.  

“Where are you going?”  

Draco narrowed his eyes at the newcomer.  

“Why are you everywhere, Potter?”  

“I could say the same to you,” Potter retorted, shrugging as he approached. “So? Any giant spiders here?”  

“No. I am not here to fight spiders.” Draco folded his arms and scowled.  

“You are not?” Potter tilted his head. Draco shook his head. “What are you here for, then?”  

“Nothing.” Draco arched a brow. “Why would I even do something so foolish, Potter?”  

Before Potter could protest, Draco held up a finger. “Do not start. I remember what I did last time.” He glared, then turned away. “This does not concern you. Leave.” He strode off but paused by the sleeping dragon statue, flapping a hand dismissively. “Go play with your friends outside. Summoners’ Court is still on.”  

Potter jogged to catch up. “I know. I was watching earlier. Whoa, a dragon!” He gaped at the statue. “So cool.”  

Draco sighed and spun on his heel, marching down the corridor. Potter’s loud footsteps trailed behind him. Ignoring the nuisance, Draco stopped before a door.

“What are you doing, Malfoy?” Potter’s tone was accusatory.  

“Whatever I please, child.” Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. “Must you hover like a niffler?”  

“We are the same age!” Potter snapped. “And you are acting suspicious, so no!” He crossed his arms, scowling.  

Potter had always been stubborn. Once an idea took root, he clung to it like a knight embarking on a quest. Draco could turn back now, abandon his plan, and return when this insufferable Gryffindor was not dogging his steps. But why should he? Potter was a child compared to him. Backing down would feel like surrender.

He clicked his tongue. Fine.  

“Alohomora,” he incanted, flicking his wand at the door. It creaked open.  

Potter gasped. “Malfoy!” He sounded scandalised, which Draco found absurd.  

The room was dusty and dim, cluttered with mounds of soil. Floating pickaxes mined the earth autonomously. Draco coughed as dirt flakes swirled around him.  

“What is this place? Another herbology classroom?” Potter shadowed him.  

“Do you see any plants, Potter?” Draco mocked, scanning the mining carts and chunks of soils.  

“No,” Potter mumbled, poking at a broken shelf.  

“Do not touch anything lethal,” Draco warned, eyeing the unstable debris.  

“Huh? Like what?” Potter’s voice dripped with morbid curiosity.  

“Anything that might kill you,” Draco deadpanned. A faint gulp echoed behind him.  

He levitated a soil lump, revealing an old table underneath. Useless. He moved to a stack of wooden crates.  

“A blackboard,” Potter muttered. “Is this a mining class?”  

Draco snorted. “Read the chalk marks, dummy. It is Alchemy.”  

“Then why is there so much dirt?”  

“The last lesson might have involved gold extraction,” Draco said, vanishing another crate’s lid. “This room is abandoned. Do not trigger anything.”

“Got it.” Potter peered over his shoulder. “What exactly are we looking for?”

“We? I am looking for a decent cauldron.” Draco whirled, jabbing a finger at Potter’s chest. “But you? What are you doing here?”

Potter blinked, then smirked. “Childish curiosity?”  

Draco’s eye twitched. “Hilarious.” He turned back to the crates.  

“Is not this a cauldron?” Potter nudged a rusted lump.  

“That rusty thing?” He followed Potter’s line of sight and made a disgusted sound. “I need one that functions.” Draco blasted open another crate.  

Potter gasped. “How did you do that?” The awe in his voice made Draco preen.  

“Hmph. Told you I am older.”  

Potter raised an eyebrow. “Knowing more magic does not make you older, Malfoy. I grew up with Muggles.”  

Draco recalled one of Potter’s stories—back when he’d had time to entertain his friends, joining their weekly drinks at a bar where Potter would inevitably steal the spotlight with tales of his bizarre adventures. One of the story was how his Muggle relatives had treated him as a child, as if he’d committed a war crime.

He hesitated to open his mouth, unsure how to respond. Pretending ignorance about what Potter had endured would only make him complicit, but saying something to lighten the mood risked implying he knew the full story. 

“I see,” he said softly.  

Potter fell silent. Draco seized the moment to sift through the crate’s contents: gold flakes, rocks, and more rocks.  

“Are you mocking me?” Potter’s voice was a growl. Draco looked up to see his fists clenched, eyes blazing behind his glasses.  

“Ron said you hate Muggles. That your family hurts people.”  

Draco was taken aback—he felt as if he were actually facing the young Potter from his past. The hostility on the boy’s face was familiar. Dare he admit it? Nostalgic, even.  

He tilted his head. “Is that what you choose to believe?”  

Potter faltered. “That is not—”  

Draco waved him off. “It does not matter. If you want to paint me a villain, fine.”  

Not like you are wrong.  

Silence fell between them. Draco continued smashing open another box while Potter stood frozen, still watching. He could feel the boy’s gaze burning into him. More gold and rocks—but tucked inside, he also found a garden shovel. With a sigh, he moved to the next box.   

"I didn’t know anything about magic," Potter muttered, his voice small and rough. "I didn’t even think magic was real. Most Muggles don’t believe it exists. But I always knew I differed from them—they called me a freak. Ron was the first person, besides Hagrid, who told me about wizarding families. He taught me what to do, what to avoid protecting myself. And he told me your family had hurt a lot of people... especially your father. He said your father hurt his father—

Ah. Draco recalled his father’s glee in slandering Arthur Weasley.  

“I should not even be talking to you,” Potter continued, biting his lip. “But it feels unfair.”  

Draco exhaled and placed a hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Do not cry, Potter.”

“I am not!” Potter swatted his arm away, though his eyes glistened.  

“Good.” Draco stepped back. “Look, I am rubbish at handling children—”

“Same. Age.”  

“—but do not feel guilty for assuming the worst. Where there is smoke, there is usually fire.”  

“That is not—” Potter’s fists trembled. “Do you even hear what gryffindor say about you? About your family? About slytherin?”  

"Because I’ve been through it," Draco answered silently—in his own mind. "And because they weren’t entirely wrong."

He remembered the pride he’d felt at the fear he inspired—he’d enjoyed living up to those rumors, if he was honest. But some accusations were downright absurd. Cannibalism with Muggle corpses? If anything, the Malfoys would’ve preferred other wizards’ flesh—not him, of course! But his ancestors. And even that archaic ritual had been abandoned centuries ago! It wasn’t like the Malfoys were the only family who’d dabbled in such things. Tch!

“You are bothered,” Potter said, studying him.  

“Huh?”  

“Your face just now.”  

Draco rubbed his temples and closed his eyes, ruminating. What exactly should he say now? Lie and claim that he was a good person? Reveal the truth about the Malfoy and Black family’s past sins? Or spin some saccharine tale about him being an innocent child who just wanted to enjoy school?

Potter’s sudden laughter startled him.  

“What?” Draco snapped.  

“You looked constipated,” Potter grinned.  

Draco rolled his eyes. “Charming.”  

“I will figure you out myself,” Potter decided. “I will believe what I see. Like how I believed magic was real.”  

Draco blinked at the unexpectedly wise words. “Granger would be proud.”

“Who?”

“Who? Your friend, of course.” Wait. Draco rifled through his memories. Potter, Granger, and Weasley had been inseparable since first year—right? Shit. Have they not met yet? But that was impossible; Granger had been sorted into Gryffindor again.

Potter hummed, tilting his head as if doing imaginary checking inside his mind, “I think there’s a girl in my year named Granger…”

Draco snapped his fingers. “That’s her. You three ought to befriend each other.”

“Why?”  

“Because you and Weasley need a brain, of course. Someone to supervise your reckless decisions,” Draco snapped, recalling Potter’s own stories—how Granger had been the one with clear vision in every near-death disaster they’d stumbled into.

“My reckless decisions?” Potter asked, voice tinged with doubt. Draco nodded sharply.

“Weasley can’t be your only friend—” More memories flooded in: Potter charging into traps, Potter playing the martyr, Potter almost dying. Without thinking, Draco grabbed Potter’s shoulders, forcing him to meet his gaze. “Listen to me. It’s fine to play the brave little Gryffindor, but it’s not fine to ignore the consequences. I know you’re stupid—”

“Hey!”

“—but try to think before you act. Discuss it with someone—anyone! Just don’t throw yourself into danger like you’re the only one who can fix things. You’re strong, but you’re still just one person.” He gave Potter a shake. “Understood?”

“Yes! Stop! I am dizzy!”  

Draco let go of him. “Remember to use your brain.” He huffed and turned away, refocusing on the boxes. His heart pounded unnaturally loud—anxiety, he told himself. Too much information shared. Even without Blaise’s warnings, he knew altering the past was dangerous. It could change for the better… or spiral into something far worse.

A sudden sting lanced through his left arm. He bit his lip, clutching it as his vision blurred. The phantom sensation of inky tendrils from his dream resurfaced, his lungs constricting—

“Malfoy?”

The pain flared. A whisper, crisp and commanding, coiled in his mind: Extend your hand. Bow. Obey—

“Malfoy!”

Potter yanked him around, panic sharpening his voice. “What’s wrong?!”

Draco’s eyes flew open, locking onto Potter’s green ones—that shade; glowing under the dim light, like emeralds—and somehow, it steadied his breath.

“I’m fine,” he lied, wrenching free. “This place is suffocating. We’re leaving.” He smashed the last box open.

“Uh—your cauldron?”

“Found it!” A tiny cauldron sat buried in rubble. Draco brandished it triumphantly. “Mission accomplished!”

Potter snorted. “Is that your catchphrase?”

“Shut it. It’s healthy to express joy,” Draco muttered, tucking the cauldron into his robe with a spell. A lesson from his time in the Department of Mysteries servitude: celebrate small wins, or go mad.

“Let’s go,” Potter said, heading for the door. “I’ve got Potions—”

“Merde! We’re both got Potions!” Uncle Sev’s glowering face flashed in his mind. A frantic Tempus confirmed it. “Run, Potter!”

“Wait—should you not lock the room?” Potter yelled.

“Right!” Draco hastily recast the locking charm. “Now—run!”

𓆚

It took them almost 10 minutes to navigate the path to the dungeon where the potions' classroom was located. Peeves cackled loudly as they passed him in the Transfiguration courtyard, singing, “Tik-tok who’s there? A snake and a lion together? Oh, where they'd wandered? And where they’d headed? Let’s sing along, For their detention song!”

Draco stopped right in front of the door, gripping his shirt, he was panting hard. He glanced at Potter, who copied him. Draco nodded, then pushed the door open.

Professor Snape stood tall, next to the blackboard, and looked straight at them, stunned. Draco’s heart plummeted, he heard Pansy whisper softly: “What?” He glanced at the table on his left where four of the boys in his year gathered with empty cauldrons in front of them. The corner of Blaise’s lips quivered, Theo looked away trying to control his laugh, Greg waved at him—his face seemed relieved, and Vincent’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. 

“I’m sorry,” Potter mumbled, bowing his head, walking to an empty spot next to Weasley, who wore a similar expression to Vincent’s.t

Draco wasted no more time; he ran to the spot next to Theo. Snape’s and the rest of the class’s burning gaze followed his movement. Merlin, he could imagine his next scolding session and Daphne’s possible rumors. 

Salazar, s'il vous plaît aidez-le.¹.  

After what felt like a long, heavy, silent eternity, Snape finally cleared his throat and demanded their attention to begin the class. The grim-looking professor made his introduction by warning them: “There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making…”

He felt a tug and turned his head to see Theo’s stupid face. He was smirking at him by biting his smiling lips, and Draco wanted to smack him really badly, but he couldn’t draw any more attention in class, so he sent a glare instead. Blaise shook his head and made a disapproving look; Draco retaliated by rolling his eyes and subtly flipping his middle finger at him.

Greg gasped, glancing down at Draco’s finger, so Draco had to hide it. All the while, Vincent still stared at him with eyes full of confusion, almost making Draco groan at the thought of the lie he had to construct soon.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape’s voice echoed through the class, stopping whatever Draco and the other Slytherin boys were doing. “Our new celebrity,” he announced, snarkily.

Draco glanced to the side where he met Theo’s and Blaise’s eyes.

Snape’s childhood bullying ritual had begun. Their professor threw a series of potions questions at the poor 11-year-old orphan, who could only look up with confused blinks and shake his head.

“Clearly, fame isn’t everything, is it, Mr. Potter?” he said, smirking down at Potter before turning his back—his black robes swishing as he wrote the ingredients for today’s potion on the board.

Their first potion was Boil Cure Potion, something Draco could make in his sleep. He sighed and began to work, but another tug halted him. Theo batted his eyelashes; Help me? Draco rolled his eyes and told him to follow his lead. The other boys noticed this were copied him too.

He threw a disbelieving look at Blaise. Theo forgetting how to make an easy potion? Sure, but Blaise? Really?

Blaise responded by rolling his own eyes and mouthing, ‘Shut up.’

Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him.

“Well done, Mr. Malfoy,” Snape praised as he peered into Draco’s boiling cauldron. “We might have a prodigy in this class, after all.”

Draco smiled smugly at his Slytherin friends, and each of them reacted with an eye roll, except for Greg & Davis, of course. Greg gave him a thumbs up, while Davis made a clapping motion. Even without a glance at the Gryffindor table, he could feel their gaze, especially from a certain academically competitive girl.

Sorry, Granger, but I won’t lose this time. You can blame it on CIME.

Snape strutted, continuing his observation of other students. With the Slytherins, he made small comments here and there, his bitter voice guiding his house students. It was in contrast with the red-gold house, where he made snark comments about anything he observed. When he passed Granger, Draco saw how the girl leaned back to give Snape a clearer view of her perfect creation—yet the professor say nothing, pretending not to notice.

Draco’s mind suddenly supplied him with a memory. He cursed mentally and tried to pull both of his legs up, which was impossible when he needed them to stand during class. Then, a boyish scream and a minor explosion echoed, followed by a stream of liquid spilling onto the floor and spreading everywhere.

“Nooo, my new shoes,” Draco whined.

Theo sighed, “I forgot this happened.”

“Oh, come on!” Blaise exclaimed, then cursed in Italian.

The other students also filled the classroom with their own protests, mostly from the Slytherin side.

“Ah, Mr. Longbottom. The courage to fail so spectacularly is, I suppose, its own form of talent.” Snape sneer at the poor trembled boy and with a snap of his wand cleared the floor. “Five points from Gryffindor!” he announced, and gryffindor let out a collective wail.  

With that, the class was dismissed. Draco watched as Longbottom dragged himself out, trying to hide his sobs as Finnigan and Thomas patted him not-so-sympathetically.

Blaise grumbled about his shoes as they collected their belongings, ready to leave the classroom.  

“Mr. Malfoy, a word?”  

Draco’s body went rigid. He glanced at Theo and Blaise, who snapped their heads toward him. Both of them gave him a pained look.  

“We’ll wait outside,” Theo whispered, and Draco let out a hard sigh before walking to where his godfather was sitting.  

“Mr. Zabini, before you leave, do remember to mind your language in my lessons.” Snape addressed Blaise, who jolted. The boy dipped his head slightly and muttered his apologies in Italian. Near the exit, Draco saw Pansy’s shaking shoulders as she tried to stifle her laughter.  

Once the classroom had cleared out, Snape summoned a chair for Draco to sit across from him.  

The Potions classroom was just as he remembered—or just as he wanted it to be. The air was thick with the scent of herbs from the various plants hanging from the ceiling. Shelves lined the walls, crammed with glass vials, ceramic jars, and bubbling flasks, each containing liquids that glowed in eerie hues: emerald green, molten gold, and deep violet. Frogs, leeches, and tiny reptiles floated preserved in a row of jars. The room hummed with latent magic, and the faint whisper of a simmering potion filled the silence.  

Draco missed this, not the garish mess Professor Slughorn had made of it. He remembered how absurd it looked for a Potions classroom to be cluttered with ornaments and unnecessary knick-knacks.  

“Draco.” Snape’s voice snapped him out of his memories.  

“Yes, Uncle?” Draco smiled, tilting his head to the side. The man sighed but didn’t correct him.  

“Care to explain why you arrived with that boy?”  

Draco blinked innocently. “Who? Potter?” Snape raised an eyebrow.  

“Well, funny story. I found him wandering about, looking lost and pathetic, so I offered to lend a hand by bringing him to class.”  

“You found Potter lost and decided to be kind.” Snape said, his voice thick with scepticism.  

“Acting kind?” Draco gasped. “Of course not! It wasn’t that simple, Uncle! By helping him, my goal was to show how superior I am! Unlike him, who gets lost so easily. Plus, this way, he owes me. You know what they say about debts.” Draco folded his arms, smirking.  

“And what do they say about debts?” Snape asked, unimpressed.  

“Ah, well.” Draco averted his eyes. “They say, uh… one must pay their debts before they die, or… their family gets cursed?” He glanced back at his uncle and grinned.  

“I see,” Snape replied flatly. “What an… interesting piece of wisdom.”  

Draco nodded, slapping his hands on his thighs and leaning forward. “Exactly! There’s no way I, a Malfoy, would lift a finger without an advantage!”  

Snape stared at him, his expression unchanging. Draco clung to his cheerful, childish demeanour. Please believe me, Uncle.  

“That is a sensible mindset to have,” Snape said finally. “One should always have a logical motive for offering kindness.”

“Precisely!” Draco agreed, then stood. “If that’s all, Uncle Sev, may I—?”  

“Hold on, Draco.” Snape raised a hand. “There’s something else I need to ask you.”  

Draco immediately plopped back into the chair. “Yes, Uncle?” 

“This morning at breakfast, Professor… Hagrid,” he muttered the name as if it pained him, “approached me with an interesting tale about my students.”

Draco gulped. Putain de merde.  

“He informed me that three of my students had been having a delightful time in the forest with giant spiders… and that one of them admitted to deliberately trying to get the spider’s… attention?” Snape leaned forward. “Care to explain why three Slytherins—first-years, no less—would do such a thing, Draco?”  

Draco rubbed his face. “I can explain.”  

“I’m sure you can.”  

Massaging his temples, Draco’s brain short-circuited. What was he supposed to say? Childish curiosity? For what? Giant spiders? That they’d stumbled into the forest and the spiders appeared? Well, that was the truth. But why fight it? Ugh, this is all Theo and Blaise’s fault. They could’ve kept their mouths shut instead of throwing accusations at me!  

“Draco.” Snape tapped the desk. “Is it really so difficult to tell me?”  

“N-no—uh,” He let out an awkward laugh. Lying was impossible now. “It’s another funny story, Uncle. We were just, uh, taking a stroll… and, well… we fancied a look at the forest—”  

“Why would you want to explore the Forbidden Forest?” he put emphasis on last two words.  

“Curiosity, of course! Ha ha… Mother never let me wander into the woods, so…” His heart pounded, and the room suddenly felt stifling. His fingers felt clammy. “We found a log to sit on, had a chat, and then the spiders turned up! So we ran, and Professor Hagrid found us and saved us!”  

Snape blinked, processing Draco’s story. Draco let the silence stretch, his eyes wandering over the classroom, taking in the details. A few things on the shelves piqued his interest—if only his godfather would let him examine them.  

A minute passed before the man finally broke the silence. He exhaled sharply. “I understand—”  

“You do?” Draco beamed.  

Snape held up a hand. “Calm yourself, Draco. I, too, was once a child. I can see why you might do such a thing, but that doesn’t mean I approve.”  

“Oh.” Draco looked down.  

Another sigh escaped Snape, followed by footsteps as he moved closer to Draco. “You must be careful when exploring the castle, especially the forest. It’s called ‘forbidden’ for a reason. Giant spiders aren’t the only things lurking there—there are far more dangerous creatures…” Snape trailed off, but Draco knew what he meant.  

The outcasts.  

He continued, “Stay where the staff can see you. Understood?” His hand rested briefly on Draco’s shoulder.  

Draco nodded. “Understood, Uncle.” He looked up and gave Snape a small smile.  

The man’s expression remained stern, but there was a softness in his eyes.  

“You may go. And do pass on my words to Mr. Zabini and Mr. Nott.” He gave a curt nod, and Draco saluted before bolting for the door.

𓆚

Outside the classroom, his best friends waited in the corridor, leaning against the stone walls. Draco walked over to where they stood, their faces full of worry. How adorable.  

“Hagrid told Uncle Severus about the forest,” he said once he was close enough.  

“Merlin, give me strength,” Blaise replied.  

Theo gave Draco a sympathetic wince. “And here I thought he’d only banned you from making eye contact with Potter.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Uncle isn’t that extreme.”  

“You sure about that?” Blaise eyed him knowingly. Draco could tell he was recalling a particular memory involving Snape.  

“Shut it,” Draco snapped, clicking his fingers in a ‘silence’ motion, to which Blaise responded with an eye roll and a dismissive wave. “Let’s just be more careful. How’s the jewellery box?” He turned to Theo.  

Theo shrugged. “Waiting for your potion.”

“Right. I found a cauldron, and we’ve got those fangs. I can brew my Wiggenweld and Maxima tonight.” He tapped his cheek thoughtfully. “A small batch should be enough.”  

“Good,” Blaise said. “Let’s go. Greg dragged Vincent off for an early dinner, and Vincent seemed worried about you.” He glanced at Draco.  

Draco cursed under his breath—he’d nearly forgotten about Vincent. Bloody hell.  

The trio walked in silence, but as they pushed open the door connecting the small dungeon area to the hallway leading to the Central Hall, a figure suddenly leapt in front of them. All three jumped, wands drawn and pointed at the intruder.  

Potter froze, his eyes darting to each wand now aimed at him.  

“Ma che cavolo²!!” Blaise exclaimed.

“Salazar’s beard, Potter!” Draco lowered his wand and stepped closer. “Don’t sneak up on people like that!”  

“I nearly blasted the Boy Who Lived,” Theo muttered, putting his wand away.

“Il ragazzo che è stato fatto saltare in aria³,” Blaise muttered back to Theo, and the two of them burst into laughter.

Potter stared at them, looking both confused and mildly offended.  

“Ignore them,” Draco said, blocking Potter’s view of his idiotic friends with his hands. “What are you doing here?”  y

“Ah… did you get scolded?” Potter turned his attention back to Draco.  

“Were you worried?” Draco raised an eyebrow, and Potter gave a small nod. “Well, don’t be. It wasn’t your fault—”  

“Obviously,” Potter said.  

Draco scowled. “Cheeky, aren’t you?”  

“I was worried because Professor Snape clearly hates me. I didn’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”  

Draco shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that. Now go—we can’t be seen talking like this.”  

“Why?” Potter looked around.  

Draco sighed. “We’re Slytherins, remember? And you’re a Gryffindor. We shouldn’t be buddy-buddy.”  

Potter blinked, as if finally recalling their house rivalry. “Right. But is it just Slytherin and Gryffindor who shouldn’t interact? What if I’d been sorted into Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?”  

Draco glanced at Theo and Blaise. The other two shrugged.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but those two houses also rarely mix outside their own,” Draco explained.  

“Yeah, but…” Potter scrunched his eyebrows. “It feels like Slytherin’s the one everybody avoids.”  

Draco sighed. “Weasley did tell you why, didn’t he?”  

Potter nodded. “Slytherin students’ families. But does everyone hold grudges against all Slytherin families? What if one of their siblings got sorted into Slytherin?”  

“Uh…” Draco turned to Theo and Blaise. This wasn’t an easy task. How were they supposed to explain to an 11 y.o that this house rivalry had been going on for years, with no one able to pinpoint exactly when or who started it—aside from the obvious reason: their famous alumni?  

Blaise seized the moment. “I don’t think that’s a problem for a child to solve. All you need to do is study well and enjoy your time, Potter.”  

“You know what your problem is, Zabini? Your opinion. It’s unwanted and worthless,” Potter snapped, throwing Blaise a glare. “I’m asking Malfoy.”

Blaise and Theo’s jaws dropped.  

“Potter!” Draco tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh.  

“Mate, he insulted you,” Theo said, covering his mouth before pointing accusingly between Blaise and Potter. “An eleven-year-old just called you stupid!”  

“He did not call me that,” Blaise smacked Theo’s head. “Watch your tongue, Potter.” He glared daggers at the boy.  

Before Potter could retort, Draco slid between them, shielding Potter from the fuming Italian. “It’s a complicated matter, Potter. Slytherin’s got its own history, and it’s not really our place—I mean, we’ve only just been sorted, yeah? Let’s just enjoy our time here and learn.”  

Potter scowled but said nothing. He stared at Draco before sighing. “Fine. Anyway, I tried befriending Hermione Granger, but Ron made her cry, and now I think she hates me.”  

“Of course Weasley would do that,” Draco muttered. “Find her and try again. Drag that brainless ginger with you and make him apologise.”  

Potter hummed. “I get needing more friends, but why her? Is it just because it’s only me and Ron? And Granger would make us three… like you three?” He leaned slightly to peer at Theo and Blaise behind Draco.  

Draco exchanged a glance with his best friends. He still remembered how they’d become friends—it wasn’t heartwarming or even interesting. Just a simple we’re stuck in this mess together; might as well get along and use each other. Or at least, that’s how it started. Three heirs from the same house, facing the same sidelong glances. Sure, he’d always been decent with Blaise, but if not for their circumstances, he’d never have wasted time entertaining this egocentric Italian mama’s boy. Same with Theo—a meek, pathetic son of the most arrogant wizard he’d ever met.  

He shook his head. Behind him, Theo and Blaise mirrored the gesture.

“Potter, under no circumstances should you use our friendship as inspiration, alright?” Draco said flatly. “Start yours because you actually care about someone—or even just because you want more friends. But don't look at me and these two dimwits and think this is something to aspire to.” He thumbed at Theo and Blaise.  

“What?” Potter scowled in confusion. “But you said they’re your best friends.”

“It’s just a title. Also, Theo made me say that.” Draco grimaced.  

"Yeah, I won a bet and made Dray and Blaze promise we'd call each other best friends," Theo responded, a hint of pride in his voice.

"Oh? What did you three bet on?" Potter asked.

Draco waved a dismissive hand. "Doesn't mat—"

"Busted!" A girl's voice cut through their conversation. "So it's not just Nott! Harry Potter too!" Pansy ran up and planted herself in front of them, hands on her hips. "What's actually going on, Draco?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes.

"Brilliant. Pansy's here," Draco groaned.

"Ouch. Rude," Pansy huffed. "Start talking, Draco."

"What's your problem?" Potter stepped between Pansy and Draco.

Pansy stared at him in disbelief. "I beg your pardon, Potter?! Just because you happen to be some celebrity—" Her tone dripped with Snape-like condescension. "—that doesn't give you the right to use that tone with me."

"I'm a celebrity?" Potter tilted his head. "And you are...?" Draco caught the edge of irritation in his voice.

Pansy gasped dramatically. "Open your ears and remember! I'm Pansy Parkinson, The Lady of the Parkinson family. You'd do well to stay on my good side." She glared.

"Hm. Parkinson? Never heard of it," Potter said, shaking his head.

Pansy's fists clenched, her face flushing scarlet. Blaise smoothly extended an arm between them before she could retort. 

"That's enough," he said firmly. "Potter, mind your manners." He shot the boy a warning look before turning to Pansy. "Pan-Parkinson, this isn't the place for interrogations."

"Ha! You're giving me orders now, Zabini?" Pansy redirected her fury at Blaise.

"What? No, that wasn't—" Blaise began, but the two quickly devolved into bickering as Draco, Theo, and Potter looked on.

"What's wrong with them?" Potter asked.

Draco shrugged. "My thoughts exactly."

Theo, of course, was giggling uncontrollably, thriving on the chaos.

Potter turned back to Draco. "Anyway... can we talk again sometime?"

"Uh..." Draco hesitated. How did one politely refuse when Potter looked so earnest—and so unnervingly like the grown version from his memories, smiling as if Draco had never wronged him at all?

"Don't worry, I won't get you in trouble," Potter said, stepping closer. He leaned in, his whisper brushing Draco's ear: "I'll only talk to you when we're alone or with people we trust."

Draco twitched, covering his ear as he jerked back. After a beat, he nodded.

Potter's smile widened, satisfied. "Good. See you around, Malfoy." With a wave, he strode off—Draco returning the gesture automatically.

Merlin's beard... did he and Harry Potter just become proper friends?!

"He does realize we're standing right here, yes?" Pansy muttered.

"That's Potter for you," Blaise sighed.

Theo burst into loud cackles.

"Shut it!" Draco snapped, smacking him.

𓆚

They relocated to the Viaduct Courtyard, where Pansy cornered Draco like an Auror. The déjà vu was unbearable.

"Talk." She jabbed a finger at his chest.

Draco raised his hands in surrender. "Ugh. Potter got lost, Theo looked pathetic, and Blaise is decent entertainment. Satisfied?"

Pansy's face twisted. "Do I look like a fool, Malfoy? I've known you since you were in nappies."

"For Merlin's sake!" Draco threw up his hands before slumping onto the stone ledge. "That's literally what happened!" He crossed his arms, levelling her with a glare.

Pansy clicked her tongue. "So you're telling me Draco Malfoy suddenly developed a conscience for Theo Nott and Harry Potter?" She cocked her hip, rings glinting as she gestured. "Fine, I'll buy the Potter angle—" Her hand swung toward Theo, who pointed at himself in mock surprise. "—but him? Have you forgotten who sired that?"

"Obviously not." Draco exhaled through his nose. "Look at him, Pans. Proper look at his stupid face." Theo blinked owlishly, pulling his most innocent expression. "See even a hint of that sodding Tiberius in that face?"

Pansy scrutinised Theo before huffing. "Looking like his mum doesn't make him trustworthy."

Draco turned lazily to Theo. "Planning to betray me?"

"Nope."

"There you go." Draco flashed Pansy a triumphant grin.

Her jaw slackened. Eyes darting between the boys, she whirled toward Blaise with a wordless, frantic gesture.

Blaise offered only a shrug. Wise man.

"Oh, come off it, Zabini! This is barmy!" She began pacing, heels striking stone. "Am I the only one seeing this? Don't—" She jabbed a finger at Blaise. "—actually answer that." Wheeling on Draco, she hissed, "I was your first friend! Best friend! Years before these tossers!!” The accusation hung between them. "And now you're thicker with them than me?"

"Merlin, I'm the second Theo now?" Blaise touched his chest in mock horror.

"Shut it." Pansy's glare could've melted lead before refocusing on Draco, arms crossed, foot tapping an impatient rhythm.

Draco dragged his hands down his face. "Is this performance really necessary, Pans? We're at Hogwarts—did you expect me to stay the same forever?"

Pansy froze mid-tap. Though he didn’t look at her, Draco knew that particular silence—the one that meant she was warring with herself. The standoff lasted until Theo cleared his throat.

"You're still his best friend, the first one, Pans—uh, Parkinson," he offered. "And I'd never screw Draco over."

"That's not—!" Pansy's groan echoed off the arches. "I don't care about being his best friend—"

"Liar," Draco sing-songed, ducking her jinx with practised ease.

"—my issue is you, Nott. Swear on Salazar's grave, you won't turn out like your father."

As if our parents aren't all serving the same madman, Draco thought bitterly, shooting Blaise a pleading look that earned only another shrug.

Theo scratched his neck. "Well... Father does want reports on Draco's activities—"

"See!" Pansy whirled victoriously.

"—but I'm brilliant at fabricating stories. No worries!" He flashed a thumbs-up.

"See?" Draco arched a brow.

Pansy's pout. "You've gone soft, Draco."

"And you've gone full drama queen. Daphne's rubbing off on you." Draco stood, brushing off his robes.

"Daphne—Merlin's pants!" Pansy snapped her fingers. "She's definitely started rumours already."

Draco paled. "Shit."

"Proper shit," Pansy agreed, a flicker of sympathy crossed her features.

"Not your first time," Theo whispered. Draco elbowed him hard.

"Should've set her hair on fire when I had the chance," Draco muttered as Blaise gave consolatory back pats.

"Don't be daft!" Pansy yelped. "That'd just make the gossip worse!"

"Right, Ugh." Draco grumbled.

Pansy's smirk returned. "Let me handle it. I'll drown out her drivel with better rumours—if you tell me everything I want."

A deal with a child? 

“Sure.” Draco agreed.

"Brilliant!" She seized his hand for a violently enthusiastic shake. "We have a deal."

𓆚

They'd finished dinner and showers and now lounged in their dormitory. Draco had spun some ridiculous tale about Potter crying and begging him for help finding the Potions classroom. Vincent still looked unconvinced, but at least he'd stopped questioning it.

Draco jumped off his bed and conjured a flame beneath his cauldron. He laid out his ingredients on the floor and began brewing, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Vincent watched for a minute before losing interest and joining Gregory's conversation.

Theo sat cross-legged opposite him, observing his precise movements. "You sure you can finish all that tonight? We've got Flying Class tomorrow."

Draco added horklump juice and stirred seven times counter-clockwise before answering. "I can manage one vial..." He sighed. "Flying class. Right." An embarrassing memory surfaced—that damned impromptu race.

His expression must have betrayed him, because Theo snorted. "The race that made Potter's career."

"Did he ever thank you properly for that?" Blaise asked, studying their reflections in his hand mirror.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh yes. Between fits of laughter." He could still hear the older Potter's teasing voice: If it wasn't for you, I'd never have become Hogwarts' youngest Seeker.

Theo and Blaise chuckled while Draco scowled. "Bloody Potter."

"There it is!" Theo snapped his fingers. "Po-TAH! Why don't you say it like that anymore?"

"No idea what you're on about," Draco muttered, adding dittany leaves to his cauldron.

"Don't go picking fights tomorrow, yeah?" Blaise said, lounging on his bed. "We could all use a peaceful flying lesson."

Draco's ears pinked. "I know."

Theo suddenly leaned in, all traces of humor gone. "Salazar's sake, Draco. You can't."

"I'm not a child—"

"You can't give him another early ticket onto the team," Theo interrupted, voice uncharacteristically serious. Draco paused his stirring. “Professor McGonagall only overlooked the rules last time because you gave Potter a perfect chance to impress. Don’t do it again.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Merlin, you're actually serious."

Blaise snorted. "It might delay him a year or two, but it won't erase raw talent. That boy was born on a broom."

"I know," Theo sighed. "But we can at least slow him down."

Blaise propped himself up on one elbow. "You do realize the three of us already have years of flying experience, right?"

Theo's smile turned sharp. "And?" He turned back to Draco. "Back me up here."

Draco hesitated. Theo wasn't wrong... but was it fair to deny Potter his moment?

"Dray." Theo's voice dropped. "Think like a Slytherin." He tapped his finger on his head. 

"Fine," Draco relented, rolling his eyes at Theo's dramatic intensity. "But Greg was involved too, remember?"

Theo glanced at where the bald boy was explaining something to a drowsy Vincent. "I'll handle him. Just... no provoking Potter. Even if Weasley starts something."

"Yeah, yeah."

"We'll see about that," Blaise murmured, pulling his covers up. "Night, all."

🐍🐍🐍

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