#dracoxoc

Now you kind of wish you hadn't.

You'd noticed your mother hasn't been speaking with Narcissa Malfoy, you've heard her whispering to your father that she doesn't dare get involved. You're not exactly sure what that means, they refuse to ever tell you anything, or just wave you off when you ask.

According to Harry, however, You-Know-Who is back, but he's also been claiming that for years. You've always been skeptical, someone just doesn't come back from the dead, but after the end of last year, with his godfather dying and everyone suddenly saying they saw the Dark Lord --- well, you're just uncertain now.

It's kind of frightening, actually. You're worried for your parents, you know that Voldemort actually targeted the pure blood families to recruit them into his Death Eaters, Lucius Malfoy being one of them; you're not sure how your parents managed to wiggle out of it, but you're glad they didn't get involved.

You wonder how Draco is fairing, what's going on at Malfoy manor. Is it really true that his family is part of the Death Eaters that are supporting the Dark Lord's return? Is that why he was so weird last year, joining that horrid toad-like woman, stating that he was trying to keep you safe, that you didn't know everything that was happening?

Maybe you didn't.

You feel almost foolish now, like someone has lifted a veil from in front of your eyes and you suddenly realize that you've been ignoring obvious signs. Now the papers are even talking about the random attacks on muggle born wizards, the gatherings, and it's very concerning.

Fred and George don't seem bothered, their joke shop is flourishing, just like Fred said it would. You saw him many times over the summer, you actually really like his shop, but it's not the same between either one of you now. You thought maybe it could be once you got out of school, but... it's not. He's basically independent, he and his brother, and he's loving it.

You just... wish things didn't have to end the way they did last year.

You're both writing letters to each other, more so now than before actually, especially over the summer. Your owl has been constantly going back and forth much to your mother's consternation, sometimes she needs to use the owl sometimes and you shouldn't be so greedy, apparently.

It's not like it matters, most of her friends are high society gossip queens, it's not like she has anything actually important to talk about. Your father has been gone a lot though, but you don't really think he's been at the Ministry like he claims; he's up to something, him and your mother both, but you're not sure what.

No one will talk to you.

It's so frustrating!

Even if they avoid telling you about it, you hear about it at school. The dark vibe is intense, and Dumbledore has been so absent this year, although he's still miraculously the headmaster despite that circus last semester. You're not sure how he managed that, but you noticed that he isn't looking like he feels that well, either.

Neither is Draco.

He's not acting his usual haughty self, he's very pale, and you've noticed the black rings beneath his eyes. He has his underlings following him around of course, and he still has his boastful appearance and looks down his nose at others, but it just... well, it seems like it's a facade, it's not genuine like before.

You're actually worried about him too.

You know the rumors, and if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is really back, the Malfoys are right in the middle of it. Draco and his mother at least, since his father is currently in Azkaban for breaking into the Ministry --- on the Dark Lord's behalf.

Which means he must be back, doesn't it? You keep trying to find excuses, ways to pretend that it's not true, because why should it be? That was something that happened when you were just a baby, it doesn't even seem real to you, it's just history, right?

Well, apparently not, because now it's happening again.

You frown down at your school books where you sit in the library at one of the tables, tapping the tip of your feathered quill nervously against your paper. You've been staring at this page for a few minutes, but you're not really reading anything.

You're listening.

There's a few Slytherins sitting a couple seats down, whispering as they lean over the table towards each other. Pansy is one of them, she's always in the middle of chaos, but she's also the perfect source of gossip. She looks pleased as she talks about the Malfoy's, still praising them for being loyal to their blood even in the darkest of circumstances. She comments on how hard it must be for Draco with his father being gone, his mother stuck at the manor with all her "guests."

By guests does she mean Death Eaters? Is Malfoy manor like their home base?

She should really watch what she's saying when so many people are around.  

You hear a slight huff of vague laughter, and you look up, seeing Draco walking through the library, white blonde hair messed, a smile on his face that's not genuine and actually looks more like a grimace. Crabbe and Goyle are flanking him as they move with purpose, and you frown, watching them.

Is he okay?

His eyes flick over as he passes your table, his gray eyes catching yours for just the briefest of moments before away, his attention returning to his task. You watch as he disappears into the rows of books in the library, almost feeling disappointed. He's not spoken to you once this year, not tried to pick on you, be smooth with you, absolutely nothing!

It's not characteristic of him at all.

Not that you mind, of course, he's a jerk, and he's rude, and snobbish. You want him to be a better person but you're not sure if he actually is, and the only reason he's ever nice to you is because of your family name, your House; if you'd been anyone else, you would be treated like you were below him, especially since you don't think muggles are complete dirt.

Still, you've spent time with Draco outside of school, you know he can be decent, it's why you like him. You just know he can be better, but you're not going to pretend that you can make him be better or make him change, it's his choice to be who he is and to act the way he does.

It's just disappointing because he has a good heart.

Or maybe that's just what you want to believe.

He saved you last year, made sure you weren't in trouble when it came to the D.A. getting caught; he actually made sure you didn't make it to that last meeting, and you'd said some horrible things to him because of it. You sort of regret being so mean, but, well, he had no business interfering! You should have been there, you are one of them!

Maybe you should have believed Harry more, instead of being so skeptical. You're grateful for all the defensive spells you learned thanks to him, at least if everything does go bad you'll be able to defend yourself --- against Death Eaters, of all things.

People you know, which is what makes it worse.

You sigh, and finally close the book you've been pretending to read with a final thunk. You can't concentrate, and you're tired of trying too. There's too much on your mind, this year is getting to you and you're barely into it!

Stupid Draco and his ignoring you, you're not sure why you find it so annoying. It's so unlike him, he always at least acknowledges you! Sure, you don't care, not really, it's just... worrisome. He's changed so much these few months, it's like he's not even himself.

When you first saw him this year, he was still pale, wearing his traditional dark green robes that complimented his color and white-blond hair. Now he has sch terrible dark shadows beneath his eyes, and looks almost gray sometimes, as if he's exhausted and becoming ill.

You've noticed Snape watching him pretty closely as well, but you know about his reputation. Snape was a Death Eater, loyal to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and how he became a teacher for Dumbledore is beyond you; why Dumbledore let him become a teacher is a mystery! The man obviously hates children, and this year since he's been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, it's been... interesting.

Everyone always says that position is cursed, you've had a new one every single year that you've been at Hogwarts... well, since Harry Potter has been at Hogwarts. You can't say Snape has been a terrible teacher, for as long as you've known him he's wanted that class. He takes it very seriously, more so than anyone else --- especially that horrid woman Umbridge, who you hope is somewhere as awful as she is.

At least Snape treats the class for what it is; dangerous.

He wants to make sure that all of the students have a firm understanding of the suffering the Dark Arts can bring, so far as to even make the lights dimmer and hang up some very morbid photos. His teachings, as much as no one would dare admit, were very similar to Harry's, in your unasked opinion. Snape wants everyone to not simply just memorize the spells, but how to use them and what situations call for them.

Even the theories he assigns for homework at least interesting. Lupin was the only other teacher who you found to be so practical, except he was much friendlier and personable, whereas Snape is sort of loomy and intimidating.

"What is it, (Y/N)? You're looking moodier than usual," Someone comments snidely, and you cut your eyes at Pansy Parkinson where she and Millicient sit; you're not fond of Millicent, at all, and you don't pretend you are either. She was part of Umbridge's Inquisitorial squad last year, and would use her... you want to say larger, more broad build to intimidate other students and anyone smaller than her. Right now her black hair is loose around her jutting jaw, and it's not flattering in the least.

"What do you want, Pansy?" You frown at her, your chin propped on your hand. "Don't you have something to gossip about?"

"No." Pansy shifts, and you scowl at her as she puts herself right across from you, looking like the cat who ate the canary. Your mind unfortunately flicks to the night of the Yule Ball, when she went with Draco dressed in such pink frills, so gaudy. Her style hasn't changed much since than either, although you've noticed her and Draco are together, just the two of them more often.

You're not bothered by it or anything, after all these years it's no surprise to see them together. She's just a horrid girl, who likes to torment others and has a mean streak --- but she's from a pureblood family, so it's no surprise.

You gaze at her with a bored expression, not even going to entertain her. Is she trying to snap at you, get you riled up for some reason?

You're fairly certain you hate this girl, although you know it's a strong term. You know her and Draco are cosier than usual this year, you heard about their little snuggle on the train ride to Hogwarts. His head in her lap, her smirk as she caressed his hair --- it does make your blood boil just a little at the thought.

You know his hair is soft, you've run your fingers through it numerous times. You wonder if he's kissed her yet, like he has you --- he certainly knows how to kiss very well, so maybe she's who he's practiced with.

Oh now that's a sickening thought.

You don't like that at all.

You brush your hair behind your ear, raising your brows at Pansy when she just sits across from you, studying you.

You're all growing up now, all around sixteen to seventeen years old. Before where you would typically keep your hair in a braid of sorts, you've started leaving it down, and it's longer now than it was before. You've found a lot of your classmates are losing their childish round faces, are becoming taller and filling out, and you're no different.

You're taller now, though not as tall as Draco, and your mother keeps fussing at you to wear a little makeup around your eyes, they're so pretty and they should stand out. You have to concede that she's right, and hasn't Draco complimented you now and than about how nice they are?

You wonder if he compliments Pansy about how she looks, if he really does like her that way. Is he finally done with you, even being friends? Did you hissing at him the end of last year finally finish off the shred of whatever it was between the two of you?

He's always been such a constant, you almost admit that you kind of miss him. You don't miss his belittling people or tantrums, but the good moments, like when he stayed the summer with your parents, or how kind he was to you that one Christmas --- that's the Draco you like, and believe he would be were his father not such a bloody jerk.

"So, I heard Blaise Zabini was talking about you this morning in the commons room," Pansy suddenly states, earning your attention. "He was talking to Theodore Nott about how tall you've gotten over the summer."

"Theodore just likes to talk about plants, and Blaise is too vain to notice anyone but himself." You reply shortly, not interested. You highly doubt Blaise Zabini is interested in you, you've never even had a conversation your entire time at school. He's usually pretty quiet and reserved, and though he sits with Draco and the others during lunch, he doesn't seem to care much for them. You know he's incredibly prejudiced against anyone who isn't a pureblood, but he comes from a woman who's been widowed seven times, her husbands dying under suspicious circumstances.

"Oh, come on, (Y/N), you're pretty enough to have someone interested in you." Pansy replies, but it's the way she says it you know she's not sincere. You just look at her, refusing to rise to the bait; is she taunting you because she's insecure about her relationship?

That's not your problem.

"I have to get to class," you say, making your tone as disinterested as possible. You rise to your feet, gathering your books together. Pansy looks annoyed for just the briefest moment before plastering a smirk on her face, getting to her feet so she can be on the same level as you.

"Going a little early, aren't you? Want to make sure you get there ahead of everyone else? It's just Snape, he already caters to us as Slytherins. No need to suck up to him."

You roll your eyes blatantly, turning away from her and taking your time leaving the library; you don't want her to think you're running away from her either. You don't care for her stupid attitude towards you, and you're not going to let her think you can bully you either.

Stupid Pansy Parkinson.

~~~~~~

Draco is exhausted.

He can barely keep his eyes open as he sits in Transfiguration class, his chin propped on his fist. He's trying to pay attention, but there's much more pressing matters than worrying about homework or what McGonagall is teaching. She's already given him detention for forgetting two assignments already, much to his consternation.

Griffyndors.

He exhales heavily in irritation, hair moving out of his eyes. There's so much going on, and he's so tired. He just wants to sleep, but if he's resting he's losing time, and time is precious right now. He has to protect his family, he can't fail in his objective this year, in the mission he was given.

If he messes up, something could happen to his mother, and she's all he has left now. His father in Azkaban, it's thrown his family inot disarray, and his mother is barely keeping control of Malfory Manor since they've fallen out of favor with the Dark Lord.

His eyes rove the classroom, and they settle on you as you answer a question a few rows down from him. He's tried to avoid you this year, to ignore your very existence; the less you're involved with him, the better off you're going to be. You chose the mudbloods, despite your pureblood status, and the Dark Lord is concerned that your family may not be... loyal, in a sense.

He's worried.

Narcissa Malfory defended your mother, and your father since he works with the ministry. He hopes that means, despite their fall from grace, something in your family's defense. There's been so many attacks on muggles and other mudblood supporting wizards, it causes his stomach to clench.

He hopes that if he avoids you, no one will think anything of you, that you'll be left alone. You'll be safe. Draco can't give anyone ammunition that can be used against him, plus if you knew his plans for the year --- you'd hate him. You'd never speak to him again, and for some reason he cares about that.

He's even kept a distance between his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, Theodore and Pansy. They know he's planning something and would help him no matter what, but he can't give them details; and damned Snape, always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong. He's not going to steal Draco's glory, the boy can do it himself!

He'll figure it out, somehow, without anyone's help! Snape would ruin everything, and he doesn't have to keep such tabs on him, either!

Draco's fingers curl tightly where they rest on the table in front of him, and he swallows hard. He has to be careful, he knows that. He's still a prefect, not that it really matters to him as much as it did last year. The summer changed everything, it's like his entire life has been tilted and he's struggling to keep it righted.

He thought being a Death Eater, working for the Dark Lord, would be great. He wanted to be like his father, wear his Dark Mark proudly and help keep the muggles separate from the wizarding world. Keep the bloodlines strong and pure, and yet...

The Dark Lord doesn't really seem to care who gets hurt in the meantime. If you're a bloodtraitor, or just simply someone who doesn't think muggles are lowly, you're the enemy. Anyone who doesn't comply will be punished, and if you fall out of favor, like the Malfoys --- Draco knows he was only assigned to kill Dumbledore so that he would fail.

It's not a punishment for him, but for his father in failing his attack on Harry Potter last year, on getting caught and being sent away.

So, Draco can't be around you, not this year. He's going to pretend he doesn't care about you at all, it's his only tactic. You're safer being out of the way, he just has to keep Pansy away from you. He's noticed she's been aiming for you lately, although he's not sure why. He can tell you're annoyed but you're not a very confrontational person.

He shifts, absently flipping the page of his book when he notices everyone else does. He's not paying attention to anything being said, he'll figure that out later.

"And what does Reparifarge do?" McGonagall asks the class, her beady eyes flicking across the students.

Your hand and that of Hermione Granger's both raise quickly, and you cut your eyes at her. You half expect McGonagall to let her answer, considering she's a Griffyndor --- you suppose you're a little used to the preferential treatment Snape used to give during Potions and now in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"(Y/L/N)." McGonagall addresses you, apparently deciding to not less miss-know-it-all give her answer for once.

"It undoes the Transifiguration of the object," you  say, brushing your long hair behind your ears. You've never let it go so long before, but it looks good on you. In fact, you're filling out nicely, with your height, it's like you're becoming prettier the older you get. Draco lets his gaze linger on you as you elaborate on your answer when prompted, answering until McGonagall looks pleased, nodding her head.

"Very good, (Y/L/N.)" McGonagall compliments, slowly pacing in front of her desk, hands clasped in front of her. "At least one of you has been paying attention during class. Isn't that right, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco blinks, ripping his gaze off of you and to the teacher staring him down.

"Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, what is the most important thing to do when casting a transfiguration spell?" she asks, glaring at him from beneath the hem of her hat; he doens't take it personally, she glares at all of her students --- or perhaps it's more that her face is just always set in a stern manner.

"... Concentrate." he manages after a moment, scrambling for an answer. He's quite sure she mentioned something like that earlier in the class.

"Correct. So let's make sure we're all concentrating on our studies, shall we?" she replies, and he frowns as she turns away, gesturing at the board behind her. The chalk rises, elegantly beginning to write a new spell upon the blackboard. "Now, everyone take out your wands."

He huffs as he slouches back in his chair, Pansy patting his arm reassuringly where she sits beside him. Her hand lingers on his sleeve, fingers casually brushing against the black material in a soothing manner.

She shares the same views as him, is loyal to him and hasn't left his side all year, and he appreciates that. At least he knows he can rely on her if it comes down to it, and she's one of the Twenty-Eight pureblood famillies as well --- not a bad option, as far as dating goes.

He just doesn't have time for it right now.

~~~~~~~

Dear (Y/N),

George and I have a new prank coming out, and I want you to try it first! When you get time, head on down to our shop, and I'll give you a sample to take back to Hogwarts come vacation. I know it must be dreadfully boring without George and me there, no one else has the good humor we do, eh?

Tell Ron that Mum's awful mad at him again, if you see him. She's not, but it puts him in a fluster and it's funny to watch. Did you get the parcel I sent you last week? Hope you liked the sweets from Honeydukes, I made sure that I didn't send anything with Errol, especially after his fiasco with Hagrid.

I actually wanted to make sure you got the candies before they were too old!

Anyhow, like I said, come by the shop, would you? It's been since summer we've seen you, you know how George asks after you constantly. Sometimes me thinks he has a crush on you, but can't say my brother doesn't have good taste.

Fred

You smile as you read the letter Fred sent you. He sends you one at least every few weeks, along with some silly care package of a sorts. You're pleased that he still communicates with you, even if it's not like it was before. He's funny, he teases you, but it's casual between you now, there's not really any romance left.

At least you can still be friends, and you treasure that.

You glance at the box of candies he's sent you, and they're the expensive ones that you always like as well. His joke shop must be doing pretty well considering, but he and his brother are natural pranksters.

You stifle a yawn behind your hand, knowing it's getting late. You're still sitting in the commons room whereas everyone else has left for the night, the fire crackling in the elaborately carved fireplace casting a dim glow about the long, dungeon-like room. The lamps above that hang on their chains are turned low for the night, and that's typically the unofficial sign for going to bed.

You just... didn't want to have to deal with the clatter of the other girls, and liked the peacefulness of the room when there wasn't anyone else around.

The room has lots of low backed black and dark green leather sofas, wooden tables with a set of Wizard's Chess on it and other books or belongings of students they've forgotten. The room has a grand atmosphere, despite it being quite a cold one, and the large window looking out into the lake always gives the room a green tinge that you've come to like over the years.

It's familiar to you, comforting, and though you've never understood how you ended up in Slytherin, it's your house, and you wear the green and silver colors proudly. Slytherins aren't all bad, and though you hate to compliment Professor Slughorn, the new potions teacher, he's not terrible at all --- he's just a quirky old man that means no harm.

Slytherins are cunning, ambitious --- but at least they look after their own. They care about the members of their House, admittedly; sure, Pansy Parkinson would tease you and try to get under your skin, but if a Griffyndor or a Ravenclaw said something out of the way to you, she'd snarl and rip them apart.

Well, maybe she wouldn't, perhaps that's a bad example.

Your eyes flick up as you hear the commonsroom door opening, and you blink as Draco Malfoy slips inside. Your eyes flick to the grandclock against the wall, seeing the late hour as the Slytherin boy stumbles towards the stairs.

What is Draco doing out so late? What in the world could he have been doing?

He's not noticed you on the sofa, and won't unless you say something. You shouldn't, it's none of your concern what he's been up too, but ---.

"Draco?" You find yourself asking, your soft voice catching him off guard in the otherwise quiet room. He half jerks around, gray eyes darkly shadowed but wide as he recognizes you. You see him look at the clock before back at you, obviously wondering what you're doing up at such a late hour.

"(Y/N)? Why are you awake?" He asks raspily, before clearing his throat. His hands slip casually into his trouser pockets, his black sweater wrinkled and worn looking, out of character for him. He has always prided himself on having the best clothing, looking his best --- his hair, which typically he kept smoothed back, falls around his eyes, completely unkempt.

"I could ask the same of you." You reply, absently folding the letter Fred sent you and letting it rest on the table with the candies. You're curled up on the sofa, a few pillows around you, legs tucked beneath them. "Where are you coming from?"

"I'm a prefect, just checking to make sure everyone was to bed."

"You're a terrible liar, Draco," You sigh, frowning at him. He might be a prefect but he's basically ignored every single duty of one all year; no one's brave enough to complain about it, but you've heard the irritated whispers.

He sends you an annoyed look, shrugging his sweater clad shoulders. He's tall, but he looks slimmer to you than before, and you wonder what's stressing him so. He's so absent minded this year, so out of the loop...

"Are you okay?" You ask suddenly, starting to get to your feet. It has to do with that whole Death Eater business, doesn't it? You think they're just thugs, bullies who follow a bigger bully just so they can be cruel, they don't care about any cause. He could be stressed about his father being in prison, or that mess going on with Harry, who's been so angry towards everything this year, but he's had it hard too.

This year is just --- difficult.

"I'm fine," Draco averts his gaze from you, his eyes focusing on the stairs leading up to the boys quarters. He just wants a few hours of rest, to swallow the fear that tightens his throat and forget the world for a bit. He's spent so long working on that stupid cabinet that his eyes were blurring, and it's still not fixed!

He's becoming desperate.

"Are you sure? You don't seem like it," you say hesitantly, and he dares to look at you again. "What's going on with you this year?"

"Nothing." He mutters, running pale fingers through his messy hair. "You should be in bed, (Y/N), we have early classes tomorrow."

"I could say the same to you," you retort, miffed. He keeps avoiding answering your questions, you hate that. There's no sense in being evasive, although he does look tired, maybe he just wants some rest? "You've been avoiding me all year."

Oh, you've noticed that? "No I haven't, it's just a busy school year."

"This is the first conversation we've had," you cross your arms against the coolness of the room, refusing to let him get off that easily. You're not sure why you're persuing this, you just --- well, you feel bad about last year.

Guilty, really.

Maybe he's angry at you, maybe you struck a terrible nerve when you lashed out at him for stopping you going to the last D.A. meeting; he knew there was going to be a raid, and he prevented you from being caught in the mess of it. You hadn't known that, and you'd said some horrible things to him, he'd looked insulted, you'd thought, but maybe it was hurt?

"So?" Draco sounds irritated, and he keeps shifitng his weight back and forth, cutting his eyes at you before away. "Look, I'm tired and going to bed."

"Draco, I --- I'm sorry about last year," you suddenly blurt, having to get it off your chest. It's plagued you for a few months, and though you thought nothing of it before, how he's treated you this year, blatantly ignored you --- you can't stand it!

You think about the Christmas you spent with his family, the summer he stayed with yours, the moment in the tower of his manor that he kissed you like no one else ever has --- you adored Fred, but he was sweet, and gentle, it was completely different. There's nothing really romantic left between the two of you now, at least on your behalf, and in some way maybe you're a little relieved that it's passed.

You were always so conflicted.

"Sorry? What about?" The blond boy looks startled, and you finally have his full attention. He'd started to stride past you towards the stairs, but had paused at your words, just a few feet away. The firelight sends a reddish glow across his skin, giving his cheeks just the smallest hint of color.

"When we last spoke," you hesitate, absently twisting a few strands of your hair, nervous. "Last year, you helped me, but I didn't know it, and I was horrible to you. I'm just... I'm sorry about that. I thought you were just being a jerk to me again, but ---."

"I've never done anything to intentionally be a jerk to you, (Y/N)," Draco interrupts you, his voice firm. "You know that."

"Intentionally, no," you agree, seeing his brows furrow. "But I wanted to apologize ---."

"That doesn't matter," he shakes his head, and you blink at him, surprised.

"It doesn't?"

"What? No, I don't even think about that." He dismisses with a wave of his hand. Why are you dwelling on something so inconsequential? He'd completely forgotten about that, last year was a blur to him, the whole thing with Umbridge. It's like that was a completely different time now, some distant past that belongs to a different person.

"Oh." You hesitate, suddenly unsure. He doesn't... well, if he's not upset about it, why is he treating you so coldly?

Why do you care?

Maybe you deserve it, maybe it's for the best. You've been mean to him too, you guess, and your relationship has always been rocky. You should just drop it, gather your things and leave, let him get some rest. People grow apart, and though you were raised together as children, you've gone to school together for years --- sometimes it's best to leave things in the past.

You turn away from him, grabbing your mail and the parcel Fred sent you, hugging them to your chest. You don't know what else to say to him, so you just look away, decide to leave him be. You shouldn't have said anything, shouldn't have confronted him. He's gazing towards the stairs again, and for some rest your chest aches as you look at him, because he looks --- he has such an expression of despair.

What's Draco gotten himself in too?

It's none of your business, you scold yourself. Your parents warned you that if things were too strange at school, that you were to let them know and come straight home. So far nothing was too out of the ordinary, but you tend to be oblivious.

It's better that way.

"Goodnight, Draco," you mumble, only to hear him sigh.

"Wait, (Y/N)," his hand suddenly closes against your sleeve, tugging to keep you from brushing past him. You hesitate, suddenly finding that you're an arms length away, so close you can see how terrible the black circles beneath his eyes are, how pale and almost gray his skin seems. He looks so terrible, and the black sweater does nothing but support that.

"Yes?" You hold your breath as you look up at him, standing perfectly still as his pale fingers suddenly rise, trailing through your long hair absently. He lifts a few strands before letting them fall, his gaze focusing on the necklace that you're wearing.

You can feel the heat start to burn your cheeks; this was his Christmas gift for you, a very pretty necklace that's one of your favorites. You actually wear it fairly often, just usually beneath your robes or sweaters. Only the two of you know it was a gift from him, you've never told anyone, and neither has he.

"You still have that?" He doesn't have to sound so surprised.

"Of course." You look down at it, almost guiltily. "I mean, it's one of my favorites. I wear it all the time."

"Oh." Draco ignores how satisfying your words are. "I just thought... well, I'm glad you like it."

"Mmmhmm." You don't know what else to say. You're starting to get uncomfortable, you don't know... where this is going.

"You should go," Draco says wearily after a moment when there's nothing but the crackling of the fire between you. "You heard about what happened to that Griffyndor Katie Bell, didn't you? You shouldn't be out late."

"Oh, that was horrible." You shudder at the thought of it. "Poor girl is in St. Mungo's now, they don't know when she's getting out. It's lucky Hagrid got her back when he did."

Draco nods in agreement, but he's not looking at you again. "Nothing like that will happen again, don't dwell on it."

"And how do you know that? No one even knows what happened," well, that's one thing you haven't told your parents about. You also know that Ron Weasley was ill some time ago, spent some time in the infirmary, but you're not sure what over. You did find it odd those two events happening, but it's Hogwarts.

You just don't ---.

"You're safe, you have nothing to worry about," Draco repeats, and he squeezes your arm lightly, just enough to attempt to be reassuring. "Of all the people here, you're safest."

"Why would you say that?" What an odd choice of words. You stare at him, off guard. "Do you know something about what happened?"

"What? Of course not," he scoffs, but he's not looking at you again, he does! He always looks away when he lies, it's his tell --- you've known him long enough to pick up on that. You jerk your arm out of his grip, frowning up at him.

"Draco Malfoy, did you have something to do with Katie Bell?" You demand of him, tightening your grip on the parcel in your arms, tensing. "What did you do?"

"What? Nothing!" Draco squawks, but he takes a step back from you. "How could you accuse me of something like that?"

"Well, I --- I don't know, you just look guilty!" Is it a ridiculous idea? You wonder. Draco has never hurt anyone, he's just a jerk, and usually a coward. You remember when he tried to one up Harry in Hagrid's class with Buckbeak, how he'd lamented about an injured arm that he was perfectly fine soon after. He tends to be a big baby about everything, but he was pampered, spoiled.

"I'm just tired, (Y/N)." Draco sounds weary, and you feel  guitly immediately. He does look so exhausted, and you know Draco better than most people, he wouldn't hurt someone like that. Maybe socially destroy them, belittle them in every other single way, but not like that, not with magic so horrible.

"I know, I'm sorry. You're right, we should get to bed." You say, clearing your throat nervously. You gaze up at him for just a few more seconds before turning away. "Goodnight, Draco. Sweet dreams."

"Goodnight." Draco watches you walk away from him, disappear up the twisting stairs towards the girls dormitory. The room seems colder when you leave, emptier. He almost wishes you'd stay a few more seconds, just so he's not alone, not ---.

No, he can't worry with you.

Draco presses his hands against his face, inhaling a ragged breath. He hates the burning in his eyes, and he fights back the overwhelming despair of his situation. You just distract him, you're his one weakness in this whole school and he knows it. You can be used against him and that's not acceptable.

He has a mission, to kill Dumbledore for the Dark Lord, to bring his family honor and to be in his good graces again. His father failed in getting the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, and so his family is suffering for it.

Draco's eyes trail down to his left forearm, where he knows the Dark Mark throbs. He was so excited at first, getting the Mark, becoming a Death Eater like his father despite his Mother's warnings. He wanted the mission, he wanted to help his family, but the weight of this, the heaviness of what he has to do and what happens if he fails --- it's killing him. He feels like he's carrying so much on his shoulders, like he's drowning, choking and he can't breathe!

His chest pinches, and his shaking fingers curl tightly along the back of the sofa you vacated. He tries to keep his breathing even, to not panic, to not let the fear take over him. He knows he's shaking, his eyes are burning and he just wants to sit, curl into a ball and not move for a few hours.

He doesn't want to kill anyone, but he has too. He saw what Voldemort did to the old mugglestudies teacher, what he does to people who he views as useless or threats. He worries constantly about his mother, how she's fairing --- it doesn't matter his Aunt Bellatrix is there, she's loyal to the Dark Lord even over her own family.

He has no one, and he can't trust Snape.

He can't trust anyone.

It's just... just a hopeless situation.

1 9 9 2, Sep 1st

Families, friends and siblings bid goodbye to students who would be starting their term at Hogwarts.

The compartment was quiet, it was also darker than Nel remembered. She sat with her hands being kept busy knitting. A hobby she had picked up since she was seven to entertain herself back at Wool’s. It was fairly time consuming and gave her something to do since she wasn’t allowed to have any art supplies and the hours of watching TV were limited to all orphans.

She still couldn’t shake off the memory of what had happened during this painful holiday. The only redeeming quality about being at Wool’s was that Lucy, probably the person she cared for the most, was there.

“Where’s Lucy?” She had demanded from a girl that was in the girls’ dormitory. The seven-year-old shrugged. She snapped her head to the side and asked a slightly older girl. “Where’s Bonilla?” She asked again.

And again, the girl muttered a simple ‘dunno.’

Hearing a slight snicker, she turned around, eyes fixed into slits as they landed on Wool’s favorites. Aisha and Alf, two orphans that were always together, and did everything and anything just to be on the Matron’s good graces with complete and absolute disregard to others.

“Oh? Don’t you know?” Aisha asked complacently. Her thick hair braided over her shoulder. In that moment Nel wanted nothing more than to drag her out of the orphanage by it. She still wore pink just like Wool.

“Your dear friend didn’t tell you? Didn’t bother writing to you?” Alf added.

“Bonilla got adopted,” Aisha announced.

That was a lie if Nel had ever heard one. Adoption was rare. Even more if you were a teenager. Children amongst the ages of one, two and three are the lucky ones, they’ll be in and out of here in a flash. Parents like that you see, their easily moldable to their ideals and virtues, still not hardened by trauma or the ruthless punches of life. After you turn five and stop being cute, your chances decrease more and more with each year. Being twelve, almost thirteen and living here. Nel had no question that she would be stuck living in this hellhole until she turned eighteen.

When she was a child Nel was kept locked up in the laundry room and prevented from attending the adoption fairs. Wool didn’t want to risk her doing something “done by the devil,” and have her make a teacup accidentally levitate or make butterflies come out from under her sleeves. This trauma scarred her innocence.

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one,” she scoffed not buying their shit for a moment.

There was no way Lucy, as wonderful as she was, had been adopted. If anything, maybe Wool had gotten out of hand with one of the little ones one day, maybe she had gotten out of hand with her and ran away? It wasn’t uncommon, but why would she leave without telling her?

“You best believe it,” Alf said clicking his tongue. “Besides, why would she even want to stay here and put up with you?” “She couldn’t wait to get away,” his sidekick commented snidely arms crossing over her chest.

“I know you’re lying,” she scowled at him. “Tell me where she it. What did Wool do to her?” She marched forward towards them with threatening steps.

“Truth hurts, don’t it?” Alf sneered with a malicious scowl.

She stopped a couple of steps away from them. The expressions on their faces were enough to set the girl’s already boiling blood into a blur of madness.  Nel couldn’t remember the last time she had been this angry. She didn’t even realize how mad she was until several loud pops echoed the room and shards of glass began raining down as the ceiling’s lights popped. Several girls scrambled out of the room screaming fearfully with Aisha leading the way.

“Freakshow,” Alf added.

She could hear Wool’s steps stomping up the steps as her large body came wobbling thought the door and gaping at the scattered glass. She didn’t waste a moment in throwing Nel into her room without dinner and locking her in. The girl was glad she had brought some treats with her. Treats she was going to give to Lucy…

She snapped out of her thoughts when the compartment door opened. Theodore leaned against the entrance. “Nel!” He greeted with a smile joining her in the compartment. His curly hair had gotten longer, but his green eyes remained the same. Soulful, insightful, his clothes dark and crisply ironed.

Both had exchanged a handful of letters over the summer and despite the friendship the two had, neither ever crossed the line of inquiring about anything outside of their school lives. Prying into their familiar lives was out of bounds. Nel had only heard rumors that circled the school, but she knew that Nott’s parents had been loyal followers of You-Know-Who, just like had Malfoy’s, Parkinson’s, Crabbe, Goyle and others in the class. She figured some things were better left unsaid. “What you got there?” He commented dropping opposite of her, raising his feet so that he could comfortably sit across the seat.

“Just trying to keep busy,” she responded mindlessly as she continued to knit a pair of black winter gloves.

“I trust you’re more than halfway ahead of all of our classes already?”

When you’re locked up in a laundry room 24 hours of the day with not much to do you really don’t have much of an alternative to preserve your sanity. “I have a business to tun Nott,” she hid her anguish and smiled before whipping out a handful of hard-earned galleons most courtesy of Misters Crabbe and Goyle. “Pumpkin pastries on me today!” She beamed at him.

Again the compartment’s door opened and much to her distaste Draco Malfoy stepped in.

“Nott,” He acknowledged, and his silver eyes turned to seethe at Elowen who was staring back at him with contempt. Let’s just say things hadn’t gone well when the two had a recent tun in at Flourish and Blotts.

“"I'm sure you can find better company that Saintday," Malfoy coughed. Looking between the two aghast at the friendship.

The twelve-year-old dark-haired girl was wondering inside of the shop scanning over the countless of book covers, titles and authors. She didn’t want to get any more books than what was required of the curriculum. Her brain was already more than fried from all of those exhaustive readings. It seemed like she had picked the wrong day to come to Diagon Alley since the bookshop was overcrowded with a famous Wizard that was doing a book signing. Not that she paid much attention to that.

Presently she walked around with a stack of books in her arms. This time she was alone. Seeing as Professor Snape had already showed her the ropes and string of Diagon Alley she did not require to be escorted. Not that she minded, it was almost better like this.  

Another twelve-year-old also happened to be in Flourish and Blotts. The bitter blonde was a couple of steps away on a balcony watching the girl with his eyes narrowed. He saw how she was taking her sweet time browsing the large stack that was on the shelf.

He looked down at the book he was reading and ripped off a page simply because he felt like it and folded it away. He walked down the short steps of the balcony and approached the Slytherin girl he had been carefully observing. She didn’t seem to have noticed his presence yet and if she did, she chose not to acknowledge it. Her hair was longer than the year before now reaching her shoulders and there was a distant look in her dark eyes. Of course, not that, that would’ve stopped him from acting like a total dick.

He forcefully ran into her on purpose. The impact so strong the tower of books she had been holding came tumbling down to the wood floor. He grabbed her lower arm before she could fall holding her up.

“Watch where you’re going Saintday,” He greeted her with a terribly rude scoff.

“Maybe you should watch where you’re going Malfoy,” she snapped back irate quickly withdrawing her arm back to her person. She groaned at the unwelcome presence and bent down to reach for her books when she saw his brand designer shoe stomp on them.

“Get your foot off my books, because Merlin help you if you don’t, I will gladly sock you,” she threatened with an angry scowl.

He huffed a weak chuckle. ‘Physical threats. How typical of Saintday,’ he thought to himself humorously. Not that he was unaware that the orphan would deliver on her promise. Instead, he stood unbothered and leaned against the bookshelf next to him with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hm.. No, I don’t think I will. You see, I don’t really feel like it,” he hummed calmly while pretending to look at some invisible dirt underneath his fingernails.

Nel seetehed in her anger. Great. Now her day had been ruined. “What do you want Malfoy? Don’t you have anything better to do like hold your moms hand or something?”

“Jealous?” He was quick to respond. “At least I have one,” he shot back sharply. “Oh, boo-hoo,” she cried out the words mockingly, dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you for stating the obvious. Insulting an orphan on not having a family? That only makes you an even bigger prick!” She exclaimed. “Now move, before I make you,” she raised her want at his nose.

“Watch it slugbreath,” he did not move an inch, yet there was some hesitation in his voice divulging he was intimidated.

Nel suddenly stopped. She froze when she felt what felt like a harsh tap come down on her shoulder. She was familiar with this sensation. She turned slightly to see the shimmering silver snake head from Lucius Malfoy’s cane. It felt just as bad even worse than Old Man Cowell’s down by the General Store. “Mind your manners Draco. That is not way to speak to a lady,” a slithering voice spoke from behind her. The voice cold and emotionless holding a scolding edge. Without any hesitation whatso ever Draco finally stepped back and off her books.

Nel turned in surprise to see Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father, standing behind her. The man stood tall and was a refined contrast to the other witches and wizards in the room. His snake cane once again reached for her face and he brushed the stray bangs out of her face to get a better glance at the beauty marks that dotted her face.

“We meet again Ms. Saintday,” he said darkly. "I trust your studies are going well?" He pulled out his wand from his cane and with a flick all of her books neatly arranged in a tower back into her hands. She remained silent eyeing the man with suspicious. Draco appeared to be just as confused as to why his father was being so damn polite and to a Muggle-born witch out of all people. Why was Lucius Malfoy, one of the biggest muggle haters of all time, the man that had probably taught Draco the filthy slur of Mudblood and all of his hating virtues, being so damn polite? After all, racism was a learned behaviour. So why be so kind?

“Thanks,” she responded curly in a dry tone and witch much unease looking down at the stack of books.

"Draco's told me all about you,” Malfoy Sr. began. “He says you're quite the accomplished witch."

What?

Her expression shifted into one of pure shock. Eyes quickly darting to pale boy who was presently scarlet in the face. A more than irritated expression on his eyes as he shot his father a silencing glare.

“Also heard you have a knack for mischief. Particularly for head swelling spells…”

Boy, wouldn’t she like to swell his head right now. “I have to do well in order to keep my scholarship." She answered dully, disregarding his praises or mention of the head swelling hex. No way she was apologizing to daddy dearest over that. "And may I ask what you intend on doing after finish your studies?"

Why was he asking her so many questions? Why was he so invested in this topic of conversation?

She was twelve, soon to be thirteen in November. How on Earth was she supposed to know what she wanted to do the rest of her life.

"For now, I just want to make my own living in the world."

Which was a normal ambition for anyone. Getting out of Wool’s. Being able to afford decent clothing that wasn’t washed away, eaten by moths or destroyed by former owners. Beautiful things. Being able to treat her friends and loved ones to lovely things like ice cream and pastries… It was not an impossible dream.

"Of course. How ambitious of you." He paused for a moment and looked at her. Simply starred at her face. His intense glare made Nel shrink slightly. She had never been so uncomfortable when interacting with an adult. "We best be moving on," He turned his eyes to his son instructing him to follow.

"Wait Mr. Malfoy," Nel paused seeing something on top of her pile of books. "This isn't mine," she said handing out the small black book to him. "I've got more than enough reading to do. Don't need any more books to sit gathering dust in my dormitory," she said sheepishly. Malfoy Sr. Looked at the black book and then back to her before taking it in his hand and turning away without another word.

"I never said that!" Malfoy growled out at her leaning in closer wearing a scowl. His face angry. Elowen smirked at him. "Sure Malfoy." She said haughtily.

"Hmm…" Nel hummed an evil smirk growing on her face. "You know some people would describe me as being a terribly charming witch, others might even say, accomplished." She dangled his father’s words in his face, subtley taunting him.  

Again, Malfoy's ears turned red with embarrassment.

"My father only said that out of pity! What else was he supposed to say to a pitiful, filthy,Muggle-born orphan!" He shouted angrily before storming out of the compartment.

She highly doubted that Lucius Malfoy was a man running a charity of compliments to give to strange second years at bookstores. There was an underlying motive to his words. A secret he was hiding. Something even Draco didn’t know.

Theodore let out a small chuckle and brought his watch up to his face taking note of the time. "And… it begins," he laughed. "Merlin, we're not even there yet and you and Malfoy are already at each other's throats."

"He started it," She shrugged. "You saw!" She said incredulously meeting his green judging gaze.

"It's weird, I feel like he has a strange fixation on you… Sometimes it's almost like he goes out of his way just to bug you." Nott shook his head.

"Of course, he's got some strange fixation. I'm the only Muggle-born Slytherin as far as I know." Nel rolled her eyes. "He'd be just as bad if Granger had been sorted into Slytherin."

"But you're not," Theodore interjected. She arched an eyebrow in confusion. "Muggle-born, I mean." He closed the book he had initially opened to read and lowered his feet, so he was sitting up straight. "You don't know that. You don't know who your parents were."

"Are," She corrected icily in a strained voice. This was crossing on the boundary the two had outspokenly agreed never to cross which meant family or life outside of Hogwarts was outside of the bounds of conversation. "I also don't know if they're with life or not. For all that I know they abandoned me at a Muggle orphanage. When they could've left me anywhere else in this bloody damn world. I would've preferred to be left at Gringotts for all I care!" She didn't realize that her voice pitch had raised into an upset tone. Her eyes darkening as she shed a ray of light into her life and harbored resentment due to her abandonment.

Her parents had abandoned her, like it or not. Whatever had or hadn't happened to them. And Lucy… Wool had insisted that she had gotten adopted and refused to give Nel her new address claiming it was confidential information; Wool said that if Lucy wanted, she would’ve returned for Nel, even written to her. Even Lucy had abandoned her... Which almost stung more than her own parent's going amiss. Perhaps Aisha and Alf really were right. Maybe Lucy didn't want to be stuck with a freak like her. A freak that set rooms on fire when upset, that made light fixtures explode and bathrooms pipes burst and floor. She felt her eyes water and turned away from Nott. The emotional wound still fresh. She didn't apologize for her outburst.

Nott looked at her upset expression. At the pain behind her eyes and in that moment he knew. He knew that no matter how many hits life threw at her. How many punches and jabs others threw at her. She wasn't made of steel, she was wounded, every jab digging deeper and deeper. He was about to speak when the compartment's door was thrown open.

"Well if it isn't Nelly and Teddy!" Tracey tossed it open and put her trunk away before jumping on the seat next to Nel. She gave her a side hug. The interruption seemed to be enough for her to snap out of her dark thoughts.

"Salazar," Theodore grimaced, "I beg you, please do not start calling us that."

"What should we call you then?" Nel grinned at her friend despite the great distaste for the nickname. It was refreshing being back with her little Hogwarts family. With people she actually cared about.

Xxxxx

Arriving at Hogwarts second years don't take the boats to cross the lake to the castle. Instead they ride in enchanted carriages that take them across the road and up to the school.

Nel almost fell back when she saw the creatures that were pulling the carriages. She made a sound. Animals generally did not like her, and mutually she did not like them.

"What is it?" Tracey asked confused trying to see what was making her friend so upset.

"What are those?" Nel asked fearfully not removing her eyes from the large winged horses. Their gaunt bodies seemed to be skeletal almost ghostly with reptilian features, their skin leathery and worn and with massive wings that resembled a bat's or some nocturnal monster straight from your nightmares. Their eyes resembling foggy crystal balls.

"Nel, what are you talking about?" Tracey squinted really trying to see what the big deal was yet saw nothing. Hesitantly they approached the carriage and the three of them took a seat. They were joined by three Hufflepuffs who seemed too absorbed discussing which Quidditch team was better if the Holyhead Harpies or the Appleby Arrows.

Of course, Tracey felt the need to weight in her two cents and defend that Puddlemere United was the best of the best.

"You can see them too?" She turned to see Theodore with surprise. Tracey was much too distracted to listen in their conversation.

"They can't see them, can they?" She noticed the blank looks on the students around them and in the other carriages.

"Am.. Am I going mad?"

"No," Theodore explained. "They're Therstals, I've read about them." He licked his lips, his eyes forward expression turned into a solemn one.

"Only people who've witnessed death can see them."

Her jaw went slack at the information.

"So…" She egg shelled on that topic they never spoke about, their home lives. "You've seen someone die?"

He nodded grimly, pondering deep in his painful memories. "My mom, when I was five," he said. A dull expression on his eyes. She didn’t want to pry further.

"But…” She paused taking in a deep frustrating breath. “How can that be? I've never seen anyone die."

xxxxx