Ever since setting foot back into the castle that he had so desperately conspired against, Draco had taken every precaution to avoid the offspring of those he had formerly thought of as comrades, namely: the Slytherins of Hogwarts. He knew that their loyalties lay with their parents, and that his betrayal would never be forgiven.
Even the girl he had grown up with since infancy, whose parents had hoped for a union of their two families with an elaborate, Pureblood marriage, who had once hung on his every word as she fell in love with him during their years at Hogwarts had surely had a change of heart. Thanks to Draco, Pansy Parkinson’s father had been captured along with a few other Death Eaters during the attack on Malfoy Mansion and taken to Claustrum, the Order-run Wizarding prison. With the fall of Azkaban, the first of many Ministry establishments to become compromised with the rise of the Death Eaters, the Order had built their own prison, free of corruption and known only to the Secret Keeper, who transported inmates in and out. It was said that Dumbledore himself had conjured the enchantments that protected and hid the establishment.
Having had several unpleasant, inadvertent encounters with Slytherin students already, resulting in dodging rather gruesome, dark curses that could only have been taught to children by Death Eaters, Draco knew that seeking Pansy or anyone else he had once considered a friend would be foolish. Not one Slytherin that remained was a close match to his power, but if he angered them, their parents may decide to attempt a takeover of his last safe haven ahead of schedule, before their apprehension of Potter. Playing it safe, he avoided them altogether to prolong his sanctuary until his moment to carry out his vengeance came; he only hoped that when that moment came, he would know.
Finding himself planning his schedule around seeing as few people as possible on a daily basis, his days at Hogwarts now revolved completely around his studies and compulsively checking over his shoulder. Though his reasoning for avoiding the House of green and silver was more for his personal safety, his unconscious motivation for avoiding the other three Houses had more to do with an emotion that he could hardly identify within himself as deep shame. Rather than dwelling on the real reason he couldn’t face their accusing eyes, he subjected himself to only walking the corridors when classes were in session, spending ten minutes at most in the library, and taking his meals in his room. Even a well-crafted plan had room for error, and it was only a matter of time before being forced into a direct confrontation.
Having spent a little too long in the library collecting books on potion theory, he found himself half running back to his tower in order to avoid the impending flood of students. In his hurry, he failed to notice the various piles of muck on the floor that Peeves had been throwing at unsuspecting heads from the ceiling during the last period between classes. In Draco’s passing, he managed to step in a particularly slimy bit, sending his foot flying into the air in front of him, landing flat on his back and cracking his skull on the solid floor. Struggling through a vision of bright spots, he blindly gathered his books as quickly as he could, the pounding in his head drowning out the approaching footsteps and the quiet snicker behind him
“Well, well, well. So it’s true, the traitor thinks he can hide out at Hogwarts,” taunted his childhood friend, her words dripping with malice.
He finished gathering his books, taking his time to collect his wits for a verbal combat as he blinked away the persisting stars in front of his eyes.
“So, is this your standard dress code now: filthy robes and mussed hair? Now that you’ve allied yourself with blood traitors, is it required to be as disgusting as them?” Pansy let out a high-pitched, girlish giggle at the smear of mud across the back of his robes.
Clenching his fingers tightly around his stack of books as his face grew hot with a suppressed rage, Draco straightened to his full height and turned slowly on the spot. As he narrowed his eyes to slits with loathing, Pansy’s grin faded at the hard look of hatred he shot at her. He had seen that smile before, adorning Mrs. Parkinson’s cruel face, and those spiteful, deep blue eyes, darkened with the malevolence of a merciless lust for power, observing apathetically from behind Mr. Parkinson’s rimless glasses as that jet of green light had shot across the room.
“How’s your dad, Parkinson? Enjoying his stay, I hope?” he jeered as her eyes darkened with anger and her hand shot into her robes for her wand. Because he had been duelling with her since they were young, there wasn’t a move he couldn’t anticipate.
“Expelliarmus.” Her wand flew through the corridor at the lazy flick of his before she had even pointed in his direction.
Smiling coolly, she folded her arms across her chest. “He’s furious you know, the Dark Lord. It’s tragic really if you think you’re safe here; he could come in anytime he wants. When he’s finished with Potter, he’s coming after you.”
“Then let’s hope The Chosen One does his bloody job,” Draco muttered, mostly to himself, but in the large, empty space of the corridor, the words reached Pansy’s ears.
Taking a step back from him, as if such statements might infect her, a look of alarm spread across Pansy’s face, her eyes wide. “You don’t mean such a thing. You can’t mean that, even if you are marked for death. After all our work, after all our sacrifice, we’re so close to having absolute power. Has your pride as a proper Pureblood left with your sense?”
“Power?” Draco scoffed at her ignorance, taking a menacing step towards her as she shrank back in stunned fear, her back to the wall. “He will have the power! We will be forced to bow to his will if we hope to stay alive, no more than the Muggles he intends to enslave! You’re a fool if you believe he thinks any more of you than he does of them!”
The fear in her face passed during his tirade, replaced with a stubborn determination as she shoved him away from her. Draco took several steps back, realizing that her ears were closed to him. He saw in her what he must have looked like as a brainwashed, spoiled child, raised to hate and crave power; he had been just as naive once. As she walked to her fallen wand and stooped to pick it up, he tried to reason with her; he couldn’t completely give up on one of his oldest friends.
“He killed my mum, Pansy,” he said softly.
She paused mid-stoop, and then slowly stood upright as if processing his words. She kept her eyes on her wand as she twirled it between her fingers.
Watching the dark rod spin, a few random thoughts and memories ran through his head. Ten inches of hard, dense rowan wood, concealing a single strand of dragon heartstring that Pansy had once told Draco during their first year, whispering behind her hand into his ear as if telling him a great secret, that she could swear she felt it pulse as if still a part of a beating heart. They would concoct lavish stories together about a ferocious dragon, searching forever for the missing piece of its heart, and that whoever held the power to this wand would have complete control over the monstrous beast, enslaving it for all time. Their silly tales would usually end in the demise of a Muggle, or several; a finale to make their parents proud.
A memory of Mr. Ollivander appraising them before the dragon-commanding instrument had been handed over flashed across his eyes, the ancient wandmaker then handing each of them their ideal wand under the smug, turned-up noses of their fathers. She had given Draco the biggest grin as she felt her untamed magic channel towards this mysterious wooden stick she now held in her hand.
“Thanks for coming with me,” she had whispered.
Wondering if she even remembered that day with as much detail as he did, he tried again.
“He was trying to kill me, but he got her instead. That’s why he’s so angry, he wanted me dead, and I got away from him. He had been holding her captive all year, to make sure I did as I was told. She was dirty and scared when I saw her for the last time. I barely got away, but I realised that the promises he makes are all empty, and that he isn’t loyal to anyone–”
“Stop it!” Pansy shrieked, finally turning back to face him, tears sparkling in her dark eyes. “Stop it! Stop lying to me, Draco! My dad told me that your mum has been doing work for the Dark Lord abroad and that you had been upset about your father’s death and started acting out, spreading lies, and I shouldn’t listen to a word you say. After they took my dad, I hadn’t heard anything more about you. I knew that you had turned your back on us. And now I see that it’s true!”
Seeing that she was bordering on hysterical, he dropped his books and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her slightly to stop her from shouting.
“Keep it down, Pansy, you’re embarrassing yourself! Why would I just spread lies like a common gossip, don’t you realise how ridiculous that sounds?”
Releasing her shoulders, he took either side of her face in his hands, forcing her to look into his eyes. The confusion residing in those rings of sapphire blue gave her away, and she bit her lower lip as if fighting her own internal battle. Shaking her head, she wrenched out of his hold and headed back towards the dungeons without another word. As Draco watched the last connection to his old life walk away, he felt a twinge in his chest at the reminder of his isolation.
Gathering his books hastily, he began running again toward his tower; students would be flooding out of their classes at any moment.
At the top of the stairs to the third floor, he spotted a throng of Ravenclaws exiting a classroom down the hall. He quickly retreated back down the steps, stealing behind a seemingly useless, small curtain along the side of the staircase, barely visible to the naked eye. It looked as though it were just hiding a small storage cupboard, but an extremely ancient, narrow staircase, one of Hogwart’s countless unknown secrets, lay hidden. These rickety, wooden stairs allowed Draco means of access to the floor below, or at least a hiding place until the corridors were once again unoccupied.
Here, he would wait until the coast was clear, simmering in self-loathing at his cowardice in hiding from younger witches and wizards in his own school.
Author notes: More D/G interaction to come! PS, I live for reviews!
Next chapter: Dying Prejudice
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