Ambulare Invicem

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/56823358.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Major Character Death
Category: M/M
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley,
Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott, Ginny Weasley, Pansy Parkinson,
Blaise Zabini, Millicent Bulstrode
Additional Tags: Canon Rewrite, Slow Burn, Angst, Good Draco Malfoy, Body Swap,
Enemies to Lovers, Drarry, Miscommunication, wolfstar, Queer Harry
Potter, Queer Draco Malfoy, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Past
Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-06-22 Updated: 2025-01-24 Words: 35,441 Chapters:
9/?
 Ambulare Invicem
by RegulusBeyondReach

Summary

When Harry Potter wins the Triwizard Tournament, he witnesses the rebirth of Lord
Voldemort and faces the terrifying prospect of another wizarding war. On the returning
Hogwarts Express, a duel with Draco Malfoy, furious at Harry for naming his father as a
Death Eater, goes wrong and an unknown spell has unforeseen consequences. The following
morning, they wake up in each other’s bodies. They must learn to work together to return to
their own bodies without being discovered by the people around them. To pull it off, they
both must let go of their misinformed preconceptions of one another and learn to see the real
person.
 Prologue

“And I’ve told her she’s to keep her quill to herself for a whole year. See if she can’t break
the habit of writing horrible lies about people.” Granger’s infuriating voice was too much to
bear. The smug tone she used to explain the Skeeter woman’s ability to turn into a beetle to
those two idiots, when he had worked it out months ago, was a stark reminder of how the
Mudblood was always getting credit that Draco deserved. He snatched the handle of their
compartment door and flung it open. The smile on her face, as though she had solved an
impossible curse rather than something any oaf could have seen, cemented the anger Draco
felt inside, even though it wasn’t even aimed at her for once. The burning fury inside of him
was reserved for Potter. That’s why he’d come here to begin with, but Granger always had a
special way of irritating him that he couldn’t look past.

“Very clever Granger,” he drawled. The sudden tension in the compartment was palpable.
Potter’s narrowed eyes immediately snapped toward him. Draco could feel his wand hand
twitch, ready for Potter to make the slightest wrong move and give him an excuse. He tried to
push down the climbing ire, it wouldn’t do well to be the one to throw the first spell, not now
that Potter had named names. He wasn’t stupid, he knew how it would look. He advanced
slowly into the compartment, plastered on a smirk, only briefly breaking eye contact with
Potter to note the ridiculous expression the Weasel was wearing.

“So, you caught some pathetic reporter.” He could hear the sneer in his own voice. “And
Potter’s Dumbledore’s favourite boy again. Big deal.” He felt Crabbe and Goyle trailing
behind him. Their presence taking up much more space than any of the others combined. He
registered a slight shift in Potter’s demeanour at the mention of Dumbledore. Draco assumed
he was reliving memories of what had happened over the last few days. Granger and Weasley
shared a glance before looking back in Draco’s direction. Excellent. He had touched a nerve.
Potter deserved to feel even a fraction of the emotions coiled up in Draco’s gut.
“Trying not to think about it, are we?”
“Get out,” Potter’s voice was low and dangerous. It made Draco excited. He didn’t know
much about what was coming but what he knew with absolute certainty was that he needed to
keep pushing. He didn’t fully understand why but he had felt that same compulsion ever
since he first met Potter, and some days it was the only thing that felt good. The flooding
memory of that first day at Hogwarts, a much smaller Draco with his hair severely sleeked
back, extending his hand to Potter in a genuine offer of friendship, made him even more
certain that everything wrong in his life was Potter’s fault.
“You picked the losing side Potter. I warned you. I told you, you ought to choose your
company more carefully, remember? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this,” he
jerked his head towards Granger and Weasley. “Too late now Potter. They’ll be the first to go,
now the Dark Lord’s back,” he snarled. He wanted to see how Potter enjoyed the thought of
someone trying to take away the people he cared about. “Well - second - Diggory was the fi-”

Potter’s wand was out and pointed in his direction before he even finished the word, Draco’s
followed in an instant. He felt the adrenaline course through him. Anticipation crawling over
his skin. This was what he was waiting for.
“Protego.” Potter’s stinging jinx rebounded off Draco’s shield and hit the wall of the
compartment just left of Weasley’s head.
“Stupe-” Weasley and Granger both stood and Crabbe and Goyle advanced trying to insert
themselves between Draco and Potter, breaking his spell. Idiots. He wanted this.
A movement in the compartment window caught his attention through his periphery vision.
Distracted by Theo trying to communicate something to him, he barely registered Granger
saying, “Leave it Harry. He’s vile. Not worth your time.”
“Hermione get out of the way.”
Theo was motioning wildly for Draco to come out into the corridor. What in Salazar’s name
was his problem?
“Hermione, move!” Potter was shouting now, extending his wand arm around Granger's
outstretched arms attempting to get a clear shot at Draco but there were too many bodies
between them in the cramped space.
“Crabbe. Goyle. Let’s go. Leave Potter to cry about all of his dead friends.”
“Diffin-”
“Expelliarmus.” Potter’s wand flew from his hand and into the air above him. His face was
thunderous. Draco laughed as he left the compartment, partly at the sight of Potter scrambling
to grab the airborne wand and partly to hide the rage continuing to build at being interrupted.
It wasn’t often he managed to best Potter and this interaction appeared to have been going his
way.

He grabbed Theo by his robes that he still hadn’t removed and dragged him down the train
aisle, before pushing him into the first empty carriage he could find, flicking his wand to
draw the blinds down.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
“My problem? You’re not serious? You’re going to duel with Potter on a packed train?
Now?”
“He started it. I’m not stupid, I had it under control.”
“Draco, they know. This is serious. We can’t pretend this didn’t happen. Potter got away,
again, and now the ministry know.”
“The ministry doesn’t believe a word Potter said. Fudge is an idiot.”
“Dumbledore knows! My father was there and so was yours. It’s only a matter of time before
Dumbledore convinces others.”
Draco pushed Theo against the closed door and held him there.
“Will you calm the fuck down? We need to act as though nothing has happened.”
“That’s easy for you! If anything happens to my father, I am fucked.” He jerked his shoulder
so that Draco’s hold on him loosened.
“Theo, nothing has changed! Go back to your carriage and pretend everything is normal. The
Dark Lord is back and there is nothing Dumbledore can do to stop him. Potter or no Potter.”
He let him go and took a step backwards. Theo gained control of his erratic breathing and
nodded stiffly.
“You stay away from Potter. You’re asking for trouble,” he snapped as he swept out of the
compartment and Draco kicked the seat in frustration.

He left the now empty compartment and scanned the length of the train for Crabbe and
Goyle. They were evidently drawing closer to London, as more and more students were
spilling out of compartments, saying goodbyes to friends and ensuring their belongings were
in order. Just ahead he spotted Potter pushing through the crowd, moving in the direction of
one of the train’s minuscule bathrooms. Draco shoved a few first years out of his way, glaring
at them as he did and made to follow Potter. He didn’t care what Theo thought, he intended to
finish what he started. Potter turned at the sound of the door opening and again gripped his
wand reflexively at the sight of Draco. A few seconds passed and an understanding moved
between them before Draco raised his wand and a fraction of a second later Potter followed.
“Protego,” Potter shouted, and his shield charm caused Draco to duck as his own curse
rebounded. Potter took Draco’s momentary loss of balance to aim another stinging jinx his
way. This time it landed, and Draco felt as though the surface of his skin had been pierced by
a thousand tiny blades.
“Finite Incantatem,” he stammered out, ending the pain before rounding his wand on Potter.
“Ambulare Invicem”
Draco hadn’t known what to expect. He had found the spell in a book buried deep in the
curses section of the library. It was scrawled above a description that read, “ambulare in
invicem calceamenta.” His Latin wasn't the greatest, but he felt sure it read something like,
“to feel as the other.” That was what Draco wanted more than anything. For Potter to realise
just how it felt when someone was trying to take away your entire life. He waited for
something to happen. Anything. But Potter just stared at him blankly, apparently also waiting
for the effect of Draco’s spell to become apparent. Draco couldn’t understand why he didn’t
just curse him. He had the perfect opportunity. Typical Potter always trying to show how
noble he is. The train began to slow, and Draco was knocked off balance. He knew that any
second the train would be visible to hundreds of fully grown wizards and being caught in a
duel with Potter would not end well. He shot him one last sneer and then exited the bathroom
looking once more for Crabbe and Goyle. Revenge would have to wait.

The following morning Draco woke to the sun shining in his eyes. He rolled over until he
was lying on his stomach, and he pressed his face into the pillow. He had expected to feel the
smooth silk of his green bed sheets against his skin but what he was met with wasn’t quite
right. Certainly not silk. He took a breath in, and his nostrils were assaulted with a new smell.
Not unfamiliar but still not one he could immediately place. It wasn’t unpleasant he supposed
but it wasn’t the smell of his own sheets. Maybe mother had ordered the house elves to
change them in his absence, but he could have sworn when he crawled into bed the night
before, all was as it usually was. He rolled over once more, stretching, expecting to reach the
cold side of his king size bed and instead falling straight onto a carpeted floor. This was what
eventually forced him to open his eyes. The manor didn’t have carpet and he was alert to the
fact that he was not lying on centuries old wood even if his bed had somehow shrunk. The
sight that greeted him was so unexpected he couldn’t be sure he wasn't still dreaming. He was
lying on the floor of a very small box room. His head pounded and his vision was blurred in a
similar way to the night he and Theo drank far too much of his father’s wine from the cellar
in the manor. Most of the room was taken up by a twin bed (the one he had just
unceremoniously fallen out of), and floor space was limited. There was a Hogwarts chest at
the foot of the bed and a small desk and chair with a large, empty owl cage on top. The walls
were bare and devoid of all personality and if it were not for the chest, Draco would not
believe anyone actually lived here. Draco’s own room was grand and contained all his
possessions. His walls were adorned with Slytherin banners and pictures of himself with his
friends. It was significantly bigger than this room and yet a room could not feel colder than
the one he was currently in. He felt around looking for his wand, but he couldn’t see it. He
reached on to the small nightstand beside the bed and pulled down a wand that was not his
own hawthorn one. Pulling himself up from the floor, he realised his vision was not
improving and as he sat down on the bed, he spotted a pair of round glasses lying on the
nightstand where the wand he now held in his hand had previously been.
“Fuck.” Realisation slowly began to dawn on him. At that moment, a tapping on the window
drew his attention and he opened the latch allowing his own eagle owl to fly in. He snatched
the letter quickly, too panicked to be soothed by the familiar presence of his pet.

Malfoy,
What in Merlin’s name have you done you colossal git! If you don't fix this, I will make my
way to Surrey and personally kill you.

He grabbed a quill from the small desk and flipped the parchment over to reply.

Potter,
I should have known this hovel belonged to you. As terrifying as the threat of your inadequate
wand work and sheer brute strength truly is, I have no idea what’s going on either. Killing me
will achieve nothing (although since I am currently trapped in your hideous body, maybe you
would be doing the world a favour).

He sent the owl back to the manor and sat on the bed to wait.
 Chapter 2

Life in the Muggle world was worse than Draco could have ever imagined. For as long as he
could remember, he had been taught to hate Muggles. He knew they were weak. Filthy
sneaks who would try to steal the power and knowledge the magical world possessed given
half the chance. But nothing, not even a childhood spent in the company of the most
prominent pure-blood families, could have prepared him for these creatures. He couldn’t
understand them, no matter how hard he tried. The father and son were brutish and uncouth
in a way that could remind him of Crabbe and Goyle, if it wasn’t for the fact that they
believed themselves to be incredibly well bred. The mother was neurotic and spent much of
her time viciously pointing out the flaws of everyone around her, which was, in Draco’s
opinion, rich given what she was. He had learned quickly to steer clear of them. Not that he
wanted to spend time with Muggles, but his increasingly frequent owls to Potter had gleamed
nothing in way of answers to their current predicament and he was stuck with them for the
time being.

On his first night in Potter’s miserable existence, he had grown hungry and without the
comfort of a house elf to fetch whatever he wished, he ventured cautiously into the kitchen on
the ground floor. He had looked around, trying to find something he didn’t have to cook. He
didn’t know how to cook in his own world, never mind in this room full of strange objects
Draco couldn’t even begin to name. One of the doors he opened greeted him with an icy blast
of air and he immediately shut it, not trusting the food inside. It was mere seconds before the
Muggle woman descended on him like a bird of prey, screeching about “being up to
something” and not to touch “Dudley’s diet food.” She then batted Draco out of the kitchen
and practically pushed him up the stairs. Apparently, Potter wasn’t well fed. No wonder he
was always so scrawny. Later that evening, Draco grabbed Potter’s wand off the nightstand
when a scraping noise broke the intense staring competition he was having with the ceiling.
He swung around looking for the source of the noise, ready to use Potter’s wand if necessary.
He realised there was a plate of food being pushed through a small hole in the bottom of the
door that he hadn’t noticed before. A cat flap? They push food through a cat flap for the hero
of the wizarding world? Merlin! even Draco wouldn’t consider Potter on the same level as
animals.

From that day on, there was a never-ending string of insults and interrogations thrown his
way. “What are you up to?” “Why are you skulking around?” “Cut your ruddy hair boy!” If
they were in Draco’s presence for longer than a few seconds, they seethed with anger. Draco
had never witnessed Potter being treated this way by anyone other than those who
sympathised with the Dark Lord. It was unnerving to imagine he was not treated with the
same reverence here. Draco should have enjoyed it. He had waited years to see Potter
humbled but he himself had never been treated this way either. Draco was ignored at times
and Father was often disappointed in him, but he had never been treated with such open
disgust. He was always given the best and the idea that he would be locked in a room for the
entire summer and fed food through a cat flap of all things was an affront.
Draco realised the true extent of their disdain for Potter on the third night. He’d had the
dream again. The same nightmare he had been having since he was old enough to understand
what his father truly was. It got worse when he was anxious, and he couldn’t think of
anything that made him more perturbed than the prospect of being stuck in Potter’s life for
good. Although, if he was honest with himself, he had been having it increasingly frequently
since the night Potter returned from the graveyard. It was always the same. Draco trapped in
the dank, dimly lit dungeon in the manor’s cellar. His father’s voice nearby, discussing a kill
with the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord’s ominous face aglow with maniacal delight (his mind
had created the monstrous face; he of course had no idea what the Dark Lord looked like). A
woman sobbing.
“Well Lucius? Are you ready to show your loyalty once and for all?”
“Anything, my lord.”
His father turns his wand on him, no trace of emotion or recognition behind his eyes.
“Father?”
A slight flicker, a fraction of hesitation, and then, “Avada Kedavra.”

He was sure he had cried out. Of course he couldn’t be certain but it felt as though he had. No
one had come to investigate the sound. Not one of the Muggles even stirred. This was not
unusual for Draco. No one ever came when he had the dream at home but at home he slept in
a wing on the opposite end of the manor from his parents. He could scream all he wished
through his nightmares and enjoy the privacy of never having to share his fears with another
person. Here it made little sense. This slum that the Muggles called a home was tiny. The
walls were paper thin. Each room so close to the other it was as though they were pressed on
top of one another. Why had they not come? He knew that they mostly left Potter alone. Who
wouldn’t? Potter was the most annoying martyr that ever lived, determined to be the lone,
tortured hero. Up until this point, despite their vile behaviour, Draco had assumed their lack
of interest was Potter’s own doing. But surely their wide berth would not extend to sudden
screams in the night? Surely, they would want to know what might be happening under their
roof. What if Potter was being attacked? They are Potter’s blood (through the woman he
thought but couldn’t be sure), surely, they cared if he was dying in the room next to theirs?

Who knew how the minds of Muggles worked but even his own parents, distant as they were,
were not completely devoid of affection. Despite the dream, he knew his father loved him.
He knew he would give Draco anything and refuse him nothing. He knew his mother would
go to the ends of the Earth to protect him. Knew that his father would never actually let
anything happen to him. Knew with certainty that his love for Draco outweighed his desire to
please the Dark Lord. In fact, Draco was aware that in his own way, his father was so devoted
to the Dark Lord’s cause for Draco’s benefit. So that he could live in a world free from the
hinderance of Muggle presence. So that he didn’t have to live his life in hiding. His very
limited time in Potter’s body had already confirmed for him that his father must be right.
These people who could not even bring themselves to check that one of their own was ok,
were just as disgusting as he had always believed. It was Potter he couldn’t understand. Potter
who had to endure their presence year after year. Who spent most of that time in complete
isolation. Why was he so quick to dismiss Draco’s hand all those years ago? Why did he
cling to Dumbledore’s feeble notions of coexistence? What did it matter to him if these
people were here or not? He clearly didn’t like them. The most interaction Draco had had
with any of them was in the form of annoyed grunts and he couldn’t imagine that this was
new behaviour. That they somehow suspected he was an interloper and just couldn’t be
bothered to oust him. No. This must be how they treat Potter. And yet Potter still champions
their rights?
He had owled Potter after the dream. He wasn’t sure why, other than the fact that Potter was
the only person he could actually talk to. They had decided not to tell anyone else about their
predicament. Draco believed that his father would try everything to switch them back, but he
also knew that Father would love nothing more than to be the one to hand Potter over to the
Dark Lord, and the Dark Lord absolutely could not be trusted not to kill Potter before they
switched back. Draco didn’t want to end up stuck in Potter’s body forever and Potter didn’t
want to end up dead. It had felt like a fair trade to stay quiet for now. Besides, Draco had no
idea whether the part of him that was existing in Potter’s body would die if his real body was
hit with a killing curse and self-preservation won out over his dislike for Potter. From his
letters, he understood Potter was having a harder time than he was attempting to keep their
secret, which made Draco feel better. Let him suffer a little. But whenever they discussed the
ways, they might attempt to switch back, Draco felt a tense knot in the pit of his stomach,
knowing their fragile alliance would end and Potter’s safety would no longer be his concern.
He had spent a few minutes in the dark attempting to slow his breathing and stop the rapid
rise and fall of his chest. Once he realised with certainty that the Muggles were indeed not
coming to investigate, he grabbed a quill and some parchment from the desk and began to
write.

Potter,
Are the Muggles always this unobservant or are they merely dim? I screamed out in the
middle of the night, and they didn’t even ask me about it once? Perhaps they just find you
tiresome, in which case I sympathise with them.

Potter’s reply arrived the next morning and Draco opened it eagerly. He was beginning to
anticipate them which made him feel rather sick with himself.

Definitely, “tiresome.” They wouldn’t care if I spontaneously combusted in front of them.

Why were you screaming in the middle of the night?

There was no way he was discussing the dream with Potter.

I have an avid sex life Potter. I’m sorry your life is so dull that even in my body you can’t
muster up any fun.

It was later in the day when Potter’s snowy white owl returned.

I’m so happy that you and Dudley have found each other. You will have to forgive me if I
don’t attend the wedding. I will have more important things to do. Besides I really hate you
both. Now leave me alone and don’t owl again until you’ve fixed this. I’m busy staging a
house elf rebellion here.

After that day, Draco spent most of his time in Potter’s room waiting for the next letter. He
had attempted to pass the time by looking through Potter’s things only to find that he truly
did have nothing. His assessment on that first morning of how bare the room was, proved
correct. In the room itself there was nothing more than a few clothes in sizes that would
drown Potter’s skinny frame (Draco assumed they had previously belonged to the Muggle
boy, who was enormous) and Potter’s Firebolt, which leaned against the bed frame. Draco
pretended he wasn’t jealous of the broom but if he could find somewhere to fly, he would be
in the air in seconds. In Potter’s chest, there was quite a nice broomstick servicing kit, a
Sneakoscope rolled up in a pair of disgusting old socks, a leather-bound photo album
containing pictures of Potter’s parents (he really did look like his father), and the most
remarkable invisibility cloak Draco had ever seen. Draco had seen invisibility cloaks before.
In fact, he had been given one as a birthday present one year from Mother and Father. They
were expensive and rare, everything Draco enjoys. However, the one Draco had was like
every other invisibility cloak he had known. It was nothing more than an ordinary travelling
cloak with a strong Disillusionment Charm. It lasted only months before the charm wore off.
This was something entirely different. It was pearlescent and slipped through his fingers like
water. Even without the magic, it was one of the finest looking cloaks Draco had ever seen.
He had long suspected that Potter had access to magical means of concealment since the day
he witnessed his head floating detached from his body in Hogsmeade in their third year. For
this to be the same cloak, without any damage and no weakening to the charm, it must be the
real thing. He couldn’t remember ever hearing of anyone who owned the real thing. The day
he found it, every cell in his body buzzed with envy. He was not used to other people owning
material possessions that he could not have. Worse than the Firebolt, this was something
Father’s money could not buy him. This must have been in Potter’s family for generations.
He had slipped it over himself revelling in how each of his body parts disappeared in turn.
Underneath the cloak, he inhaled the same unfamiliar but not unpleasant smell he noticed
when he first awoke in Potter’s bed.

Finding the cloak meant he could escape the Muggles by leaving the house again. His first
few attempts at this in the early days had been disastrous as he was continually being
cornered by an insane elderly Muggle woman who insisted he come to her house whenever
she saw him, even chasing after him in her slippers. The first time it had happened, he had
owled Potter immediately to demand an explanation. Do not go inside her house, do not ask
about her cats and don’t eat her baking, was the only response he received. That was when
the bedroom confinement had become necessary. The cloak meant fresh air again. Space to
pretend he was back in the wizarding world or anywhere else but here. He began going on
long walks, returning late in the evening, undetected by the Muggles who he doubted even
noticed that Potter was gone. This was hindered slightly by the stifling heat that London was
experiencing this summer, but he didn’t care as long as he didn’t have to suffer through the
mundane and obnoxious complaining from the Muggles. There was only so many times he
could hear that the neighbours were wasting water by using something called “sprinkles” in a
drought. He was about to leave on one of these nightly walks, the door half open, cloak
stowed in his pocket, when he heard a crack that was the unmistakable sound of someone
Apparating. His heart began to race, and his fingers found Potter’s wand and gripped it. He
had assumed Potter was the only wizard for miles. Had Potter told? Had he owled
Dumbledore and explained he was trapped at the manor and Draco was here? What would
Dumbledore do with a Death Eater’s son to bargain for the boy who lived? Potter would not
go back on their agreement surely. That would be very unGryffindor of him. Just in case, he
raised the wand. He wasn’t going to let whoever it was just take him. His rising anxiety was
suddenly interrupted by the Muggle man who barreled like a bull into the hallway where
Draco stood.

“Put-it-away! Now! Before-anyone-sees!” He practically growled as he spat out each word,

spittle flying from the corner of his mouth like a wild animal. He lunged forward and grabbed
hold of Draco’s throat. Draco, who had never been hit at home (unless you count the
occasional tap with Father’s cane) fell backwards and clawed at the Muggle’s meaty fist.
“Get off of me, you filthy Muggle,” he gasped.
He managed to free himself and took a step backwards so that he was out of arms reach. The
Muggle turned and looked out of the open door and spotting a neighbour peering out,
shouted, “lovely evening! Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me
quite a turn!” Draco knew cars were a form of transportation muggles used to get around
without Flooing or Apparating. He had no idea what backfiring was, and he didn’t care in the
slightest. He was too interested in looking around for the wizard who had Apparated. Yet, he
couldn’t see anyone other than the nosey neighbour. This calmed Draco. He reminded
himself that London was quite big, and Potter could not be the only wizard here. Whoever it
was, was probably just returning home from work.

Draco took advantage of the Muggle’s distraction to slip out of the house and round the
corner before covering himself with the cloak. He knew these Muggles were afraid of magic.
He had sensed it immediately, observing the way they used code names for normal words like
wand. He had this confirmed for him through Potter’s owls explaining that he had only
recently been allowed his school chest, that had in previous years been locked away. He also
knew from his experience living as Potter that they blamed every slightly abnormal sound or
movement on Potter himself. What Draco couldn’t understand was how they could be so
afraid of magic, when he had always been taught it was their greatest desire to steal it. He
continued to ponder this as he trudged the streets of the depressing Muggle suburb. The
houses were bleak, uniform in shape and size and varying tones of brown and beige, and
painfully small. Nothing like the sprawling acreage the manor sat on. He missed the colour
green and interesting architecture. The most interesting architecture here was the rusted metal
fence around what appeared to be a park, full of contraptions for Muggle children to play on.
He even missed Father’s ridiculous peacocks. He found himself wondering if Potter liked the
manor. Clearly, he didn’t feel safe. Draco wasn’t stupid. He didn’t need Potter’s letters to
know that the fear of what would happen if Father discovered their secret, was consuming
Potter’s thoughts. He also knew that Potter was taking Diggory’s death hard. There was no
talking him out of the view that he was to blame. Draco had tried...

And then of course there was the Dark Lord being back…that was invading Draco’s thoughts
too. He wasn’t as sure as Father that his return was good for them. Not that he would ever say
that out loud. Outside of those thoughts though, he wondered what Potter thought, in the
quiet moments. Did he think the space was obnoxious, or did he enjoy the freedom? What did
he think of Draco’s room? Did he also go through Draco’s things? He felt certain that he
found the peacocks even more ridiculous than Draco did. He wasn’t sure why he cared. Why
did it matter if Potter liked his house? Yet every time he imagined Potter sitting cross legged
on the floor of his bedroom, back resting against his bed, examining things Draco hadn’t even
shared with his closest friends, a small flutter crept up in the bottom of his stomach. This was
nothing compared to how he felt when he thought of Potter sleeping in his bed. He pushed
this thought out of his head before it could fully form and took in his surroundings. Night was
closing in and he wasn’t sure where he was. Despite the Muggles this far not seeming to
notice his absences (and despite Potter’s continual reassurance this was normal) he was sure
they would notice if he disappeared altogether. He searched for a sign that would reorientate
him. Magnolia Road. He had definitely seen this before; he wasn’t too far off then. He tried
to place it with Privet Drive, which seemed impossible when every street looked identical,
when he saw the Muggle boy, “Dudley” (Muggles truly did give their children the most
ridiculous names) round the corner with a group of smaller boys trailing after him. He
watched them under the cloak, silently thanking Merlin that he could now follow him instead
of spending the night aimlessly wandering around. He followed a few steps behind and
listened as they described how they had attacked a boy who sounded significantly younger
than they were. He had to push down the part of him that was once again reminded of Crabbe
and Goyle. They had their flaws, but they were good friends. At the end of Magnolia Road,
before the turn on to Magnolia Crescent, they started to separate.

“See ya, Big D!”

Draco snorted at the euphemism. The idea that this Muggle could look anymore ridiculous in
Draco’s eyes had seemed impossible until he heard this particular nickname. If you had asked
him before the swap, he wouldn’t have been able to describe what he thought Potter’s
relatives looked like, but this wasn’t it. They continued walking before eventually turning
into a narrow alleyway that was devoid of light. He felt himself hesitant to move forward. It
wasn’t that he was afraid of the dark, but there was a reason the sorting hat hadn’t placed him
in Gryffindor. He thought about turning back, finding his own way. He took a few steps back
the way they came before he felt the bitter air fall over him. Something was wrong. The
sweat he had been feeling from the day’s soaring heat was suddenly replaced by a chill
crawling across his skin. His hands were clammy and his body felt heavy like he was rooted
to the spot. The little light that had shone in from the end of the alleyway disappeared. The
only thing he could hear was the pounding of his own rapid heartbeat. His thoughts became
disjointed as he struggled to remember anything other than the crushing weight of dread.

“Shit.” He knew what was about to happen before he turned back around. He had felt this
way for most of his third year at Hogwarts. Much of that time had been spent laughing at
Potter for his inability to stay conscious in their presence but Draco was far from immune
from the effects of dementors. Looking round he could see the monstrous creature gliding
closer to Dudley each second. He watched it take in each long, rattling breath and for the first
time in his life, Draco considered what would happen to a Muggle if he left and did not
intervene. He knew Muggles couldn’t see dementors, but Dudley was clearly feeling the
effects in the same way Draco was. His head swung round searching for the source of the
sudden ominous atmosphere. He could hear him whimpering. Draco was still under the cloak.
He could leave. He couldn’t remember if dementors could see through invisibility cloaks, but
they would be distracted by the Muggle. He imagined writing to Potter to explain that he had
let his cousin’s soul be sucked out because he was too much of a coward to do anything about
it. He imagined the indignant outrage as he confirmed everything Potter had always thought
of him.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he pulled the cloak off and started towards where Dudley stood.
Dudley jumped at his sudden appearance, swinging his arms wildly so that Draco had to duck
to avoid being hit.
“How did you do that? Stop whatever you are doing!”
“I’m not doing anything, it’s dementors. Come on, we need to leave,” Draco whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere with you. Stop it now or I swear I’ll hit you!”
“Keep your voice down you moron,” Draco hissed.
The temperature was continuing to drop and the thought that the dementor he could see
wasn’t alone made his stomach turn. He pulled Potter’s wand out from his pocket and turned
on the spot to check that their escape route was still clear. A blinding pain behind his temple
threatened to keel him over as Dudley struck him in the head and shouted, “you’re not
allowed! I’ll tell dad that you had that thing out!” before he took off running towards the
dementor.

I’m going to die, Draco thought to himself. I’m going to die for a fucking Muggle. He
imagined what Father would say if he could see Draco attempting to rescue the ungrateful
idiot. He wracked his brain for anything he knew about getting rid of dementors. A memory
came flooding back to him. He was wearing a long, dark robe, standing on Goyle’s shoulders.
Potter raised his wand and screamed, “Expecto Patronum,” before a blinding blue light had
knocked him backwards. Draco raised the same wand now and said the same words just as
one of the dementors reached Dudley, who tripped and fell to the ground. Nothing happened.
“Fuck! Come on, stupid wand.” He tried to catch his breath and pushed back the fear that the
wand somehow knew he wasn’t Potter and wouldn’t work for him. He thought back again,
there must be something he wasn’t doing right, some wand movement or placing the
emphasis on the wrong word. He concentrated on everything he could remember Potter
doing, focusing finally on Potter’s stupidly brilliant green eyes.

“Expecto Patronum!” This time the blue light escaped from the wand and took shape. It
wasn’t the same as the one Potter had sent his way. This was a dragon. It reared on its hind
legs and blew blue fire at the dementors, forcing them to retreat just as one was hovering over
Dudley, attempting to administer the kiss, and eventually chasing them out of the alleyway.
Dudley was still lying on the ground, his body shaking.
“Come on, get up!" Draco called impatiently, "If they come back, I don’t think I’ll be able to
do that again.” He kicked at Dudley, hoping to spur him into movement but he just lay there
muttering to himself. The sound of footsteps approaching them made Draco’s entire body
tense. He whirled around, wand raised. The insane, old Muggle with the slippers was staring
back at him and he attempted to hide Potter’s wand back in his pocket and regain control of
his shaking hands.
“Don’t put it away, idiot boy!” He stared at her dumbfounded. Not only had she just referred
to him as an idiot, she wasn’t in the least bit confused about the wand.
“What if there are more of them around? Oh, I am going to kill Mundungus Fletcher.
 Chapter 3

Draco continued to stare at the old woman in astonishment. He had no idea what a
Mundungus was but he wasn’t sure if it would be new information to Potter so he remained
silent, hoping the woman would mistake his confusion for shock or the aftereffects of a
sudden dementor attack. He needn’t have worried though because she wasn’t paying the
slightest bit of attention to what he was doing, she was working herself into a rant.

“…Left to see someone about a batch of cauldrons that fell off the back of a broom! I told
him I’d flay him alive if he went, and now look! Dementors!” It suddenly dawned on Draco
that this Mundungus must be the source of the Apparating from earlier and his mind started
to piece together what exactly he had, “left.” He was distracted though by the realisation that
the woman had clearly just said, “dementors.” Then she must be a witch, he thought, resentful
that Potter hadn’t warned him of this in his letters. How many magical neighbours did these
Muggles have?

“I’m a Squib, as Mundungus knows full well, so how on earth was I supposed to help you
fight off dementors? He left you completely without cover when I warned him —”
A Squib… Not a witch then. If he hadn’t been completely baffled, he would have struggled to
fight the disgust from showing on his face. Everyone knew Squibs were barely a step up from
Mudbloods and Muggles.
“Without cover?” he mused out loud, mostly to himself.
“What’s that boy?”
“You said, without cover. He was following Po-, me?”
““Yes, yes, yes, but luckily, I’d stationed Mr. Tibbles under a car just in case, and Mr. Tibbles
came and warned me, but by the time I got to your house you’d gone — and now — oh,
what’s Dumbledore going to say?”

Draco finally understood. Of course, Dumbledore was behind this. There was no way he
would let his precious Potter out of his sight now that the Dark Lord was back.
“You!” The shrill shrieking made Draco jump and raise the wand before realising it wasn’t
him the Squib had rounded on, it was Dudley who was still steadily muttering to himself on
the floor, eyes devoid of life.
“Get your fat bottom off the ground, quick!” She bent down with a speed Draco would never
have imagined from her usual shuffling and attempted to lift the enormous boy off the ground
to no avail.
“Get up, you useless lump, get up!”

Dudley looked worse than he had seconds ago when Draco last looked in his direction. It was
as though his brain had been permanently addled and Draco wondered if this was a side
effect of Muggles interacting with the creatures. It wasn’t as though he’d ever received an
education in Muggle medical ailments caused by magic. Potter would be thrilled to have
another reason to think of Draco as inept, he couldn’t even save a Muggle without ensuring
he would spend a lifetime in St. Mungo’s. He stepped forward to help her move him and it
wasn’t lost on him that this was the second time tonight that Draco had offered his assistance
to someone Father would sooner have him curse. Together they managed to heave him up by
looping their arms under his and hoisting him onto their shoulders. They walked like this in
silence for a few beats, dragging the worthless Muggle with them as his feet had seemingly
lost the ability to function too. Draco was certain Potter would have been able to do this
alone. He wouldn’t have needed assistance from the elderly.

“Keep your wand out,” he heard the woman’s voice cut through the darkness sharply. “Never
mind the Statute of Secrecy now, there’s going to be hell to pay anyway…” Draco hadn’t
considered until now that he had just broken the law in Potter’s body. At the manor this
would have hardly mattered. He received magical training at home from both his parents and
he had forgotten that students from less desirable blood lines were bound by the Statute of
Secrecy in a way he had never needed to worry about.
“This was exactly what Dumbledore was afraid of…” It seemed unlikely to Draco that
Dumbledore would waste his time in a state of panic over the minute possibility of two rogue
dementors crossing Potter’s path, when he should have been worrying about how to keep
Potter safe from the Dark Lord. Especially since Dumbledore surely knew as well as anyone
that it was far too soon for the Dark Lord to make a move on the Ministry. Not when they
were so willingly ignoring his presence. (Draco wished he could speak with Father and find
out what was happening, to know that this hypothesis was true. Being in the dark about how
things were unfolding kept a tendril of anxiety gripping his chest most days).

But then it also seemed unlikely that two dementors would just stumble across Potter on their
nightly stroll around a Muggle estate far from Azkaban. Even if Potter was in his own body,
he couldn’t find himself in that scenario through his incessant nosiness alone. They must
have come looking for Potter specifically. And if the Dark Lord hadn’t sent them…that left
the Ministry. Draco thought back to the most recent editions of the Prophet he had read in his
many hours secluded in Potter’s bedroom. The Ministry appeared intent on making it clear
that not only were they wilfully ignorant of the Dark Lord’s return, but also that they thought
Potter and Dumbledore fit to be locked up in St Mungo’s themselves. At the time it had made
Draco laugh, thinking of the way they painted Potter as some unhinged lunatic, based mostly
on his own fabrications to the Skeeter woman. It had amused him even more knowing that
Potter was actually right and he took great pleasure in imagining the horror and outrage on
his face as he read the articles himself. But now, as it was dawning on him that the dementors
who had just caused him to risk his neck for a Muggle were most likely sent by the Ministry
to discredit Potter, he found the whole thing a lot less funny.

“Dumbledore’s worried about the Ministry?”

“Among other things.”
“But then why didn’t anyone tell P-me?”
“Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything...”
“What?” Draco spluttered. Dumbledore kept Potter in the dark and forced others to do the
same? The boy who had “saved,” the wizarding world multiple times by the age of 15 wasn’t
even given the courtesy of knowing he was being tailed and that he couldn’t trust the
Ministry? Father had always treated Draco like an adult, he had been able to ask him
questions about what was happening for as long as he could remember. Sometimes he didn’t
get an answer but for the past year Father had been honest with him. Dumbledore was
treating Potter like an infant. Locking him away with the Muggles and forcing him to rely on
the Prophet for news. He couldn’t imagine Dumbledore didn’t understand what life was like
here. He, like many others, had the distinct impression Dumbledore knew everything. So, he
was condemning Potter to this life of all consuming isolation purposefully. Draco was pretty
sure that went against Dumbledore’s whole cause, but what did he know?

“I’m sorry I always gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let
you come if they’d thought you enjoyed it. It wasn’t easy, you know…” the old woman
continued to prattle on. She was looking at Draco with the kind of earnest fondness he
usually saw reserved only for Potter, that it made him uncomfortable. He looked away
quickly, unsure how Potter would respond to this but was saved the trouble of replying when
a second resounding crack rang through the air. A wizard had appeared on the street next to
them. He had the disgusting smell of someone who was inebriated, and Draco’s lip curled at
the sight of the vagrant and the air of neglect that surrounded him. “MUNDUNGUS
FLETCHER, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!”

This was Mundungus? This wretched tramp was the man Dumbledore had “protecting,” the
great Harry Potter? This lout was supposed to stop the Dark Lord or his followers from
harming Potter. Draco would have fell on the floor laughing if he wasn’t outraged. This fool
was the reason Draco almost lost his soul after all. Maybe Fudge had a point. Clearly
Dumbledore was out of his mind if he trusted this piece of filth with Potter’s life. He realised
too late that the hostility he was feeling must have been showing on his face more severely
than a simple curled lip because Mundungus was looking his way sheepishly, as though he
were calculating the damage from Draco’s look alone. Potter might know this person and
perhaps Draco was souring a usually positive relationship, but he didn’t care.

“What ’appened to staying undercover?” He shot nervously at the Squib.

“I’ll give you undercover!” she screamed. “Dementors, you useless, skiving sneak thief!”
The two proceeded to descend into a heated argument in the middle of the street while Draco
struggled under the excruciating weight of Dudley, who remained unresponsive despite the
noise happening around him. The woman began whacking Mundungus with her bag before
sending him to inform Dumbledore of the dementors. Draco secretly wished he could have
been the one to hit him, but he had more pressing concerns that involved getting back to
Privet Drive and never having a Muggle touch him again.
“I’ll take you to the door, just in case there are more of them around.” Draco scoffed and had
to stop himself from laughing out loud. A Squib? Protect him from dementors? The woman
was mad. They rounded the corner onto Privet Drive and for the first time since being stuck
here, he was happy to see the dim glow from the Muggles’ front door. He heaved Dudley
onto the doorstep and left him there, turning to face the Squib, but she had already retreated
towards her house, calling something over her shoulder that Draco couldn’t hear.

He tried the door, but it was locked. He would have risked using a quick Alohomora had he
not just had to produce serious magic. Ringing the doorbell, he stowed Potter’s wand away
and waited. The woman came, speaking in that disgusting baby voice she used when
speaking to her son. Draco revelled in seeing her face morph into one of sheer terror when
she saw her son slumped over the threshold and found even greater pleasure in the situation
when he fell forward and vomited at her feet. In the confusion of her attempting to call for
her husband, Draco entered the house and stole towards the staircase, thinking of nothing but
owling Potter and demanding answers immediately.
“BOY! COME HERE!” Having completely tuned out the clamour around him, Draco had
missed the lead up to this command, however, there was no doubt in his mind it was aimed at
him. There was only one person in this house who was ever addressed as, “boy.” He
considered ignoring it. Telling the Muggle to “fuck off,” and locking himself in Potter’s room
but the man was a terrifying shade of purple and at least three times the size of Potter. Draco
didn’t fancy the door’s chances of staying locked. He turned cautiously and walked towards
the kitchen where they were gathered, and found the man’s eyes locked on him, narrowed
threateningly.

“What have you done to my son?” he demanded.

“Oh nothing,” Draco drawled, finding he was growing increasingly furious with the whole
situation the more the adrenaline wore off. “Unless of course you count saving his worthless
life.”
“Lies!” Dudley said with a forcefulness that made it clear that he would be just fine. Stupid
git could have carried himself back.
“Oh, be quiet you disgusting oaf. If it wasn’t for me, you would be dead.”
The Muggles ignored this and turned their attention back on Dudley.
“What did he do to you, Diddy?” The woman asked hysterically. Draco rolled his eyes and
took a seat at the kitchen table. Even his own mother, who his friends frequently liked to
point out had an unhealthy attachment to him, wasn’t this nauseating.

“Was it — was it you-know-what, darling? Did he use — his thing?” This time he did laugh
out loud. She couldn’t be serious. “Big D,” “his thing,” they had to be doing this on purpose.
Dudley nodded in response to his mother’s question and Draco could physically feel the fury
bubbling up in inside of him.
“Oh for Salazar’s sake! I was helping him! Although I am starting to think I should have left
him there to die.” Draco’s outburst was drowned out by the unexpected arrival of a screech
owl who was upholding its namesake, through the kitchen window. If Draco thought the man
was purple in the face before, it was nothing to the way he looked as he screamed, “OWLS!”
maniacally.

Draco picked up the envelope from the floor where the owl had dropped it and his hope that
Potter had somehow heard and had written with explanations, was immediately dashed when
he saw the Ministry seal. In frustration, he skim read the letter from the Improper Use of
Magic Office, picking out only key sentences. You performed the Patronus Charm at twenty-
three minutes past nine this evening in a Muggle-inhabited area and has resulted in your
expulsion from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry before finally landing on we
regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of
Magic at 9 a.m. on August 12th. Disciplinary hearing? How many times had Potter broken
the Statute of Secrecy? He reread the letter more carefully this time. Expelled. Potter had
been expelled from Hogwarts because of something Draco had done. He imagined returning
to Hogwarts, never having to see Potter’s stupid smug face again, finally being able to win at
things like Quidditch and he couldn’t stop the smile that began to spread across his face. He
couldn’t wait to be the one to inform Potter in his next owl.

He looked up and saw the Muggles’ expectant faces. The sight of them waiting for an
explanation forced his brain back into action and he finally appreciated that it wouldn’t be
Potter who wasn’t returning to Hogwarts, it would be him. Stuck here with the revolting
Muggles with no access to a wand or any form of magic. No way for he and Potter to switch
back… He should have let the Muggle die.
He really needed to talk to Potter. He had seen Father Apparate a million times and had gone
side along Apparating enough times to know the general gist of how its done. He would
Apparate to the manor, inform Father of what had been happening and force him to find a
way to switch them back. Mother would prevent him from informing the Dark Lord until the
switch had happened and whatever happened to Potter after that…well, that wasn’t his
problem.

“Where d’you think you’re going?” came a booming bellow from behind him before the
Muggle man, who was only slightly less enormous than his son, blocked the doorframe ahead
of him. “You’re going to stay here and explain how my son —” He couldn’t hold it in any
longer.
“Your son is an imbecile, who ran straight into the path of two dementors, and I, used the
Patronus Charm to save his life. You should be thanking me on your knees, you ungrateful
—” However, Draco didn’t get a chance to tell the Muggle what he was, as a second owl
collided with the now closed kitchen window causing the Muggle woman to scream. He
opened the window and grabbed the roll of parchment with mounting anticipation. This
surely was Potter…

Harry —

Dumbledore’s just arrived at the Ministry, and he’s trying to sort it all out. DO NOT LEAVE
YOUR AUNT AND UNCLE’S HOUSE. DO NOT DO ANY MORE MAGIC. DO NOT
SURRENDER YOUR WAND.

Arthur Weasley.

Once again Draco was flooded with frustration. His head was pounding, and he felt trapped
in this tiny kitchen. Now he had the Weasel’s useless father giving him instructions. He
wasn’t staying anywhere. He was going to the manor. He didn’t care if Dumbledore had some
crackpot plan to storm the Ministry and demand Potter be allowed special treatment. He had
had enough. This was too much. He had saved a Muggle’s life and look what it had got him.
Let Dumbledore go, let him come here looking for Potter even, Draco wasn’t waiting around.
Although, what would happen if Draco Apparated into the manor as Potter. He knew he
couldn’t Apparate directly into the house, Malfoy Manor had wards and protections against
such things, just like Hogwarts. He would have to Apparate on to the grounds and wait by the
gate to be let in. What if Father came instead of Mother. Would he listen to Draco that he
wasn’t really Potter before he shot a killing curse? If Dumbledore really could fix this, wasn’t
it better to wait it out? Follow the original plan once both he and Potter arrive at Hogwarts
safely. He sat back down, considering his options, knowing that he really only had one. He
wasn’t sure he could even pull off Apparating anyway.

“Who are all these ruddy owls from?” the Muggle man said with a false air of calm that
threatened to spill over.
“Well, the first one was informing me I have been expelled from Hogwarts and the second
one was from Wea-Ron’s father.”
“And why have you been expelled?”
“Because I did magic.”
“AHA! So, you admit it! What did you do to Dudley?” He slammed his fists down like
madman, but rather than feel fear, Draco’s patience was running thin.
“It is beyond me how even the most half-witted of Muggles like yourself need the same thing
explained to you this many times. Dudley was being attacked by dementors. I, at great
personal risk to myself, and despite my revulsion at your kind, saved his life by performing
the Patronus Charm to repel them.”

The man turned away from Draco, “is this true Dudley?”
Dudley shook his great head and Draco could have cursed him right then with Potter’s wand.
He felt he deserved a great deal of credit for the self-restraint he demonstrated in not doing
so.
“Go on, son, what did he do?”
“All dark. Everything dark. And then I h-heard . . . things. Inside m-my head . . .”
“Yes, yes and then you felt like all the joy had been sucked out of you, right? Like you could
never be happy again? Like the world was a dark and desolate place and blah blah.” The
Muggles fixed him with identical glares. “Like I have said several times now. Dementors.”
“And what the ruddy hell are dementors?”
“They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban,” interjected the Muggle woman before Draco could
even open his mouth to speak.

It was as though she had said the most offensive thing in the world. She covered her mouth,
her eyes wide with fear and an air of pleading aimed in her husband’s direction. He looked as
though he might keel over and die. No great loss thought Draco. He was curious how the
Muggle knew this, but he supposed living with a witch meant she must have picked up on
some things.
“I heard — that awful boy — telling her about them — years ago,” Potter’s parents.
“So — so — they — er — they — er — they actually exist, do they — er — dementy-
whatsits?” The Muggle women hesitantly nodded as if she were ashamed to be seen taking
Potter’s side in an argument.
“Great, now that we have settled that, how about a thank you?” This time Draco thought the
Muggle might hit him. He knew Muggles were barbaric when it came to duelling, resorting
to striking each other in the absence of magic. But once again, they were interrupted by an
owl. This one also carried an envelope bearing the official Ministry seal.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has
revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your
disciplinary hearing on 12th August, at which time an official decision will be taken.
Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time.
You should therefore consider yourself suspended from school pending further inquiries.
With best wishes,

Yours sincerely,
Mafalda Hopkirk
Improper Use of Magic Office
Ministry of Magic

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. There was hope. He would figure out what to do if the
hearing went wrong, but in the meantime he could breathe again.
“Well? What now? Have they sentenced you to anything? Do your lot have the death
penalty?” The joy in his voice at the thought of Potter dying made Draco wonder why they
didn’t get along better.
“Well usually how it works is hearings come first.” He said slowly and sarcastically. Doing
his best impression of speaking to a dim-witted child. “I’m sure they will sentence me after
though so keep your hope alive.”
“I will,” he shot back in a tone he clearly thought would injure Potter.
“As will I if it means I can finally escape your banal presence.”
Yet another owl chose this moment to soar into the kitchen, through the fireplace this time,
and the Muggle finally lost it.
“FOR GOD’S SAKE! I WILL NOT HAVE OWLS HERE, I WILL NOT TOLERATE THIS,
I TELL YOU!” Draco lunged forward. Surely this time Potter was the sender. He opened it
and a handwriting he had never seen before greeted him. It wasn’t Potter’s and Draco was
disgusted in himself for the way he now had Potter’s handwriting memorised. This letter was
briefer than all the others and the sender had neglected to write their name.

Arthur’s just told us what’s happened. Don’t leave the house again, whatever you do.

He supposed whoever it was must write to Potter often and the need for names was negated
but it was infuriating none the less. Just another thing he was being kept in the dark about. At
least everyone around him seemed to realise what a headstrong idiot Potter was even if he
didn’t himself. They knew him well enough to know that he would probably go storming
after the dementors, trying to follow them back to their sender on foot. He stood from the
table. He was tired and needed space to think clearly so he could write to Potter without the
Muggles breathing down his neck.
“I’m going to bed. Your son will be fine,” Draco wasn’t sure this was entirely true, but he did
know it was what they wanted to hear. “The effects of a dementor only last for so long, unless
they suck out your soul, which didn’t happen so nothing to worry about.” The man looked
like he was about to argue so Draco added, “If you want to speed up the process, I’ve heard
chocolate does wonders after being around a dementor,” and he walked out of the kitchen and
up the stairs to Potter’s room before any of them could protest.

Sitting at the small desk, he attempted to think of adequate words to explain to Potter what
had just happened. He scrunched up several drafts before finally settling on,

Potter,

I have just been attacked by two dementors while walking on Magnolia Crescent. Your idiot
of a cousin ran straight into them, and I had to use a Patronus Charm to save him. You can
thank me at your earliest convenience. Why on Earth are there dementors looking for you? I
am aware the Ministry hates you but surely that cannot be the only reason. If you are a
wanted fugitive, please let me know as I am unwilling to spend the rest of my life in Azkaban
for you. You have also been expelled from Hogwarts. Fear not though, Dumbledore
convinced the Ministry to give saint Potter a trial so there is hope for you yet (and eternal
misery for me). Weasley’s father and someone who didn’t sign their name, urged you to be a
good boy while they sort things out. I must say I agree, please do not go doing anything
reckless in my precious body. I will update you as soon as I know anything else. Also, I never
thought I’d be saying this, but these Muggles may have beaten you for the most insufferable
people to be in a room with. I don’t know how you do it. Maybe you are a saint after all.

Draco Malfoy

He attached the parchment to the leg of Potter’s snowy owl and watched her carry it out of
sight before laying on the bed and falling asleep.
 Chapter 4

Draco awoke the following morning to his own eagle owl pecking his hand, Potter’s reply
tied to its leg.

Malfoy,
I have owled Ron and Hermione using Hedwig and told her to stay there until they respond
with answers. What were you doing wandering around Magnolia Crescent with Dudley? And
since when did you know how to do a Patronus Charm? I suppose I should ask if Dudley is
ok, but I am more concerned about how easy it was for Voldemort to take control of Azkaban.
He’s moving faster than even I thought. I haven’t overheard them mention anything here so
maybe your dad wasn’t involved in the takeover. I have to say it is surprising to me that you
even got involved. I would have thought you would have been thrilled to see a dementor kill a
Muggle. What do you mean the Ministry hate me? I hardly think your dad’s pals count as the
whole Ministry, although a surprising number of them do seem to work there I’ve gathered
from being here. Make sure you don’t mess up this hearing. I have been reading every
disgusting book in your family’s collection like we agreed (some of them really are horrible,
you people are worse than I thought) and I can’t find a single thing to help switch us back.
You need to convince them, or we are going to have to get Dumbledore involved. Tell me
again why we can’t tell Ron and Hermione. I’m sure Hermione will have some ideas we
haven’t thought of.

Harry.

P.S. I have included your post.

As Draco read, he sighed in frustration increasingly at each line. Potter was obnoxiously
infuriating; from the implication that only he could produce difficult magic such as a
Patronus when Draco had bested him in almost every exam they had ever sat, to the fact that
he had steadfastly put the pieces together incorrectly and landed on the Dark Lord (as usual)
without even considering the alternatives. Then there were the cracks about Draco’s family
and the outrageous pronouncement that the Mudblood Granger would be any better at
figuring this out than Draco was. It wasn’t Draco’s fault that he was stuck here instead of the
manor. He highly doubted Potter could even read so the fact that he couldn’t find anything in
the vast collection of magical books Father owned was not exactly concrete proof that their
situation was dire. Draco wondered if he could convince Potter to start owling him a few
books at a time so he could check them himself.

The fact that Potter didn’t seem to have any further insights into the dementor attack and
what the outcome would be did concern Draco. He had owled the Mudblood and Weasley so
maybe there would be news soon. Draco had been forwarding their letters on to Potter when
they arrived at the Muggles’. Not before he read through them first. They were disturbingly
boring. Wherever they were though, they seemed to be together. He could tell from the thinly
veiled tone of Potter’s previous letters that this had bothered him. Draco couldn’t really see
why; they were obviously romantically involved, surely Potter didn’t want to third wheel.
Despite Granger being a Mudblood he felt sorry for her. She didn’t have to settle for a
Weasley. She was pretty enough for one of her kind (not that she was Draco’s type) and there
were plenty of blood traitors who would have her that were a class above Weasley.

The thing that had bothered him most about the letter was the fact that Potter believed Draco
would enjoy watching the muggle “die.” Not just because it was factually incorrect that
dementors kill people (which Potter knew fine well) but also because it wasn’t true on any
level. Draco hated Muggles sure. He wanted them far away from him and maybe he didn’t
care if they were to die, but the thought of having to watch anything die made him feel
nauseous. Father had killed people before, that Draco was certain of without ever having
asked, but Draco was a lot less like Father than he liked people to believe. He understood
why Potter may have thought that in the past. He hadn’t exactly been quiet about wanting
Granger to be Slytherin’s monster’s next victim, and then there was that Diggory comment on
the train…but he had thought they had come to a sort of tentative understanding of each
other. Clearly, he was wrong. Potter believed him to be nothing more than a Death Eater’s
son, just as he always had. He had gone out of his way to save Potter’s cousin, a Muggle, and
nothing had changed.

Potter,
You are laughably obtuse, not everything evil in the world happens because of the Dark Lord
(please refrain from using his name you are psychotic). Also, if you ever bothered to pick up
the Prophet and think of anything other than your ginormous ego once in a while, you would
know exactly why I said the Ministry hates you. I wasn’t “with” Dudley. I was trying to
escape this hell hole and saw him walk into the path of the dementors. Whether the muggle
lives or dies is neither here nor there to me. I was simply looking for an opportunity to
practice my Patronus, which coincidentally is far more impressive than your deer. I will not,
“mess up” the hearing. I have every intention of returning to Hogwarts, switching back, and
never speaking to you or another Muggle or Squib ever again. I will be sure to tell Fudge
how wonderful I am and how I am the saviour of mankind or whatever usual rubbish you
would say. For the last time, we are not telling them. I do not trust them not to inform
Dumbledore. You are not the only one who could be used as a pawn if we are discovered
Potter.

Draco Malfoy.

P.S. Please send me some books from the manor so I can assist in speeding this along.

Potter’s reply arrived later that evening which reminded Draco that their owls could make the
journey relatively quickly and that Potter had been stalling over most of their
correspondence. He thought it was probably not because he had drafted and redrafted letters
in the way Draco had, but most likely because talking with Draco was uncomfortable for
him.

Malfoy,

Please enlighten me who I am supposed to assume tried to kill me, if not Voldemort. I have
been a bit preoccupied with his attempts most of my life. Unless you have any actual evidence
that it wasn’t him, stop being such a smarmy git. Although I do think Snape would jump at the
chance to do me in, is that who you were suggesting? Your dad and him are old buddies,
right? I can’t believe the rubbish that the Prophet has been writing, I bet you are having the
time of your life reading it. You know this is all your fault, right? I don’t know how you can
live with yourself knowing that it’s not true. I do check the Prophet, but I assumed any big
news would be on the front cover, I guess disgusting lies about people’s mental state are more
subtle than death eater attacks. I broke your chess set throwing it at the wall when I read
through them all. I could Reparo it, but you deserve it.

Draco’s grandfather had given him that chess set. He hated it.

It’s ok to admit you have feelings for a Muggle Malfoy (in fact in your case, it means you
might just be becoming a better person), embrace it. I’m glad Dudley had you there to rescue
him and nurse him back to health. Also, my Patronus is a stag, which I think you know
considering it charged you down once. I imagine yours to resemble a dung beetle, so I hate to
break it to you that isn’t that impressive. Who have you been talking to that’s a Squib? The
company you are keeping lately is a step up from Crabbe and Goyle, I’m proud of you.
Fine, we won’t tell Ron and Hermione but please just act like a normal human at the hearing.
You know you’re one of the very few people who actually think I’m arrogant. Most people
think it’s the other way around…
Your lack of faith in me to search the books properly is insulting but I suppose it wouldn’t
hurt to get through them a bit quicker. It is a bit boring doing this kind of stuff without
Hermione’s help. You’re much more like her than you realise.

Harry.

P.S. I should have thanked you to start with for saving Dudley’s life. I hate him, but he is my
cousin.

P.P.S. Tell me what your Patronus is.

Draco read the postscript and was alarmed by the warm feeling he felt at having Potter not
only thank him but acknowledge what he did. It almost made up for comparing him to the
Mudblood.

The Ministry Potter. I’m talking about the Ministry. Think about it. The Dark Lord isn’t going
to storm out into the open yet. He is rebuilding. You were not supposed to live and now you
are a thorn in his side (if he had consulted with me prior, I could have informed him what an
insufferable annoyance you are). He wouldn’t risk a takeover so early. Azkaban is under the
control of the Ministry, so it follows that the Ministry are the ones who sent the dementors.
They must be taking discrediting you and Dumbledore much more seriously than the Skeeter
woman ever did.
I think you are confusing my Patronus with someone else’s in your life. Mine is a dragon,
Weasley’s is the dung beetle.
The Squib in question is your insane neighbour with the cats. She is quite alarming actually;
I watched her savage a man with a handbag.
Thank you for sending the books, I will inform you of anything I find.

Draco Malfoy.

P.S. You’re welcome.

He spent much of the next few days holed up again in Potter’s bedroom. He didn’t think it
was wise to continue using the cloak now that he knew Potter was being watched. Draco had
thought he knew boredom before, but childhood days spent ignored and alone in the
cavernous manor had nothing on being trapped in Potter's tiny room without magic or a
single soul to talk to. He'd paced the room what felt like thousands of times, read and reread
sections of the books Potter had sent and scribbled frantic notes on anything that seemed
remotely likely to assist them in switching back. Once or twice, when he had taken a break,
he caught himself staring out of the tiny window, searching the sky for a glimpse of the
familiar owls and was sickened that he cared this much about the lack of consistent
communication from Potter. He was losing his mind and he felt as though he would never get
back to his old life.

Every now and then he would be startled by his reflection in the mirror, forgetting
momentarily that he would see Potter's captivating green eyes staring back at him. On the
fourth night of his captivity, he found himself staring at Potter’s reflection in the mirror, just
for something different to look at. His unkempt hair really was an embarrassment and the
ridiculous clothes he was wearing should be taken out and burned. But despite his initial
disgust, he lingered often on the lightening scar that so distinguished Potter’s face and found
it both terrifying for what it represented and yet also surprisingly beautiful. He begrudgingly
admitted to himself that Potter was attractive, it was widely accepted even amongst the
Slytherins, but observing him freely without an audience made Draco acknowledge that there
was something more than that keeping his gaze locked on Harry's eyes.

Alarmed to realise he had been staring for too long and thinking embarrassingly gentle
thoughts about Potter's eyes, he angrily turned away from the mirror and threw himself onto
the bed. He couldn't make it through another single day like this or he would be the one to
end up in St. Mungo’s. He could feel the pent-up energy and his building frustration running
like a current over his skin with no outlet. He shook his hands, trying to force the feeling
away and dropped them to his stomach, his pinky fingers landing on the small slither of skin
exposed between his shirt and his shorts by his careless dive onto the bed. Draco's breath
hitched momentarily. He had been trying to limit his touch as much as possible, slightly
nauseated by the idea of physical contact with Potter and as such the gentle pressure of
fingers on his stomach was surprisingly pleasurable. He flinched, moving his hands up to sit
solidly on Potter's shirt and tried to steady his breathing.

He was interrupted by the sudden presence of the Muggle man who had flung the door open
and stood there expectantly as if waiting for Draco to protest. He was wearing a hideously
tacky suit that confirmed Draco’s opinion of him and Muggles in general.
“We’re going out,” he declared to the room at large.
“I must have missed the part where I expressed that I cared what you do.”
Draco noticed a twitch near the Muggle’s left eye and could tell that he was struggling to
contain a level of violence.
“You are not to leave your bedroom while we are away.”
Draco ignored him and turned his gaze back to the ceiling.
“I’m going to lock your door.”
“That’s such a shame considering how desperately I am clamouring to escape,” he drawled in
response. The Muggle huffed aggressively in frustration before turning and slamming the
door. Draco heard the key scraping in the lock before the thundering footsteps and slamming
of doors that indicated that he was now alone.

He felt a wave of infuriated annoyance at the Muggle’s interruption, despite the fact he hadn’t
actually been doing anything. What he had been on the verge of doing didn’t count he
reminded himself. He closed his eyes and attempted to sleep knowing he had exhausted all
the room had to offer. What felt like seconds later he heard a noise from the floor below. At
first, he assumed the Muggles had returned and he rolled onto his side chasing sleep again.
But then it happened again. This time it was more of a crash, as though something had fallen
and he pushed himself up, his forearm supporting his weight as he grabbed for Potter’s wand.
Not that it would do him any good if he had any hope of returning to Hogwarts, but holding it
filled him with a false sense of bravado. Muffled voices carried up to where Draco sat and the
fact he didn’t recognise any of them set him more on edge.

The presence of human voices had at least dissuaded the absurd sleep induced fear that the
Erklings from his childhood stories had somehow found their way to his 15-year-old self.
However, they opened up new questions. Had the Ministry decided to come for Potter’s wand
after all? Was their falling opinion of Dumbledore enough for his hold over them to wane?
He pushed himself off the bed and stood behind the closed door of Potter’s bedroom and
assessed the situation. He could stay here and wait for whoever it was to inevitably find him,
he could attempt to hide somewhere and bank on the intruders not using magic to find him, or
he could go out and face them. Potter would definitely choose the latter. He never thought
anything through the way Draco did. His fingers closed around the door handle, and he
walked out into the hallway. He was supposed to be acting like Potter after all.
 Chapter 5

“Lower your wand boy, before you take someone’s eye out,” a gruff voice warned. Draco
took an instinctual step backwards; he couldn’t see the person the voice belonged to, but he
knew it before they had finished speaking. The last time he had any significant interaction
with its owner, Draco had ended up in a ferret’s body. Granted that wasn’t actually his
professor, it was some lunatic under the effects of Polyjuice, but Draco wasn’t planning on
taking any chances. He kept Potter’s wand held stubbornly high and locked eyes with what
he could only presume was the real Moody.

So, the Ministry had decided to send people as he had suspected. Aurors were a touch
extreme for underage magic but then dementors also felt excessive. His mind whirred with
possible escape routes, ways to refuse to go with them. Obviously, he couldn’t fight Aurors
but maybe they would let him speak to Dumbledore somehow before taking him anywhere.
The tense standoff he was locked in lasted only a few seconds before a second, slightly softer
voice said, “It’s alright Harry. We’ve come to take you away.”

Draco pulled his gaze towards the man who had spoken, more confused than he had been at
Mad-Eye Moody breaking into a Muggle house. What was this? Lupin wasn’t an Auror. He
lowered his wand. He felt sure Lupin wouldn’t harm Potter and hoped he hadn’t seriously
miscalculated. “Why are we all standing in the dark? Lumos.” Bright light escaped the wand
of a witch with purple hair and Draco was finally able to take in just how many people were
standing in front of him. He struggled to contain his bitterness. Whatever reason they were
here, to make an arrest or to help, he was sure they had scrambled at the chance to volunteer
to be in Potter’s presence.

Lupin looked worse than Draco had ever seen him. He had always been unkempt and tattered
and usually destitution clung to him like a bad smell. Now though, his skin was sunken, and
he looked like a person who hadn’t been well for a long time. Draco tamped down the
distaste he felt at being in the same vicinity as a werewolf. For some reason Lupin was
important to Potter and he had to act accordingly. Moody looked exactly as Draco recalled
having only seem him mere weeks ago and this only served to solidify his wariness of him.
The rest of the people were discussing Potter and his appearance as though he wasn’t
standing in front of them (which, Draco had to remind himself, he wasn’t).

Moody was the only one who was looking at Potter with anything less than fondness. He was
glaring intently, and Draco was uncomfortable under his gaze. He was unsure of the
limitations of the disgusting magical eye revolving in his battered face. Could it see that this
was in fact not the great Harry Potter?
“Are you quite sure it’s him, Lupin?”
Shit
“It’d be a nice lookout if we bring back some Death Eater impersonating him”
If only he knew.
"We ought to ask him something only the real Potter would know. Unless anyone brought any
Veritaserum?”
Fuck.
“Harry, what form does your Patronus take?” Lupin asked him.
He felt a lightness spread over him and the vice grip on his chest began to ease. He almost
laughed. He couldn’t believe his luck.
“A stag,” he replied, a little too proudly but no one appeared to notice.
“That’s him, Mad-Eye.”
Despite the relief washing over him at remaining undetected, Draco had to fight the urge to
point out exactly how flawed their “security system” was.

Moody moved towards the kitchen with the others trailing behind and Draco hesitantly
started down the stairs to follow. He came face to face with Lupin at the end of the descent,
who reached out and clasped his hand in a warm gesture of affection, “how are you?”
“Really great.” Lupin raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“There’s nothing like a dementor attack to liven things up,” Draco finished.
Lupin stared back at him blankly and he feared he had pushed his sarcasm too far this time.
That he had said something that had alerted Lupin to his imposter status, but before he could
truly worry, Lupin began to laugh, “that is exactly what James would have said,” and he
patted Draco softly on the shoulder and guided him after the group.

“This is Alastor Moody, Harry,” Lupin pointed at the Auror.

“We’ve met.” Draco tried to keep his tone light, but he couldn’t quite manage the neutrality
he aimed for.
“And this is Nymphadora —”
“Don’t call me Nymphadora, Remus,” the purple haired witch said so aggressively that Draco
jumped at the sudden intrusion of her voice.
“— Nymphadora Tonks, who prefers to be known by her surname only.” Tonks had said
something in reply, but Draco hadn’t caught it. He was distracted, trying to place the familiar
surname. He wondered where he knew the family from. They weren’t part of the 28 which
meant they held little importance in his world and yet the name stuck out, refusing to be
forgotten. The next few minutes were filled with further introductions that confirmed Draco’s
suspicion that this mission was nothing more than a meeting of Potter’s personal sycophants.
“A surprising number of people volunteered to come and get you,” Lupin said. Draco rolled
his eyes before he caught himself and looked down at the floor.

“We’re just waiting for the signal to tell us it’s safe to set off, we’ve got about fifteen
minutes.” Draco spent the time watching the group. Tonks’ never-ending prattling filled the
silence and he was thankful as it meant he wasn’t expected to speak. Moody appeared to be
cleaning his eye, but Draco tried not to spend too much time lingering on him. He was not
given the same courtesy. Every eye in the room was on him and he found it was rather
intimidating. He struggled to align this with the fact that for most of his life he would have
done many things for the level of attention Potter always received.
“So, where exactly are you “taking me away,” to,” he asked the room at large, attempting to
shift focus.
“We’ve set up headquarters somewhere undetectable. It’s taken a while…”
“Shut up!” Moody suddenly roared. “We’re not discussing anything here, it’s too risky,”
Lupin threw Draco a conspiratorial glance, reassuring him that this was just Moody rather
than some personal offence.
“You’d better go and get packed, Harry, we want to be ready to go when the signal comes.”
Draco stalked back towards Potter’s microscopic bedroom and with a sinking feeling thought
that this was probably the last time he would see it. He wasn’t sure why that disconcerted
him. “I’ll come and help you,” Tonks said, and he heard her following footsteps. Her tread
was so heavy that Draco was sure she was the source of the earlier noise. She couldn’t be an
Auror, she had all the subtly of an Erumpent. Halfway up the stairs she announced, “Funny
place, it’s a bit too clean, d’you know what I mean? Bit unnatural,” and Draco felt he had
never taken such an instant dislike to someone other than Potter. Too clean. What did that
even mean? Draco had no time for someone who valued grubbiness. He had spent a small
amount of time at the beginning of the switch cleaning and organising Potter’s room. It
seemed, as neurotic as she was, the Muggle woman refused to go in there. He shuddered
thinking about the state Potter would leave his immaculate room in the manor. At least the
house elves would be keeping it somewhat respectable.

Packing Potter’s belongings was a quick task considering their scarcity, and Draco’s previous
cataloguing efforts meant that they were already mostly where they should be. Tonks stood in
front of the mirror assessing her appearance and completely negating on her earlier promise
of “help.”
“You know, I don’t think purple’s really my colour,” she said over her shoulder in Draco’s
direction as though she was asking for his input. Draco wanted to say that he couldn’t care
less because the purple was gaudy and no self-respecting wizard of a certain class would even
consider it for robes never mind their personal appearance, but instead he simply said,
“mhm.” Ignoring his lack of enthusiasm, she pulled a facial expression that mirrored Crabbe
attempting to answer a question in Transfiguration and her hair turned a bright pastel pink.
She was clearly expecting some sense of wonder and amazement, having saved this particular
party trick for when she was alone with Potter, but Draco did not feel inclined to oblige her.
“You’re a Metamorphmagus,” he stated with a deadpan expression.
“Yes! I got top marks in Concealment and Disguise during Auror training without any study
at all, it was great.”
Oh, Salazar she is an Auror, he thought to himself.
As he stored away the last few items of Potter’s belongings and Tonks went into details of the
intricacies of Metamorphmagi, he allowed his mind to wander. He longed for the ability to
change his appearance at will. Not because he felt any strong hatred of his looks, he knew he
was attractive (probably a little too much if he was honest with himself), but he could
imagine allowing himself to escape from the insane pressure that came with being a Malfoy
heir from time to time.

In the kitchen, he barely registered Lupin inform him he had left a note for the muggles
before Moody cast a Disillusionment charm over him. It was the first time Draco had been
Disillusioned, the cold sensation foreign to him. He preferred the warmth of Potter’s cloak.
They were using brooms for the journey. Lupin added to a growing collection of data that
evidenced the trustworthiness of the Ministry by listing the reasons why flying was their only
option. A man who Lupin had introduced as Kingsley turned to Draco and in a deep voice
that he found strangely soothing said, “Remus says you’re a good flier,” before Lupin replied,
“He’s excellent.” This time Draco didn’t scoff or roll his eyes. He knew Potter was an
extraordinary flier and he found it wasn’t hard to admit it to himself now, the usual
resentment that festered within him oddly absent.
Draco mounted Potter’s Firebolt, the prospect of flying again caused his body to hum in
anticipation. The fresh air alone flushed his pale cheeks a slight pink. He felt giddy;
something that would usually drive him to despair but now felt freeing in a way that even
Moody’s declarations that members of their party may perish couldn’t dampen. The journey
was lengthy, but Draco never wanted to stop. The Firebolt moved with the slightest ease. He
had never experienced such a connection to a broom, even with the many expensive ones
Father had given him in the past. It was as though it was moving the way Draco needed it to
before he even formed the thought himself. He lacked the same level of skill as Potter, but he
had never been too far behind, and he felt he was keeping up enough that the people around
him wouldn’t question where Potter’s Quidditch brilliance had suddenly gone.

He followed Moody’s insane directions for hours, only beginning to feel the frigid cold once
the elation wore off. A short argument between Tonks and Moody preceded Lupin’s call of,
“Time to start the descent! Follow Tonks, Harry!” and he pushed the Firebolt into a nosedive,
plunging steadily downward until the eventual dismount in what appeared to be a small
Muggle street surrounding a square of overgrown, dead grass. Draco looked around, his eyes
darting between grotty, dilapidated houses. He wasn’t convinced they were occupied but if
they were, he was sure people in the same vein as Mundungus resided within them. A light
behind him burnt out inexplicably and then another before he grasped that Moody was the
one controlling the process with an intricate metal lighter.
“Borrowed it from Dumbledore. That’ll take care of any Muggles looking out of the window,
see? Now, come on, quick.” He pulled Draco into the patch of darkness before handing him a
piece of parchment and growled, “Read quickly and memorise.”

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld
Place, London.

He peered intently at the houses before him, searching for number twelve. He saw number
eleven and his eyes flicked to the right only to find number thirteen. He didn’t need Lupin’s
next instruction, “Think about what you’ve just memorised,” to understand that he was being
let into the knowledge contained within a Fidelius charm. The Malfoys practically invented
secrets and lies. Draco had been around untraceable buildings his entire life. He quickly
slipped the parchment into his pocket before anyone could think to take it from him, thanking
Merlin he had remembered to do so. He wasn’t sure how he could continue to communicate
with Potter if he couldn’t explain where he was. Number twelve began to materialise in front
of his eyes. It was as though it were pushing out from the ground beneath it, fighting against
and pressing the buildings on either side of it, jostling for space. The house itself was
remarkably unremarkable. It looked like all the others around it. A terrace house that Draco
felt could once have been appealing but had fallen into disrepair.

Moody poked him in the back and Draco started forward up a small number of stairs towards
the front door. There, on the peeling black façade was a silver door knocker shaped like a
serpent. He knew he wasn’t being taken to another Muggle home, but the presence of the
serpent seemed an odd addition for both the Ministry and Dumbledore, whichever one had
done the actual kidnapping. At this stage he was leaning towards Dumbledore but still the
Serpent was out of place. Had it not been so tarnished and worn, it would have fit the manor.
He wondered in a not so serious way if he had been brought to a pure-blood’s house by
mistake. Lupin used his wand to tap the door and Draco heard the scraping of several heavy
locks, who ever lived here did not want unexpected visitors. Inside was pitch dark and the
aroma of rot and mould met them.
“Get in quick, Harry,” Lupin whispered. “But don’t go far inside and don’t touch anything.”
Draco had no intention of touching anything. Not when he still had no understanding of
where he was. Even if he hadn’t been repulsed by the smell, he had learned the hard way that
unknown magic had consequences.

He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the darkness around him. The house was either very old
or had been neglected for a long time, or both. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and every
surface including the once ornate wallpaper was covered in a layer of grime and dust. His
eyes had landed on a chandelier when he felt a sudden hot, trickling sensation roll down his
spine. Moody had lifted his Disillusionment charm which he had forgotten about. It felt
strange to be visible here, in Potter’s body, like his one, last protection had left him, and he
was now suddenly responsible again for all the weight Potter carried with these people.
Moody lit several antique oil-lamps and Draco could see that despite being filthy like
everything else, they were exquisitely made. He was sure that someone wealthy had once
lived here. The lamps cast light on more furniture that was serpent shaped adding weight to
his theory. Not that all Slytherins were wealthy. Draco knew there were some who were
ashamed of their family’s situation but most people in the wizarding world who held the
same social standing as he did were associated in some way with Slytherin.

A woman he recognised as Weasley’s mother informed him he was not allowed to be a part
of “the meeting,” for something called “the Order,” (which Draco was thankful for as it
meant he would not be subjected to even more adoration from Potter’s fan club), and insisted
he go upstairs to meet Ron and Hermione. He took his time on the stairs, putting his full
weight into each step and fighting the urge to turn around, run back out into the square and
escape on Potter’s Firebolt. He had fooled the Muggles and managed to answer Lupin’s
security question from lucky timing, but this was Weasley and Granger. They spent more
time with Potter than anyone else. Knew his every thought and emotion. Keepers of all his
secrets. The closest thing to family an orphan like Potter could ever know. There was no way
Draco was going to convince them he was the third member of their exclusive party, but he
also knew he didn’t have a choice. Maybe Potter would get his wish for them to know, and it
wouldn’t end up with him being held for Father’s ransom. Attempting to add even more time
on to the journey, he took an internal inventory of the house’s wares. He spotted a disgusting
umbrella stand that appeared to be a troll’s leg, whether real or decorative he couldn’t say.
There were countless other magical artifacts but the thing that caught him off guard was the
shrunken heads of decapitated house elves that lined the staircase. His family had owned
many house elves, and he could not say he had ever cared for them or grieved their loss when
they died but fucking decapitation? That was dark even for the Malfoys.

When he reached the door at the end of the Weasley woman’s instructions, he inhaled
determinedly and pushed it open, not allowing himself the opportunity to second guess.
Taking his first step inside the small room he was thrown off balance by what appeared to be
Granger jumping on him. He fought the desire to push her away or curse her. At least if he
had to be touched by a Mudblood he was wearing Potter’s ridiculous clothing when it
happened. She clung to him and squeezed as though if she let go, he might suddenly
dematerialise in front of her.
“How are you? Are you all right? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have, I know our
letters were useless — but we couldn’t tell you anything, Dumbledore made us swear we
wouldn’t, oh, we’ve got so much to tell you, and you’ve got to tell us — the dementors!
When we heard — and that Ministry hearing — it’s just outrageous, I’ve looked it all up,
they can’t expel you, they just can’t, there’s provision in the Decree for the Restriction of
Underage Sorcery for the use of magic in life-threatening situations —” Draco caught barely
half of what came tumbling out of her mad rush, the only thing he really cared about being
that once again Dumbledore had made a deliberate call to isolate Potter. He would have to try
and decipher why when he was free from the onslaught of Granger’s misplaced affection. He
suppressed a smirk as he imagined what her reaction would be to finding out she was
hugging Draco and not Potter.

“Let him breathe, Hermione,” came Weasley, who sounded both embarrassed by Granger’s
behaviour and ecstatic at Potter’s arrival. She let Draco go and stepped back to appraise him.
Draco, uncomfortable and unsure how Potter would greet them, settled on, “hello.”
Granger’s expression fell and Weasley looked at the floor shuffling his feet uncomfortably.
“Oh, you are mad at us aren’t you Harry, we are so sorry. We really wanted to tell you.”
“Yes, I can imagine the two of you had plenty of discussions around how best to tell P- me
while you were having a romantic summer together,” he rolled his eyes. He didn’t care that
they hadn’t explained things to Potter, but he did find their display disingenuous, which irked
him considering how high and mighty they had always been surrounding his own behaviour.
“Harry!” Granger practically screamed.
“Its…come on mate…you know…nothing like that,” Weasley sputtered out as though
someone had cast an Engorgement Charm on his tongue, and he was having trouble
breathing.
“What’s “the Order”?” he questioned, deciding to change tact, realising Potter would
probably not be this hostile towards them and he truly didn’t care that they weren’t keeping
Potter in the loop. Granger was still flushed, and her neck bore bright red splotches as she
looked uncomfortably towards Weasley. Weasley looked grateful for the change of topic and
snatched the opportunity to discuss something else.
“It’s a secret society.”
“Yes, Dumbledore’s in charge, he founded it. It’s the people who fought against You-Know-
Who last time,” Granger chimed in after regaining her composure.

Draco considered this and a small breathy laugh escaped his lips, neither Granger nor
Weasley said anything about it though as they continued to eye him warily. They really did
look terrified. Maybe Potter was prone to aggressive outbursts after all. Unsure how to feel,
Draco processed the words, “secret society.” In some ways, he was in an even more
precarious situation than he had been at the Muggles. If he was discovered here, he didn’t
want to think of what they might do to him, but on the other hand they were unwittingly
handing him unfettered access to their resistance. He would be able to provide Father, the
Dark Lord even, with more valuable information than anyone else could dream to discover.
He would be rewarded surely, and more than that, Father might finally respect him. He had to
approach this with caution. If he asked too many questions or asked something Potter already
knew, then they would begin to suspect him. He would have to take his time. Wait for
opportunities to present themselves.
““We’re not in the Order,” Weasley filled the silence. “Mum won’t let us near the meetings,
she says we’re too young.” Maybe Dumbledore’s unwillingness to share extended to all the
underage people in this house and not just Potter, he mused. It had somehow felt personal
though. Again, he had to remind himself he wasn’t actually Potter and therefore shouldn’t
care how Dumbledore treated him.
“Who’s in it then?” he replied.
“Quite a few people, we’ve met about twenty of them, but we think there are more.”
Twenty? That’s rather pathetic, he thought. He didn’t know how many followers the Dark
Lord had (he doubted even Father knew) but he was quite sure it was far more than twenty.

“So, you don’t know what’s going on then?” Draco asked trying and failing to hide his
dejection. Some spy he would turn out to be if he couldn’t tap into any useful information.
“No, we didn’t say that,” Weasley said with a gleaming smile. He seemed so thrilled to be
able to provide Potter with something that would make him happy that again Draco wondered
about Potter’s apparently disturbing treatment of his friends.
“Fred and George have invented Extendable Ears, see, they’re really useful.”
He pulled a disgusting flesh coloured string from his pocket and thrust it towards Draco.
“Only we’ve had to stop using them lately because Mum found out and went berserk.”
After this assessment of Weasley's mother's anger, the three of them turned as they heard
whispered voices from the landing outside. Weasley opened the door and peered out to find
his sister and his twin brothers who had always sort of creeped Draco out having a
discussion.
“It’s no go with the Extendable Ears, she’s gone and put an Imperturbable Charm on the
kitchen door.”
“How d’you know?”
“Tonks told me how to find out. You just chuck stuff at the door and if it can’t make contact
the door’s been Imperturbed. I’ve been flicking Dungbombs at it from the top of the stairs
and they just soar away from it, so there’s no way the Extendable Ears will be able to get
under the gap.”
“Shame. I really fancied finding out what old Snape’s been up to.”
Draco’s heart leapt. Snape was here? If he could find an excuse to have a second alone with
him, maybe he could explain what had happened. He was sure Snape would be less likely to
run to the Dark Lord than Father was. Then again, he was here. Maybe Father’s friendship
and his blatant favouritism of all things pure-blood and Slytherin hadn’t been enough to pull
him back to the Dark Lord when his Dark Mark burned. He was alive though and Draco was
certain he wouldn’t be if he had defected. He must be here on the Dark Lord’s orders. Maybe
Draco wouldn’t be as useful a spy as he had hoped.

He decided it was safe to tell Snape and he found comfort knowing this ordeal would soon be
over. He turned back to the conversation and realised they had moved on to discussing
various members of the Order. He recognised some names, but none stood out as important
until Weasley turned to face Draco and said, “Whatever you do, don’t mention Percy in front
of Mum and Dad,” Draco wasn’t planning on doing any such thing, least of all because he
had no clue who Percy was. He knew Weasley had more siblings than a rabbit would and
assumed the priggish one he often referred to as “Peter” must be Percy.
“He went completely berserk. He said — well, he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he’s
been having to struggle against Dad’s lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and
that Dad’s got no ambition and that’s why we’ve always been — you know — not had a lot
of money.”
Secretly Draco felt that this Percy spoke a lot of sense, but he kept this opinion to himself and
tried to paste an expression of outrage on Potter’s face.
The sound of chairs scraping and doors opening below them spurned them into action, they
moved quickly back into Weasley’s room and attempted to appear as though they had been
there the entire time. The Weasley woman appeared at the door and informed them that they
could come down to eat. If they had raised her suspicions, Draco felt she hid it rather well.
She descended the stairs with them closely in tow, as though she didn’t trust them to have
unrestricted access to the house. He was unsure whether it was them or the house she
mistrusted. They had just reached the ground floor when a great crash sounded. Tonks had
knocked over the horrific troll’s leg. That however was nothing compared to the sinister
wailing and screeching that erupted as an old curtain flew open to reveal an enormous
portrait. The woman who was the subject of the painting looked deranged and she was
screaming, “Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks,
begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —” Weasley’s mother
attempted to close the curtains to no avail and Draco watched, half stunned as an attractive
man with long hair and tattoos helped Lupin force it shut. He turned and laughed, out of
breath and facing him, Draco noted just how much he had changed from his wanted posters.
He definitely hadn’t felt the twitch in his cock when he had looked at them two years ago.
“Hello, Harry. I see you’ve met my mother.”
 Chapter 6

Draco lay awake staring at the ceiling, the growing frustration at escaping the Muggles and
still ending up in a smaller, less comfortable bed, only adding to his insomnia. Weasley was
snoring loudly in the bed next to his, spread eagle, the covers half twisted around his ankles,
half falling off the bed. For the amount of people currently living in it, the house was
unnaturally quiet. Potter didn’t appear to own a watch and so it was impossible for him to tell
the time, but he had been looking for patterns in the decorative tiles on the ceiling for what
felt like hours. He needed to speak to Potter and had almost convinced himself that the plan
he had been formulating since he got here could work. He just needed to be sure everyone
was asleep before attempting it.

That evening, he had endured the company of not one but seven wretched Weasleys. Not to
mention Granger and a host of other unrefined people whose blood status was no doubt
questionable at best. He hadn’t been allowed any opportunity to be alone, Weasley’s mother
proving herself to be a more effective jailor than the Dementors. He wanted to talk to Potter
but more than anything he wanted a second alone to breathe. Number twelve Grimmauld
Place was the single most chaotic place Draco had ever set foot in and he had lived at
Hogwarts for the better part of four years. At any given time there was at least five
conversations happening and each person spoke over one another while the other members of
the table pretended this was perfectly normal. The Weasley woman screamed at every
perceived infraction her sons committed and the portrait of Sirius’ mother wailed endlessly.
Most disturbing of all, Tonks seemed to feel that impressions of barn yard animals were the
perfect dining accompaniment. He missed the quiet oasis of the manor. It wasn’t always
warm, but people there were civilised. The uncomfortable awareness that he was painfully
homesick overwhelmed him in the midst of dinner and the dark shadowy light that cast
around the claustrophobic basement kitchen made Draco feel as though there was something
waiting to attack him in every corner. He struggled to keep his breathing from becoming
erratic as the sense that he was being buried underground encompassed him.

He was about to excuse himself and run back up towards ground level, when Sirius addressed
him.
“You know, I’m surprised at you. I thought the first thing you would do when you got here
would be to start asking questions about Voldemort,” he said with a grin on his face that did
not match the topic of conversation. Draco simultaneously cursed himself for not behaving
enough like Potter (of course he would be incessantly snooping for information), and tried to
hide his nausea at hearing Sirius say the Dark Lord’s name with the same reckless ease that
Potter did.
“I guess I’m just tired,” he muttered with a small shrug. Sirius surveyed his face but didn’t
say anything and Draco knew he had said the wrong thing.
“And quite right too,” the Weasley woman interrupted. “Harry has had a long journey, I’m
sure he’s exhausted. Bed time for all of you I think.”
Shit. The conversation was getting away from him. Not just his opportunity to fool Potter’s
loved ones but also, his chance to find out valuable information to pass on to Father appeared
to be slipping away too.
“Well tired, and I already asked them,” he inclined his head towards Weasley and Granger.
“They said we weren’t allowed to know. Something about not being in the Order.”
“Quite right. You’re too young!”
Weasley’s mother was beginning to grate on Draco yet somehow, he kept accidentally
winning her approval.
“Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?” Sirius
countered. “Harry’s been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He’s got the right to
know what’s been happen —” Before he could finish this sentence, the room exploded into a
cacophony of voices. A barrage of complaints had escaped from the Weasley children's
mouths, all of them expressing frustration that they were not being afforded the same
privileges as Potter. Draco felt it was ridiculous that they viewed themselves on the same
level as Potter in all of this but he refrained from telling them so.
“It’s not my fault you haven’t been told what the Order’s doing.” Sirius started with a
strained but deliberate calmness. “That’s your parents’ decision. Harry, on the other hand —”
“It’s not down to you to decide what’s good for Harry!”
Draco flicked his gaze between the Weasley woman and Sirius who were now both standing
and staring each other down with such intensity the clamorous room fell instantly silent
watching them argue, their voices steadily rising. Draco was stunned by how much parental
affection both of them seemed to feel for Potter on either side of their battle when it
culminated in Sirius muttering mutinously, “He’s not your son.”
“He’s as good as! Who else has he got?”
“He’s got me!”
“Yes, the thing is, it’s been rather difficult for you to look after him while you’ve been locked
up in Azkaban, hasn’t it?”
Even Draco recognised that things had devolved out of hand as Lupin chose this moment to
intervene.
“Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,” he said, before
turning his head in Sirius’ direction and saying, “Sirius, sit down.”
Sirius sat without argument and Draco wondered at the way his temper had so quickly
deflated at Lupin’s command.
“I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this,” Lupin continued. “He’s old enough to
decide for himself.”

Draco knew Potter would side with Sirius, but he thought about how Molly Weasley had just
referred to herself as his mother and he wondered whether this would have swayed him.
Struggling with how to proceed, the air thick with tension, he inhaled slowly, hoping the right
words would eventually come to him.
“I understand your concern Mrs. Weasley, but I have questions that I need answers to.”
Her face fell and Draco didn’t need to hear the crack in her voice, as she instructed the rest of
her children and Hermione to leave the room, to know he had disappointed her. He felt an
uncomfortable tug in his gut thinking that he may have just damaged the only parental
relationship Potter had. Another argument broke out, in which Weasley’s father attempted to
be rational with his wife, and in the end the only person who was forced to leave the room
was Weasley’s younger sister. Draco felt a strange surge of empathy for her. He knew what it
was like to be the only uninformed one and as he heard her thundering up the stairs, he made
a decision that the next time he saw her, he would personally tell her everything.
“Okay, Harry . . . what do you want to know?”
What did he want to know. That was a good question. He was sure Potter would have a
hundred questions at the ready, most of them idiotic and easily worked out with common
sense, but Draco wasn’t sure. What would be the most useful information for the Dark Lord?
“What exactly is the Order?”
“The Order of the Phoenix is a kind of rebellion. A group of witches and wizards who are
trying to stop the Death Eaters from gaining anymore traction. It began when Voldemort first
took power. Dumbledore founded it.”
Draco thought about Sirius’ words. He knew the Death Eaters had killed many people the
first time but he wondered if the longevity of this group meant there really was more than the
20 people Weasley had suggested.
“And what are the Order doing to try and stop Yo- Voldemort?” The word tasted like acid on
his tongue. He gagged and fear gripped him in a way that he thought he might actually vomit
the Dark Lord’s name back up.
“Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who
really has returned, to put them on their guard. It’s proving tricky, though.” This time it was
not Sirius who had spoken, it was Weasley’s brother with the long hair. He thought back to
the dementor attack and the prophet articles.
“Because of the ministry?”
“Exactly,” said Lupin. “Fudge is frightened of Dumbledore. He thinks Dumbledore wants to
be Minister of Magic.”
“Fudge is an idiot,” Draco replied, mimicking his statement to Theo on the train. Sirius
smirked appreciatively.

“But telling people not to join the Death Eaters can’t be all you are doing?” Not a very
impressive rebellion he thought to himself. He imagined returning home and saying, “Father,
great news! I have discovered Dumbledore is trying to stop people joining the cause.” Father
would whack him with his cane for his idiocy.
Sirius spoke again, “no, not exactly. We have other avenues of resistance we are exploring.”
Lupin shot Sirius a furtive glance but did not tell him to stop.
“What does that resistance look like?”
“Followers is only one thing he’s interested in, he’s got other plans too, plans he can put into
operation very quietly indeed, and he’s concentrating on them at the moment.”
Draco wracked his brain trying to think of what the Dark Lord could need. If he could find
out what the Order knew, he could help Father try to prevent them from getting in the Dark
Lord’s way.
“Like a weapon?”
“That’s enough,” Weasley’s mother bellowed. He had forgotten she was even in the room.
She looked as though she was seconds away from exploding. “I want you in bed, now. All of
you!”

He climbed out of bed and left the room, making sure not to wake Weasley as he did. The
cloak was already on, he wasn’t taking any chances with Sirius’ mother. It was much harder
navigating the unfamiliar house in the darkness and once or twice he had to stop abruptly to
avoid crashing into some item of long neglected décor. It was a shame really, that so many
fine wizarding antiques had been allowed to fall into a state of disrepair. It had taken all of his
self-restraint not to demand the vagrant Mundungus return the silverware he was less than
discretely pocketing during dinner. Sirius may not care what happens to his family’s
possessions, but that simply meant that with Aunt Bella in Azkaban, these things were
rightfully Mother’s (and by extension, his). Heritage meant something to Draco.

He paused on the ground floor landing, outside what appeared to be a drawing room. The
door was slightly ajar and was emitting a faint glow from a fireplace.
“He’s not acting like himself. He’s different.” It was Sirius’ voice floating out to greet him,
not suspicious, merely confused and frustrated as though it were an insult that he could not
pinpoint what exactly was off. Draco’s heart began to beat a little faster. He was going to
have to try harder to be like Potter.
“Sirius,” Lupin’s voice sighed.
“Don’t look at me like that Remus. I know he’s not James but he’s just not…not himself.”
“He’s been through a major ordeal. The tournament, Cedric’s death, everything that happened
in the graveyard. Not to mention what just happened with the dementors. I’d be more
concerned if he was himself,” Lupin replied almost nonchalantly, as though he regularly
brought Sirius back from the brink of some ledge.
“I guess you’re right. I’m just worried about him.”
“We all are.”
Sirius made a coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like a scoff. Lupin laughed softly.
“You shouldn’t have lost your temper you know. She meant well.”
“I’m tired of everyone reminding me how “absent” I’ve been. As if I don’t already know. Do
they think I chose that!”
“No one honestly believes that Sirius. Emotions were just high. You know how Harry feels
about you, there’s no need to compete.”
There was silence for a few seconds, before Lupin spoke again, “now will you please come to
bed with me so I can attempt to make you feel better.”
Draco let these words sink in as he heard Sirius bark a laugh in reply.

He had barely a few seconds warning before he heard them approach the door. He moved
backwards to avoid them walking into him and his foot caught on the trailing cloak, pulling it
backwards off of him, leaving him exposed just as Sirius pushed the door open, one of his
hands in Lupin’s, his head turned backwards breaking away from a kiss. Their eyes locked
and Lupin said, “Harry,” at the same moment Draco stammered out, “I’m sorry I wasn’t
trying to…”
“What are you doing up?” Lupin asked, but his voice lacked any sternness and instead
sounded amused.
“I was just heading to the kitchen. I wanted a glass of water.”
Sirius looked from his face down to the cloak on the floor. Draco knew what he was thinking.
“I…um, I just needed to be alone. It’s been a long day.” He tried to look as earnest as
possible and copy one of Potter’s infuriating facial expressions he used whenever he tried to
weasel his way out of trouble. It appeared to work.
“Next time just send Kreacher.”
“Kreacher?”
“He’s the disgusting little house elf you may have seen skulking around.” Maybe Sirius
hadn’t lost all of his Black family traits after all.
“On second thought, he’d probably try to poison it.”
“Listen Harry,” Lupin interrupted, scowling in Sirius’ direction. “About this,” he gestured
down to where their hands were still intertwined, “we didn’t want…”
“It’s ok!” Draco cut him off hoping he wasn’t about to be pulled into some emotional
confession, “honestly,” he continued at the look on Lupin’s face, “I’m happy for you.”
“We were planning on telling you. This uh, isn’t how we would have wanted you to find out,”
Sirius added.
“Really, it’s ok.” They shared a glance as though they couldn’t believe what they were
hearing. Honestly, how did Potter treat these people when Draco wasn’t around?
After a few uncomfortable seconds of silence, Lupin said, “You’d better get your water and
get back to bed before Molly catches you.”
“Er, right,” was all Draco said as he picked the cloak up off the ground and headed towards
the stairs that led to the kitchen. Sirius and Lupin moved upstairs, presumably to Sirius’
bedroom, as they did, Draco heard Lupin whisper, “were you expecting that?”
“No, he was too calm. Right?”
“Maybe he has more of Lily’s traits than we give him credit for.”

Now that Draco knew there was a fireplace in the drawing room, he would be able to avoid
coming back to the suffocating air of the kitchen, outside of mealtimes. He knelt next to the
grate and felt cautiously around the mantle looking for the one thing he couldn’t be sure
would be there. The one thing he needed to pull this off. Surely every wizarding home had
some, even if it had been sitting in an abandoned house for years, it should still work. His
hand found the small bag he was looking for and he grabbed a fistful of the fine powder and
threw it into the dying fire, which sparked green, the heat washing over his face. He held his
breath and without leaving himself room to hesitate said clearly, “Right Wing bedroom,
Malfoy Manor,” before plunging his face into the flames. It was a strange, unpleasant feeling,
one that he had never enjoyed, but it was over quickly and he found himself staring in to his
own bedroom. The surge of homesickness he felt earlier amplified and he wanted nothing
more than to Floo his whole body there and refuse to leave. His room was pristine, which
was unexpected. Either Potter wasn’t as nosey as he had been or he had taken great care with
Draco’s possessions, both of which surprised him. Potter was asleep in his bed. It was the
most surreal experience seeing his own body curled up outside of his control. Like he had
moved outside of himself and was hovering above. He looked peaceful. Draco couldn’t
remember ever seeing Potter carry himself without any tension. It almost made him regret
waking him. Almost.
“Potter! Wake up,” he hissed into the darkness praying he wouldn’t have to get any louder,
but Potter didn’t stir.
“Potter!” He tried slightly louder this time and Potter awoke with a start, sitting up, confusion
clear on his face. He snatched Draco’s wand from beside him and waved it around the room
looking for the source of the disturbance.
“Potter it’s me, over here.” He got out of bed and half ran over to the fireplace and knelt, so
they were almost level.
“What are you doing! Where are you? Wait, did you connect my aunt and uncle’s fireplace to
be able to Floo? I thought we agreed no more magic!”
“Salazar, you really are brainless. Only the ministry can do that. What do you think I did?
Illegally apparated into Fudge’s office and demanded a direct line to Malfoy Manor?”
“Oh, right.” Potter’s face began to show slight traces of irritation. “You woke me up in the
middle of the night with your - my face in the fireplace with no warning. What was I
supposed to think when I’m half asleep.”
“You’re supposed to use some common sense although I forget you weren’t blessed with that
particular trait.” Potter opened his mouth to argue but Draco cut him off. “Look, I’m not sure
how much time I have so you need to listen. I can’t tell you where I am…no! just listen,”
Potter had started to protest again. “There’s no getting around it. I have sent Hedwig to the
manor with a letter. Read the piece of paper and then we can talk.”
“Malfoy this is insane. You realise you sound insane right?”
“Just read the letter Potter. I’ll Floo in at the same time tomorrow.” He left Potter looking
incredulous as he pulled his head out from the fire and made his way back to his new
bedroom before Weasley’s mother sensed his freedom.
 Chapter 7

If he thought that living in the secret headquarters of Dumbledore’s underground resistance

might be thrilling, he was assuaged of that notion quickly. After the first night, Draco settled
into a dull domestic routine of cleaning, eating, spying on meetings (to little avail), sneaking
out of bed to Floo call Potter and then doing it all again the following day. He left his small
bed at the same time on the second night and stole downstairs, this time using the fireplace in
the drawing room (after ensuring neither Sirius nor Lupin were lingering) rather than forcing
himself to descend the kitchen stairs. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to kneel
on the stone floor but in reality, the kitchen’s power over his anxiety had not eased with
another day at Grimmauld place. He had a bad feeling whenever he was in there and he felt
that he could understand the air of resentment Sirius felt towards his childhood home when
he was. Potter was awake and waiting this time.

“What the hell is the Order of the Phoenix? What is this?” He waved the parchment Draco
had sent wildly in front of Draco’s suspended face.
“If I were you, I would burn that,” Draco drawled.
“What?” Potter spluttered. “Malfoy, I swear to Merlin, if you don’t tell me what’s going on
right now, I will curse you.” Draco enjoyed seeing Potter raving like a madman. He enjoyed
having this power over him. Enjoyed knowing something that Potter did not.
“Draco!” Potter’s impatience had driven him to use Draco’s first name, and it caught him off
guard. It was his own voice of course but it felt different. He imagined it said in Potter’s
voice and the sound bounced around the inside of his head.
“Secret society,” he mumbled, “your lot. The house is under a Fidelius charm, that’s why I
couldn’t…”
“A Fidelius charm? Like my…”
“Your parents,” Draco finished for him. Potter looked at him with a guarded expression like
talking about his parents with Draco was off limits and he couldn’t believe he had been the
one to raise the topic in the first place.

“Dumbledore wrote the note, he’s secret keeper only he could tell you.”
“I know Dumbledore’s handwriting,” Potter muttered, and Draco could see he was sulking.
Of course Potter knew the headmaster’s handwriting well and of course he was unhappy
about not being the one in charge of the current situation.
“So…” Potter continued, the edge of annoyance still colouring his voice, “Dumbledore has a
secret resistance, and no one thought to mention it to me? No one felt like I might like some
information. I’m out here getting attacked by Dementors and no one felt like it might be good
to let me in on the secret.
“I think you’ll find I was the one attacked by dementors,” Draco drawled.
“Oh, shut up Malfoy, you know what I meant.”
“Yes, I know what you meant but you sounded like a prat. You might be “the boy who lived”
Potter but other people don’t have a habit of living when the Dark Lord is involved. How did
you expect them to let you in on the secret without risking the operation’s safety? If you
really think the usual methods of communication are safe than you are dimmer than I ever
thought.” Potter looked pained and Draco could tell that he understood, and it hurt him to
admit that Draco could be right. He wouldn’t admit it though.
“Who else is there?”
“Permanently or passing by?”
“Both.”
“Well, Weasley and the M-. Weasley and Granger,” Draco course corrected at the look on
Potter’s face. He still couldn’t get used to seeing his own facial expressions staring back at
him.
“And Weasley’s family, except that Peter one, Sirius Black, the fact that you’ve known where
he’s been this whole time is so typical, Lupin occasionally, some of the professors like
McGonagall and Snape…”
“Snape?!” Potter sounded outraged.
“I agree actually, I could be wrong since I haven’t actually spoken to Father since…. Well
anyway I’m sure he’s one of us.”
“Dumbledore has never been able to see what a snake he is.”
“Then some ministry people and some Aurors. Pretty poor showing really but Weasley thinks
there are more.”
“Has…has any of them noticed that…that it’s not me?”
“It has been ludicrously easy to fool your loved ones, Potter. Honestly most of them appear
scared of what unhinged reactions you might have to certain pieces of news. It’s rather
concerning.” He watched Potter’s brow furrow, and he took pity on him. “Sirius knows. He
keeps saying you’re not yourself. The rest all think you are traumatised. It’s been easier to
keep my distance.” This appeared to placate Potter and Draco felt a weird tug in his chest at
his own unprovoked act of kindness.

“So, what have you found out?”

“Nothing. We aren’t allowed anywhere near the Order business. Weasley’s mother has us
slaving away like house elves.” This seemed to cheer Potter up and a huge grin spread over
his face.
“Poor Draco having to do work for the first time in his life.”
Potter was clearly taunting him and Draco wanted to respond by telling him he knew nothing
about his life, but this was the second time Potter had used his first name, and it was
unnerving him. This wasn’t what they did. He went for distraction instead.
“Sirius did let slip that they think the Dark Lord is after some sort of powerful weapon.”
Draco thought hearing Potter speak his name was surreal. It was nothing to see Potter’s
familiar look of blazing determination slip over his own facial features. He had offered Potter
a bone to latch onto and he had taken it.
“A weapon? What sort of weapon would Voldemort even need?” Draco flinched at the Dark
Lord’s name. “Do you know what it could be? Has your dad said?”
“No, I am just as confused as you are.”
“Would you even tell me if you did?”
“No, probably not. Would you?”
“No. Probably not.”

The house had been allowed to fall into even greater disrepair than Draco had guessed, and it
seemed to be fighting back at their every attempt to make it habitable again. He attempted to
spend as little time as possible with the others, trying purposefully to isolate Potter from
Granger and Weasley so they couldn’t find any anomalies in his behaviour to comment on,
but Weasley’s mother was like a bloodhound, sniffing him out no matter where he hid in the
house. He settled instead on acting surly and keeping up the pretence that he was harbouring
some lingering resentment at them for keeping him in the dark. He caught them whispering to
themselves several times and then breaking away when he made eye contact. Instead, he
spent most of the time he wasn’t alone with Sirius and the Weasley girl who, to his horror, he
found wasn’t actually bad company. He had filled her in, as intended, on what had been
discussed at the meeting and she had repaid him by following him around with more gusto
than her mother, but she wasn’t as high and mighty as the rest of them, and she made him
laugh.

Her place as his least hated member of her blood line was cemented a few days after his
arrival when they were polishing silverware in mindless silence and she broke the stillness to
announce, “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t expecting you to take the Sirius thing so well.”
“What Sirius thing?” She put the ornate spoon she was holding down and raised an eyebrow
at him. “Lupin?”
Draco rolled his eyes, “why would I care about that? It’s not as though the concept is new to
me. I’m g-” he was about to say, “I’m gay, I can hardly blame others for the same thing,” but
he realised the mistake he made when he saw the shock spread across her face. Fuck. He had
to stop forgetting he wasn’t Potter, and she wasn’t Pansy.
“Pass me that fork,” he muttered quietly after a few beats of uncomfortable silence.
“Harry, I- I didn’t know. What I meant to say was I was surprised that you handled being the
last one to know again so well.” She gave him the fork. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I didn’t,” he replied raising his chin in a sort of challenge.
“Yeah well, thank you anyway,” she replied with a small smile.

He was saved the awkwardness of trying to explain that his slip wasn’t some grand gesture of
affection from Potter by the interruption of Mrs. Weasley screaming at Mundungus from the
floor below. He lifted his head from the corner he and Ginny were hiding in to look towards
the others who appeared to find the woman’s ire humorous. Draco simply found it tiresome
as it set off another fresh wave of screeching from Sirius’ mother. He watched as one of the
twins (the few days he had spent with them had not made him any more adept at telling them
apart) made to close the door and a very frail looking house elf slipped through the gap
before he could.
“Hello Kreacher,” the twin said slyly.
The elf was different than Draco expected. Sirius spoke as if he was a dangerous killer,
poised to strike at any moment. The elf in front of him was so weak Draco was sure
attempting to clean this large house would ensure his death. The rags the creature wore were
stained and torn. Draco’s stomach did an uncomfortable flip at the sight. The elves at the
manor were not treated well but they were never unsightly.
“This is Harry, Kreacher. Harry Potter,” he heard Granger say.
To his left, Ginny muttered close to his ear, “I can’t believe you’ve managed to avoid him for
days,” just as Kreacher began mumbling erratically, “the Mudblood is talking to Kreacher as
though she is his friend. If Kreacher’s mistress saw him in such company, oh what would she
say.” Both Weasley and his sister stiffened as though they were forcibly holding themselves
back, furious shouts of, “don’t call her a Mudblood!” escaping both in synchronisation. The
realisation that the frown he wore on Potter’s face wasn’t forced hit him without warning.
Even he could see that Granger was only trying to be kind to the beast. It wasn’t as though
his feelings towards Granger had suddenly changed. He still thought she was the second most
irritating person he had ever met. He still couldn’t stand how smug and controlling she was,
and her blood status was less than desirable, but she really hadn’t done anything wrong to
Kreacher. Granger was also different around these people. She tried less. She wasn’t
constantly on her guard looking for ways to be the best. It was a vast improvement in Draco’s
eyes. Weasley was the same disgusting Weasley he always was but at least they agreed on the
fact that Kreacher was out of line.

Draco startled at the sound of Sirius’ voice in the doorway and saw Kreacher give him a
sarcastic bow. They traded insults and Draco once again felt an indignant swell of outrage at
their hypocrisy. How could Potter act so high and mighty about the Malfoy’s treatment of
Dobby when this was how his own godfather treated his elf in front of him.
“…Mistress would never forgive Kreacher if the tapestry was thrown out, seven centuries it's
been in the family, Kreacher must save it, Kreacher will not let Master and the blood traitors,
and the brats destroy it –”
“I thought it might be that. She'll have put another Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of
it, I don't doubt, but if I can get rid of it I certainly will. Now go away, Kreacher.”
Granger chastised Sirius for his treatment of the elf but Draco was no longer listening. His
eyes were drawn to the tapestry in the corner of the room. It was threadbare but embroidered
with gold and it read, “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black Toujours pur"
Always pure.
The tapestry was woven with the names of individual members of the Black family from
centuries past.
“I used to be there,” Draco hadn’t realised that he had gotten so close to the tapestry and
hadn’t felt Sirius behind him. He wasn’t surprised that the spot that Sirius pointed at was now
burned away in a neat circle. Sirius was everything the Blacks were not. Draco understood
that the path Sirius’ actions had led him down had only one destination. Exile.

“My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home - Kreacher's quite fond of
muttering the story under his breath. I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their
pure-blood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal,” being a Black
did make you royal, at least in Draco’s world, “my idiot brother, soft enough to believe
them… that's him.”
Sirius pointed at the name beside the burn. Regulus Black. Regulus had been a Death Eater
and had died before Draco was born. He was Mother’s favourite cousin.
“From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being
asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand in your resignation to Voldemort.
It's a lifetime of service or death.”
Mother rarely spoke about Regulus and now Draco knew why. If he really was a traitor,
mentioning him in front of Father would not go well. His throat constricted and he struggled
to pull in air. Very soon he would be expected to make a decision similar to the one Regulus
made. There was no getting around it. What would happen to him if he couldn’t stomach it, if
he too wanted to resign. Would Mother no longer be allowed to speak his name too. Father’s
secret shame.
His eyes followed a thin thread of gold to a neat, uniform font that listed ‘Narcissa Black’.
Without thought he reached out and touched his mother’s name before realising where he was
and letting his hand fall.
“Andromeda was my favourite cousin, she’s not on here either. Andromeda's sisters,” Sirius
pointed at Mother and Aunt Bella’s names, “are still here because they made lovely,
respectable pure-blood marriages, but she married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so –”
Tonks. The flash of recognition he felt back at the Dursleys when he was introduced to Tonks
suddenly made sense. Mother’s sister.
After a small silence, Sirius muttered, “'I don't like being back here.”
Draco didn’t need him to explain.

He stared down at his hands; they shook relentlessly, and he curled them into a tight ball
which he held for a few seconds before releasing and doing the same thing again. He was
sitting in the cupboard that Weasley’s father called an office and the same clawing feeling of
claustrophobia that he experienced in the kitchen at Grimmauld place was overwhelming
him. He didn’t have it in him to criticise the horrifically unorganised room or note the smell
of mildew, which he put down to his nerves and not some budding seed of affection for the
Weasel’s family. Walking into a trial knowing that Father had no input in the outcome
terrified him. He alone was responsible for his fate (and Potter’s) and he couldn’t use his
money or status to his advantage. A surge of inadequacy flooded through him. Mr Weasley
was rummaging through a stack of parchment and chatting mindlessly about the different
ways wizards bait Muggles. He didn’t seem to expect Draco to respond which helped enable
the intrusive thoughts he was currently experiencing.
This wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t Potter, he couldn’t convince people that he was a hero.
His heart almost beat out of his chest when the wizard at the visitor’s entrance inspected
Potter’s wand, sure that it would somehow give him away. That had been bad enough and he
hadn’t even been questioned. At least Amelia Bones was fair. That had been what Sirius and
Tonks had said at breakfast that morning. He just had to do his best Potter impression of
saviour of the needy and try and get it over with as quickly as he could. No slip ups. No
reason for them to think he isn’t who he said he is.

The door swung open, and a decrepit old wizard fell in, trying to pull in large gulps of air and
failing.
“Oh, Arthur! Thank goodness, I didn't know what to do for the best, whether to wait here for
you or not. I've just sent an owl to your home, but you've obviously missed it - an urgent
message came ten minutes ago. They've changed the time and venue - it starts at eight o'clock
now and it's down in old Courtroom Ten -”
Mr Weasley leapt out of his chair and almost screeched, “Down in old - but they told me -
Merlin's beard!” before grabbing Draco by the arm and pulling him out of the minute room,
“Quick, Harry, we should have been there five minutes ago!” As they sped frantically
through the Ministry, Draco’s mind raced. Courtroom Ten sounded like a lot more than a
disciplinary hearing. There was no way they were trying him in front of the Wizengamot,
how many fucking times had Potter broken the fucking statute of secrecy? Draco was going
to kill him. Even if they snapped Potter’s wand, Draco would find him and use one of those
‘fire legs’ Kingsley was talking about earlier.
Eventually they reached the corridor that led to the Department of Mysteries. Draco had
always been fascinated by what was hidden behind those sleek, black doors but now was
absolutely not the time. Mr Weasley took a sharp left turn, and Draco followed him so
quickly that he almost fell down the flight of stairs he was faced with, that led to a heavy iron
door.
“Go on,” Mr Weasley panted. “Get in there.”
The door opened to a large, cavernous room. It was a circular dungeon that was almost
entirely made of stone and chased out any warmth.
“You're late.” Draco almost did a double take. There was no way Potter was being questioned
by the Minister of Magic. It had to be some elaborate joke. He had just spent the last 10
minutes racing through the Ministry of Magic. His forehead was wet with sticky sweat,
Potter’s ridiculous hair sticking up at every angle, the right side of his torso felt as though
someone was stabbing him with hot knives and the first thing he’s greeted with is Fudge’s
idiotic voice telling him he’s late?
“Excuse my poor manners but you did change the time and place of a hearing that’s been
scheduled for weeks on the morning of, so I’m not actually sure I am late.”
Fudge’s face turned a blotchy purple similar to Potter’s uncle. Draco could tell he was on the
precipice of an emotional outburst and was doing all he could to hold it back.
“An owl was sent to you this morning,” he barked.
“Surely, the Ministry of Magic can account for travel time, especially when the person in
question has to use Muggle transportation,” Draco replied with an air of ease he did not feel
as he too struggled with his own building fury.
“Enough of this! Take your seat.”
There was one chair in the centre of the room. There was nothing particularly out of the
ordinary about the chair except that it looked up at a coliseum of faces all pointing in its
direction and there were chains wrapped around the arms. If this was the Ministry’s way of
scaring teenagers into not attempting underage magic, Draco could see it working.
“Very well,” said Fudge a lingering note of irritation in his tone. “The accused being present -
finally - let us begin.”
Draco scanned the room, trying to land on any familiar or friendly faces he could connect
with, before remembering that they wouldn’t recognise him anyway.

“Disciplinary hearing of the twelfth of August into offences committed under the Decree for
the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery and the International Statute of Secrecy by
Harry James Potter, resident at number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
Interrogators: Cornelius Oswald Fudge, Minister for Magic; Amelia Susan Bones, Head of
the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Dolores Jane Umbridge, Senior
Undersecretary to the Minister. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley -”
“Witness for the defence, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.” Draco had never been
so happy to hear the old fool’s voice in his entire life. The tone of the room instantly shifted.
The witches and wizards around him muttering and shuffling uncomfortably. He took great
pleasure in seeing Fudge’s face pale and his flustered mumbling, “Ah, Dumbledore. Yes. You
- er - got our - er - message that the time and -er - place of the hearing had been changed,
then?” made it even better.
“I must have missed it. However, due to a lucky mistake I arrived at the Ministry three hours
early, so no harm done.” Draco gave a very small appreciative laugh before watching
Dumbledore take out his wand and conjure himself an armchair to sit on. Salazar, who knew
Dumbledore had an actual sense of humour.

Fudge fumbled with the parchments he held, shuffling and reshuffling them attempting to
compose himself once again.
“Well, then. So. The charges. Yes. The charges against the accused are as follows. That he did
knowingly, deliberately and in full awareness of the illegality of his actions, having received
a previous written warning from the Ministry of Magic on a similar charge, produce a
Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, on the second of
August at twenty-three minutes past nine, which constitutes an offence under Paragraph C of
the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, and also under Section
13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy. You are Harry James
Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?”
“Yes.”
“You received an official warning from the Ministry for using illegal magic three years ago,
did you not?”
“Um…” Draco had no idea whether this was true or not but given his own suspicions of
Potter’s criminal record he decided it must be, “yes.”
“And yet you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?”
“I did.”
“Knowing that you are not permitted to use magic outside school while you are under the age
of seventeen? Knowing that you were in an area full of Muggles? Fully aware that you were
in close proximity to a Muggle at the time?”
Fudge was staring at Draco who did his best to remain outwardly impassive.
“Well?” Fudge called impatiently.
“Apologies, I wasn’t aware I could speak. Usually, you ask someone a question and then let
them answer. You seemed to have several questions, so I was waiting.”
Dumbledore gave him an appraising look but didn’t say anything. Draco knew he had to be
careful, he couldn’t afford to have Dumbledore suspect anything, but it was proving difficult
to stay calm in the face of Fudge’s attempted tyranny.
“Do you deny that you broke the statute of secrecy!”
“If by ‘broke the statute of secrecy’ you mean saved a Muggle’s life then no I don’t deny it.”
“What’s this rubbish?”
“My cousin and I were attacked by Dementors that night.”
Fudge gave a cruel, mocking laugh and looked around the room as if inviting the other adults
to join him in ridiculing Potter. “Ah, yes, I thought we'd be hearing something like this. He's
been thinking it through and decided Dementors would make a very nice little cover story,
very nice indeed. Muggles can't see Dementors, can they, boy? Highly convenient, highly
convenient… so it's just your word and no witnesses…”
“Exactly why would I cast a Patronus Charm if there were no Dementors?” Another quick
glance from Dumbledore but again he said nothing. “I wasn’t aware that spell had any other
uses.”
“You produced a fully-fledged Patronus?” The witch Fudge had introduced as Amelia Bones
called.
“Yes,” Draco replied.
“'A corporeal Patronus?”
“Yes. Well after a few tries, but yes.”
“Impressive, a true Patronus at his age… very impressive indeed.”
Draco shot her a small smile.
“Enough, enough! I'm sorry to interrupt what I'm sure would have been a very well-rehearsed
story –”
A cough sounded to his side and Dumbledore spoke for the first time since arriving, “We do,
in fact, have a witness to the presence of Dementors in that alleyway. Other than Dudley
Dursley I mean.”
“We haven't got time to listen to more tarradiddles, I'm afraid, Dumbledore. I want this dealt
with quickly-”
“I may be wrong, but I am sure that under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has
the right to present witnesses for his or her case? Isn't that the policy of the Department of
Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones?”
“True, quite true,” the witch responded.
“Oh, very well, very well,” snapped Fudge. “Where is this person?”
“I brought her with me.”
Her? Oh no, he didn’t. Anything but this.
Draco watched as the batty old squib and her ridiculous slippers shuffled in. How could
Dumbledore do this to him? Was he trying to give them fodder for their propaganda
campaign?
He stopped listening. His mind was occupied with visions of himself attempting to get to
Wiltshire with Muggle forms of transport. He did distinctly catch her saying the word,
“running,” and he died inside a little more.

“Very well,” Draco looked up at the sound of Fudge’s voice. “You may go.” The squib
shuffled out of the courtroom looking just as ridiculous as she did when she came in. “Not a
very convincing witness”
Arrogant prick. He was going to be expelled all because he couldn’t leave a Muggle behind.
Who was he?
“Oh, I don't know,” Amelia Bone’s voice cut through his building hysteria and a small ember
of hope sparked in him. “She certainly described the effects of a Dementor attack very
accurately. And I can't imagine why she would say they were there if they weren't.”
He was going to make sure no Slytherin ever fucked with Susan Bones if he managed to get
back to Hogwarts.
“But Dementors wandering into a Muggle suburb and just happening to come across a
wizard?” snorted Fudge. “The odds on that must be very, very long. Even Bagman wouldn't
have bet-”
“Oh, I don't think any of us believe the Dementors were there by coincidence,” Dumbledore
interrupted to Fudge’s displeasure.
The chill in his voice was palpable when he replied, “and what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I think they were ordered there.”
No. Shut up you stupid old fool. You can’t accuse the Ministry out in the open here when I
could be expelled.
“'I think we might have a record of it if someone had ordered a pair of Dementors to go
strolling through Little Whinging!”
“Not if the Dementors are taking orders from someone other than the Ministry of Magic these
days. I have already given you my views on this matter, Cornelius.”
He was an even bigger fool than Draco had realised. He actually did think it was the Dark
Lord.
“Yes, you have, and I have no reason to believe that your views are anything other than bilge,
Dumbledore. The Dementors remain in place in Azkaban and are doing everything we ask
them to.”
“Then, we must ask ourselves why somebody within the Ministry ordered a pair of
Dementors into that alleyway on the second of August.”
Draco watched as Dumbledore and Fudge continued to argue over the Ministry’s control and
the Dark Lord’s existence. Umbridge, who Draco had met before with Father responded
defensively to Dumbledore’s accusations and Draco’s heart once again sank as he saw his
chance of winning Potter a favourable outcome in the hearing slip away.
“And I haven't even started on what he gets up to at school!”
Why couldn’t he be stuck in someone else’s body. Someone who never went on any
adventures and had no prior criminal or school record to stand against him. Someone like
Longbottom. He almost burst out laughing at the thought.
“But, as the Ministry has no authority to punish Hogwarts students for misdemeanours at
school, Harry's behaviour there is not relevant to this hearing.”
“Oho! Not our business what he does at school, eh? You think so?”
Draco was at a complete loss why Dumbledore wouldn’t just shut up. He was supposed to be
here to help, and he only seemed to be antagonising Fudge more. He tuned their pathetic
power struggle out and tried to come up with something to plead Potter’s case. Anything that
would make them see reason. Nothing came and again the inadequacy took hold. Suddenly
the room was quiet which unnerved Draco more.
“Those in favour of clearing the witness of all charges?” boomed Madam Bones.
Almost all of the hands went up. Relief began to wash over Draco. He did it. Somehow, he
hadn’t fucked up. Not even Fudge’s raised hand for the opposing vote mattered now. He
stood up eager to leave and escape more scrutiny but paused when he realised Potter would
probably speak to Dumbledore. Dumbledore, however, was busy it seemed as the old man
ran out of the courtroom with more haste than Draco had ever seen. What the fuck?
 Chapter 8

He was lying on the drawing room floor, staring up at the ceiling, Potter’s (his) face
suspended in the fire next to him. His hands were resting on his stomach and his breathing
was slow and lazy.
“What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get back? Now that you’re allowed back.”
Potter didn’t reply right away. Draco flicked his eyes sideways, careful not to lift his head,
making the briefest second of eye contact before returning his gaze to the roof.
“Fly.”
“Can’t fly first Potter, feast first. Can’t fly until at least Friday.” Draco stifled a yawn.
“Well then,” Potter snipped, “fuck with your dorm. Must be something in there I can mess
up.”
“Ha. Ha. You’re hilarious.”
Potter was quiet again for another few seconds.
“It’s not as though I can just visit Hagrid, is it? Or even speak to Ron or Hermione.”
“No,” Draco replied hesitantly, “I guess it’s not.”
“How are they?”

After the trial, Granger had hugged Draco again. She had looked at him with tears in her eyes
and started to say, “oh Harry! I knew they couldn’t. We really are sorry you know!” before
grabbing him for a second rib cracking hug.
“It’s fine Hermione,” he replied hoping finally relenting would entice her to let him go, but it
had the opposite effect, and she held on tighter. Behind her, Weasley twirled his finger in a
loop next to his head and mouthed, “mental,” at him. After that, Draco split his time evenly
with them and Ginny. A few days later, he heard them whispering in Weasley’s room after he
had been sent by Mrs Weasley to find them for dinner.
“…something’s definitely going on Hermione.”
Fuck. He had been spending more time alone with them, but he thought he was getting better
at his Potter impression.
“Oh Ron, don’t be ridiculous. We are in a house full of people with no privacy, of course
there isn’t. And!” she continued as Weasley made to interrupt, “if there was something going
on with them, would it really be the worst thing?”
Draco was lost now.
“She’s my sister!”
“So?”
“He’s my best mate!”
Draco wanted to die.
“Wouldn’t you rather it was Harry than someone else?” Granger asked calmly.
“Yeah well, I suppose…still he could’ve spoke to me first.” He could tell by the sound of
Weasley’s voice that he was deflating.
“I still think they are just friends Ronald, but if not, I am happy for them. Ginny’s liked him
for ages.”
He had burst in then, pretending he had only just ascended the stairs. Hearing that Potter and
Ginny liked each other and that he had ruined that by mistakenly telling her Potter was gay
filled him with a vindictive pleasure. Now that he was talking to Potter though, he felt guilty.
He tried to push it down.
“They are the same as they always are. Insufferable.” Potter rolled his eyes as Draco
continued, “who knew I would find you least annoying of your little trio.”
“What have they been saying?”
“Salazar Potter! I’m not giving you a play by play of every conversation we’ve had since I
got here. They are good, ok?”
“It’s easy for you! You can owl your mates. I can’t exactly contact mine when I’m supposed
to be with them, can I? I spend all day here talking to no one except the house elves.”
“Oh yes, I send my friends loads of owls from the secret society I am hiding in,” he huffed
out.
He glanced Potters way again and his annoyance dwindled at the pathetic look on his face.
“You’re right though. I do have people to talk to. I’m sorry.” They lapsed into another
comfortable silence. He tried several times to work up the courage to ask Potter what he
really wanted to know. Before he could though, Potter spoke, “You’re going to have to tell
me about them you know.”
“Huh?” Draco said thickly. It was late and it was very comfortable in the drawing room.
“Your friends.”
“You’ve known my friends for over four years Potter. What else do you need to know.”
“How am I going to fool them? What are they going to expect you to act like? I assume
you’re not a dick to them like you are to everyone else?”
Draco would have rolled his eyes again, but he was getting a strain from rolling them so often
at the idiotic things Potter said. Plus, he could hear the note of teasing in Potter’s voice. He
went for honest instead.
“Crabbe and Goyle, I’m probably a dick to…maybe Blaise too. Not Pansy and Theo though.”
“Which one’s Theo again?”
“Seriously Potter? I knew you were arrogant but to not notice people’s existence is a level
even I didn’t expect.” He didn’t want to discuss Theo. Not with Potter.
“Is he the weedy one?”
Draco rose up so that he was leaning on one elbow and met Potter’s eyes.
“You have a cheek to call anyone weedy Potter.”
He felt his face flush and he hated that Potter had just drawn some sort of emotional response
from him.
“Ok…ok! I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Draco ceded and dropped back down. A realisation washed over him that Potter and Theo
were built similarly and maybe in some small recess of his brain he had a type.

“Your dad has a lot of private meetings with Fudge, did you know that?” Draco turned onto
his side, so he was facing Potter again but didn’t respond. “I knew the Ministry was corrupt
but completely ignoring Death Eater activity and taking their money is something else.”
“I saw him at your trial.” He couldn’t deny Potter’s accusation, his Father was a Death Eater,
and he did bribe the Ministry, and Potter knew it. “He called you ‘Patronus Potter.’”
“I would have expected something more creative.”
“Yeah, not his best work.”
Seeing his father’s eyes look at him with such hatred and disgust was something he had been
unprepared for. He lost all ability to think, and he had almost told him the truth. His plan to
tell Snape hadn’t been successful; he could barely get more than a few seconds with him
never mind alone, so he had almost just blurted it out to Father instead. But Fudge had been
there, and Mr Weasley, and he faltered at the last second, listening instead to Mr Weasley’s
rant about how deplorable Father was while watching Father and Fudge’s retreating backs as
they left.
“Your mum doesn’t seem very happy.”
“My mother is perfectly happy, what would you know?”
“Nothing, except I’ve spent weeks with her and she’s miserable. I thought she might not be as
into the whole Voldemort thing as your dad.”
“Well, you thought wrong.” He was fully aware he was sulking, and fully aware that Potter
was right, but he didn’t like that Potter had spent such a short time in his home and had
already picked up on their fragile dynamic. “And stop saying his name!”
“You would think for people who love him so much you’d be more open to hearing his
name.”
“You know nothing about me Potter.”

The silence had returned but this time it wasn’t as comfortable. Neither one of them willing
to fully push their terse interaction into an argument. Usually, Draco would have enjoyed the
needling and pushing and watching Potter’s temper rise just so he could match it, but right
now Potter really was the only person he could be himself with and he hated how much he
needed that. He thought about Potter’s parents and how much he resembled his father. He
was sure there would be no discussion around whether his mother was happy were they still
alive, and certainly no discussion where her loyalties lay. It was astounding how many
parental figures the universe seemed to steal from Potter.
“How did Sirius end up in Azkaban?”
“What?” Potter’s confusion was clear.
“He’s obviously not interested in the Dark Lord. How does someone like that end up being
accused of being his biggest supporter?”
“That’s a long story,” Potter mumbled.
He felt a small tug of disappointment. Of course, Potter didn’t want to open up to him.
“Remind me tomorrow night and I’ll explain.”
A small grin escaped him, and he was careful to not look away from the ceiling so Potter
couldn’t see.
“He seems disappointed you weren’t expelled.”
“He’s not disappointed, I bet he’s just lonely. I hate that he’s trapped there, its like being in
prison again!”
“He might be trapped but he’s not completely lonely.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well, the Order are mostly always here, and he has Lupin.”
“You said Lupin wasn’t staying there all the time.”
“No, but I’m sure the vigorous shagging more than makes up for any extended time apart.”
“Excuse me!” Potter spluttered. He made an odd sound as though he was choking on his own
saliva and his eyes grew bug like.
“Merlin! You really didn’t know? I just thought everyone was being dramatic.” Draco tried to
hold in his laughter, but he couldn’t help it. Potter looked so hopelessly moronic as though
someone had put a Confundus charm on him. He let out a full belly laugh and then
immediately regretted it; nervous he was about to hear the wailing of Sirius’ mother any
second.
“They are grown men in their thirties Potter, they obviously have sex.”
“Yes but… not…they don’t…not with each other!”
“I can assure you they do. I have heard them proposition each other.”
“You said everyone was being dramatic. Everyone knows!”
“Yes, but in their defence, they did think they had told you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me! Why is this only just coming up now.”
“I don’t know, because I didn’t think it was a big deal. I didn’t think you would find it a big
deal, because I honestly didn’t even think about it.” He paused. He wasn’t sure that was
going to be what Potter wanted to hear but it was the truth. “Don’t tell me Harry Potter, hero
of all, has an issue with gay people?”
“Of course not!” Potter’s voice got a touch higher as if he found it embarrassing Draco
thought this. “I just…would have liked to know.”

He told himself he should bring it up now. He wasn’t sure why he kept stalling over it. He
wanted to know, and this was the perfect opening.
“Potter?”
“What?”
Why couldn’t he get the words out? Why couldn’t he just ask?
“What Draco?”
His first name again.
“Is there something going on with you and Weasley’s sister?”
“What? Me and Ginny?” Potter looked more affronted with this than about Sirius and Lupin
and Draco had no idea how to interpret that. Potter laughed nervously.
“Absolutely not. No. She’s like my sister. She’s Ron’s sister.”
“Oh.”
“Why would you ask me that?”
“It’s just a vibe I’ve picked up on…If I’m supposed to be convincing people I’m you I need
to know these things, that’s all,” he finally snapped.
“Well, there’s nothing to know. I don’t look at her like that. I look at her like a sister.” The
flicker of vindictive pleasure was back, and it made him feel weird. Ginny was his friend.
“What about you?” Potter asked quietly.
“What about me? I certainly don’t like Ginny.”
“No. I meant if I’m supposed to be convincing people I’m you, is there someone I should
know about?”
He absolutely was not discussing Theo with Potter.
“No. No one.”
“Not Parkinson?”
“Pansy is my best friend, but we aren’t each other’s type.”
“Why do you let everyone think you’re dating then?”
“Because I couldn’t give two flying fucks what everyone thinks. People should mind their
own business. Including you, Potter.”
“I couldn’t care less if you and Parkinson are dating, I just wanted to know what I was getting
myself in for when I saw her, especially now I have to spend the entire journey to Hogwarts
with her patrolling the bloody train.”
Draco scoffed. “You’re just bitter Dumbledore likes Weasley better than you.”
“I am not bitter! Ron deserves this.”
Draco laughed, “Hardly. He’s a buffoon. I’ve never seen him take an interest in a single class
or ‘upholding standards’ at Hogwarts. Plus, he hasn’t done half the things you have. The only
reason it wasn’t you is Dumbledore doesn’t want to be accused of favouritism anymore than
he usually is.”
“Ron is not a buffoon, and I am happy for him.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself Potter.”
“Dunno what Dumbledore was playing at making you a Prefect.”
“Well, I, unlike Weasley, am going places in the world. Dumbledore’s not a complete fool he
at least can see that.”
Potter coughed and Draco caught the word, “prick.”
He lifted his arm up from where he lay and flipped Potter off before letting it fall again.

The heat from the fire was making him drowsy and he closed his eyes and listened to the
cracking of the flames interrupt the stillness. He thought about the cleaning they had
continued to do and how heavy his body felt from over exertion.
“Draco?”
He jerked up and looked round at Potter.
“What?”
“You fell asleep for a few minutes. Go to bed.”

*
“There must be someone at Hogwarts you like?”
“There isn’t.”
“There are hundreds of boys in that castle. You must find at least one of them attractive.”
“I don’t.”
He and Ginny were sitting together in a corner of the basement kitchen, and she had been
attempting to elicit some information about Potter’s love life from him for several long
minutes.
“What about Dean Thomas? He’s hot.”
Draco wrinkled his nose but didn’t say anything.
“Yeah, you’re right, that would probably be weird considering you share a dorm.”
He frowned at her, “why would that matter? Surely that’s the optimal set up.”
“Until you’re in love and things go bad and you can’t escape him.”
“What in Merlin’s name goes on inside your head?” He laughed and resisted the urge to point
out that he and Theo shared a dorm, and they were fine. He wasn’t in love with Theo though,
so it wasn’t exactly the same thing.
“I’m just being practical.”
“Well, good thing I’m not interested in Dean Thomas.”
“I might be,” she shot him a grin.
“I assure you, you will face no competition from me.”
Ginny’s cheeks flushed with a light shade of pink and she looked away.
“What?”
“I kind of have a boyfriend. Don’t tell Ron!”
“Who is it?”
“Michael Corner, he’s in Ravenclaw. We started getting to know each other after the Yule
Ball.”
“Oi Ro-” Ginny slammed her hand over his mouth and a look of betrayal crossed her face.
“What are you doing!”
He pushed her hand away and laughed, “I was only joking.”
“Idiot!” She slapped his arm and turned away folding her arms across her chest. He laughed
again.

Weasley’s mother had hung a banner up in the horrific kitchen (as if that made it anymore
welcoming) congratulating Weasley and Granger on becoming Prefects. Draco tried to think
about how his own mother and father would be reacting to the news that he was a Prefect.
There would be no emerald banner for Potter. It was simply expected that Draco would be a
prefect. Malfoys were the best no questions asked. No banners. If Dumbledore hadn’t made
him a prefect well, then there would be something to discuss. Father would definitely buy
him something though, his less than subtle reward for doing his part in upholding the family
reputation. He wondered what Potter would pick when Father asked him what he wanted.
Several people had shown up for this makeshift ‘party’ and Draco would never admit to
Weasley that he was more than a little jealous. In his world, people definitely didn’t drop
things last minute to show they were happy for you. Parties in his world took months of
planning and people attended simply to discuss their new purchases or brag about who made
the largest donation where. When the idea for this party was discussed, Draco panicked
internally and loudly stated that he couldn’t come because he didn’t pack any dress robes. His
ears turned pink when the Weasley twins fell on the floor laughing but he managed to play it
off as a joke. Of course, Potter didn’t have dress robes and of course that wasn’t the kind of
‘party’ they meant.

Multiple conversations buzzed around him, Kingsley and Lupin were discussing
Dumbledore’s Prefect logic, Mundungus and the Weasley twins were huddled at the other
end of the room and Weasley was boring Tonks with endless details about his new mid-range
broom. He was getting used to the cacophony of sounds that came with living here but even
still he was very much looking forward to a quiet moment alone before they set off for King’s
Cross in the morning. Before he could find an excuse to remove himself from the kitchen
early, Moody began shuffling towards him and he froze. He wasn’t afraid of Moody
anymore, or afraid of being caught, he had spent weeks with these people, and they seemed
content that he was Potter, but he still was not in the mood to listen to Mad Eye’s ramblings.
“Move please,” he said to Ginny.
“Why?”
“I need to go to the bathroom, let me past.”
He tried to shuffle past her and cursed his decision to sit so close to the wall, and she huffed
out, “alright! Harry, give me a second and I’ll move.” She had clearly not got his silent memo
to not draw attention to them though and she did not keep her voice down as she spoke.
Moody looked their way and made eye contact with Draco, calling, “Potter! Come here, I’ve
got something that might interest you.”
Fucking great. He had no idea what to expect. The imposter Moody might have followed that
statement with a new torture curse he thought you might like a demonstration of. The real
Moody was much more of an enigma to Draco but still not any more appealing. When Draco
neared, he pulled something out of his inside robe pocket and Draco instinctively flinched
thinking he was reaching for his wand. Instead, his hand emerged closed around a tattered
looking parchment which he held out for Draco to take.
“Original Order of the Phoenix. Found it last night when I was looking for my spare
Invisibility Cloak, seeing as Podmore hasn’t had the manners to return my best one. .
.Thought people might like to see it.”
He looked down and realised that the parchment was actually a very old photograph. He
wasn’t sure why, but it made his stomach roil.
“There’s me and there’s Dumbledore beside me, Dedalus Diggle on the other side . . . That’s
Marlene McKinnon, she was killed two weeks after this was taken, they got her whole
family.” His eyes scanned along the row of people looking up at him from the crowded
photograph as Moody called their names before they landed on a woman that looked exactly
like-
“That’s Frank and Alice Longbottom —”
Longbottom. Fuck. Now he was going to be sick.
“Poor devils. Better dead than what happened to them,” Draco knew exactly what had
happened to them and exactly who was responsible. He needed to get away from Moody.
“. . . and that’s Emmeline Vance, you’ve met her, and that there’s Lupin, obviously . . . Benjy
Fenwick, he copped it too, we only ever found bits of him . . . shift aside there.” The small
people in the picture began to reorganise themselves.
“That’s Edgar Bones . . . brother of Amelia Bones, they got him and his family too, he was a
great wizard . . . Sturgis Podmore, blimey, he looks young . . . Caradoc Dearborn, vanished
six months after this, we never found his body . . . Hagrid, of course, looks exactly the same
as ever . . . Elphias Doge, you’ve met him, I’d forgotten he used to wear that stupid hat . . .
Gideon Prewett, it took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian, they fought like
heroes…” A small voice in the back of his mind maliciously pointed out that those five Death
Eaters could have included Father…or Theo’s father, or Crabbe or Goyle’s.
“That’s Dumbledore’s brother, Aberforth, only time I ever met him, strange bloke . . . That’s
Dorcas Meadowes, Voldemort killed her personally . . . Sirius, when he still had short hair . . .
and . . . there you go, thought that would interest you!”
He looked back down. For a second he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him as he saw
Potter staring back at him from Sirius’ side. Then he noted the distinctly not green hue of his
eyes and realised it was his father. Close by was Potter’s mother with her arms around a
small, squat, rodent like man, smiling as though she had never been happier. What was he
supposed to say to this? What would Potter say to this? He didn’t know why Potter would
want to see this. Why Moody would think this was some exciting surprise for him. Draco
looked at this image and saw the impact of Father and Aunt Bella’s decisions laid out in front
of him. Potter would see the destruction and everything the Dark Lord had stolen from him.
So, the real Moody was also a crack pot as he suspected.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Mad-Eye?” Sirius’ voice floated over, and relief washed over
Draco, he used the distraction as his opportunity to slip away and leave the kitchen all
together. He was confused and there was a swelling fury bubbling inside of him that was only
adding to the feeling. Why did everyone treat Potter as if he was unshakeable? Draco knew
enough from only a few months of correspondence to know that he wasn’t, so why were all
the adults around him so disgustingly dense? He might be the face of their revolution, but he
was still only fifteen. He shouldn’t be subjected to this, and neither should Draco. He climbed
the central stairs without thought to where he was going but stopped when he heard muffled
sobs from behind the drawing room door. The Draco from a few months ago would have
turned and walked in the opposite direction. Left whoever it was to get on with their private
shameful emotions in peace. He hesitated but he didn’t turn away. He opened the door, and
his eyes took a second to adjust to the dark room. A figure was hunched over in the corner
sobbing as though their heart was breaking and on the floor Potter’s still, lifeless body lay
haphazardly as though someone had caught him in the act of running away. His glassy eyes
were immobile and his glasses askew. Someone had stolen all the air from his lungs and his
knees buckled slightly before his hand shot out to steady himself against the door frame.
“Ha-Harry…”
Potter was dead. Potter was lying here dead and there was nothing he could do. He started
forward, moving towards the body, moving towards the figure, his wand drawn ready to cast
the first spell he could think of, before his brain finally caught up with him. He was here. He
was in Potter’s body. Potter was in Wiltshire at the manor. He couldn’t be dead on the floor.
He looked at the figure again and realised it was Mrs Weasley. She raised her wand and half
wept, half yelled, “R-r-riddikulus!’’ Understanding came to Draco in fragmented pieces. He
tried to comfort her, tried to explain that Potter was fine but the body on the floor twisted and
warped before it morphed into one of the twins. She tried the spell again and Ginny’s body
lay at his feet. He turned away unable to look and retched uncomfortably.
“No . . . riddikulus! Riddikulus! RIDDIKULUS!”
“What’s going on?”
It was Lupin, he entered the room with Sirius and Moody at his back. Draco didn’t stop to
say anything he pushed past them all and half ran determinately to the bathroom before
throwing up in the sink, thinking of nothing except how he needed to get out of this house.
 Chapter 9

His forehead rested against the carriage window, the cool glass keeping him grounded as the
pain in his head threatened to overwhelm him. He was going home. Hogwarts was his home,
and he was going home. He had been repeating this to himself the entire morning like some
deranged mantra, but he couldn’t stop. The thought that he would never have to see these
people again was sustaining him. They could attempt to make him come back for the
holidays, but he would refuse. The only way he was seeing Lucius Malfoy’s face again was if
he came to Hogwarts and dragged Harry back to the manor by brute force, or if they met in
another graveyard…He didn’t want to think about that. He had thought of nothing else since
arriving at Malfoy’s obscenely ostentatious house. The nightmares were inescapable. The
flash of green light, the grotesque, mangled body Wormtail dropped into the cauldron, Cedric
begging him not to leave his body behind…his parents. Every time he heard Lucius Malfoy’s
voice it was as though he had touched the portkey again. Like being pulled back to the
graveyard against his will.

Draco might think he had the shit end of the stick slumming it with Muggles and Squibs, but
Harry had spent the past few months on high alert, watching as Death Eater after Death Eater
came to meet in the Malfoy Manor drawing room, waiting for the moment it would be
Voldemort who walked through the large wooden doors, Wormtail skulking at his heels. In
reality no one of great importance made an appearance (mostly parents of other Slytherins
Harry knew) and he had been unable to decipher where Voldemort was hiding. It was lucky,
in a sense, that the Malfoys were who they were. The depths of their shallowness sparing him
from any significant danger. He had discovered, almost immediately, that Lucius wanted
nothing to do with his son. He was cold and distant. If Draco did something well then it was
nothing to celebrate, simply expected. If Draco did something wrong, then Lucius wore his
distaste openly. The only time Harry had braved discussing this with Draco, it hadn’t gone
well.

“How did you stand living in that horrible place with those Muggles, Potter?”
“I didn’t have a choice, did I?”
It was one of their earliest Floo calls from Grimmauld place and the entire conversation was
punctuated with Draco’s foul mood after being forced to clean.
“They are the vilest people I have ever had the displeasure of meeting and its actually
astounding how you defend them.”
“When have I ever defended the Dursleys?” Harry laughed incredulously. “We’re definitely
on the same page when it comes to them.”
“I meant Muggles in general. Your nauseating need to play their protector.”
Harry frowned, “if I punished all Muggles for the actions of the Dursleys, what kind of
person would I be? I’ve met loads of good Muggles.”
Draco scoffed.
“Seriously,” he continued, “like imagine you hated all Wizards because of the way your dad
treats you. Or if I hated Wizards because of the way your dad and his mates treat me-”
When Draco’s voice cut him off it was low and guarded, “Excuse me, Potter.”
“Oh, come off it, you can’t actually believe the way they treat me is justified! You’re smarter
than that. Or at least I thought you we-”
“What do you mean, ‘the way’ my father treats me?”
Harry sensed danger and attempted to retreat. He and Malfoy had been doing a pretty good
job at keeping the peace and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ruin that.
“Nothing, its not important,” he muttered.
“Fuck off Potter, don’t patronise me. Say what you meant.”
“Ok. Fine. In the time that I’ve been here, I spent roughly four days of that being terrified of
living in a Death Eater’s house. After that, I realised the chances of your dad ever figuring it
out were slim. He’s had only five conversations with me the entire time. Three of them were
to tell me how I better not let a Muggle-born beat me in my O.W.L.s, one was to tell me he
would snap my broom if I didn’t try harder at Quidditch this year and the last time was to tell
me that there was a ‘revolution’ coming and to lecture me for not taking a greater interest in
what was going on with Voldemort-”
“Don’t fucking use his name!”
“Outside of those five conversations,” Harry continued, ignoring Malfoy’s growing irritation,
“he has stubbornly ignored me. He hasn’t looked in my direction even once, despite the fact
your family all eat together in your stupidly enormous dining room. Now, I spend my time
worrying your mum will figure it out and tell him, since she is the only person in the house
who actually pays any attention to you.”

He thought for a second that Draco wasn’t going to answer. They looked at each other, Harry
catching his breath as Draco’s eyes grew even narrower.
“You have no idea what it’s like to grow up in a pure-blood house Potter,” he finally retorted.
“There are expectations. Ones that you are clearly failing at upholding. It doesn’t mean that
my father doesn’t love me or treats me poorly or whatever rubbish your brain has invented.”
“He hasn’t shown a single shred of interest the entire time. Doesn’t sound like love to me.”
Harry held his gaze as he said this, refusing to back down.
“And what would you know about a father’s love? The last time I checked you didn’t have
one.”
Outside of the occasional slip where he used the word “Mudblood,” Harry had thought that
he was seeing a different side to Malfoy. That talking to Harry had let him drop the pretence
and be a bit more genuine. This though was proof he hadn’t been on some journey of self-
discovery and growth.
“Fine Malfoy, whatever,” he said despondently.
He pulled his head out of the fireplace then, without waiting to hear what Malfoy would say.
The following night when Draco’s head appeared in the grate, waking Harry up, neither one
of them brought up their last conversation, talking instead about Quidditch. Harry had meant
everything he said. Lucius Malfoy was a terrible dad, and he did treat Draco poorly, making it
painfully obvious that nothing Draco did would ever be good enough, but he also recognised
that Draco wasn’t ready for that realisation, and it wasn’t his place to push it. He found it
hard to understand why he even cared in the first place. A small part of him felt sure that if he
could just make Draco see that the people around him were wrong about the world, then he
would have a chance at making others see the same thing, and then maybe their fight against
Voldemort wouldn’t seem so hopeless. But he would be at Hogwarts soon and he and Draco
would switch back and then it wouldn’t matter either way.

“Draco!” The shrill voice cut through his thoughts, and he pulled his focus back to where he
sat. Pansy Parkinson was staring at him, a look of frustrated expectation on her face. “What
in Salazar’s name is wrong with you today? I said your name like three times.”
“What?” Harry said thickly.
“I said,” she heaved a sigh in frustration, “who in their right mind would make Weasley a
Prefect?”
Harry’s insides boiled. Ron was not who he immediately thought of when he heard the word
Prefect but there was no way the Slytherins were allowed to say the same thing.
“I dunno,” he muttered, trying to disengage with the conversation.
“Seriously, what is the matter with you? First you stop communicating all summer, which is
fucking rude by the way, then you don’t come to Blaise’s birthday and now you’re acting like
a bloody Inferius or something. Spill, now.”
“Nothing is wrong with me.” Harry didn’t know what to say, how could he explain to her that
he wasn’t the person she thought he was. That he knew absolutely nothing about her and had
no interest in pretending he did. Had no interest in listening to her talk about how everyone
else around her was beneath her. He did his best Draco impression, “Merlin! My head hurts
and I don’t want to listen to you prattle on about how I’m not giving you enough attention.”
“Fine.” She turned in the chair, giving her attention back to the Head Boy who was
discussing their Prefect duties, a look of hurt spreading across her face. He had messed up,
Draco told him he wasn’t a dick to Parkinson, he should have remembered. He wasn’t used to
seeing Malfoy be nice to anyone and he didn’t know how to act like him if he wasn’t being a
dick. He wanted to fix things with her, but he wasn’t sure how. More than anything he wanted
to walk over to where Hermione sat and beg her to help him. He had been trying
unsuccessfully to not look in their direction since the journey began. He couldn’t help but
notice how much taller Ron looked and how much closer they sat together than he ever
remembered. He didn’t have space to analyse whether there was anything more to that than
their usual friendship. He could think only of how to finally switch back. There was nothing
in the countless books in the Malfoy Manor library that indicated that this was something
other wizards had ever experienced never mind ways to reverse it, and it was beginning to
feel hopeless. He was certain Hermione could find the answer though and he began thinking
of ways to ditch the Slytherins and speak to her without Malfoy knowing.

“Remember, you are expected to patrol the corridor for any signs of unrest and ensure that
the journey remains smooth. Any questions or situations you are uncertain of, come and find
one of us and we will assist. Any questions?”
Harry smiled fondly as Hermione’s hand shot into the air, before noticing Pansy roll her eyes
exaggeratedly. He played his grin off as appreciation of her distaste for Hermione and she
seemed to soften.
“Come on, let’s go. I can’t stand to hear the Mudblood suck up.” Pansy stood expecting
Harry to follow but he remained glued to the seat. His fingers curled around his wand, and it
was taking all his self-control not to curse her. His chest heaved and the pain in his head was
only getting worse.
“Draco? Are you coming or not?” She was looking back over her shoulder at him as if he
really had lost the plot. He got up and slowly walked behind her, careful to keep some
distance so that he could regain his composure. As he exited the compartment, a small second
year boy in a Hufflepuff tie walked straight into him and fell backwards to the ground.
“Sorry,” Harry muttered instinctively before feeling Pansy’s disbelieving gaze fall over him.
“Um I’m sorry,” he started again, “did I miss the part where I gave you permission to touch
me? Five points from Hufflepuff.” He needed to get a grip. Why was it so hard to be a dick to
the right people? There was a snort of disgust from behind and he swiveled to see Hermione
level him with a look of outrage.
“Need something Granger?” Parkinson snapped.
“It hasn’t even been five minutes, and you are already abusing your power. I can’t believe
Dumbledore would actually allow you to be Prefects.”
“Funny! We were just saying the same thing about Weasley. Although maybe the old fool got
confused and the ‘P’ on Weasley’s badge actually stands for pathetic. Or poverty. Oo! This is
fun.”
Ron’s ears turned a burning scarlet, and Hermione opened her mouth to retort.
“Come on. I want to see if the trolley has been yet,” Harry interrupted, tugging Pansy’s arm
and pulling her away, not allowing himself to give into the wistful urge to look back.

The compartment they entered was cramped, already uncomfortable from the space Crabbe
and Goyle took up. Harry remembered how it felt to move in Goyle’s large frame in their
second year and he was at least triple the size he was then now. Pansy flopped into the free
space next to a girl Harry recognised as Millicent Bulstrode, and he was flooded with images
of Hermione transformed into her cat. They were so naïve back then. How could they have
ever thought that these people were capable of opening the Chamber of Secrets. He sat in the
chair beside Crabbe, the one closest to the door and directly opposite from the thin boy that
Harry now knew to be Theo, who was reading a book and seemingly oblivious to everyone
around him.
“Has the trolley been?” Pansy asked. “Draco is apparently famished, which clearly explains
why he is acting so weird.”
Millicent laughed before throwing Harry a Chocolate Frog, “What happened Draco, all your
house elves quit?”
“They couldn’t bear the thought of washing your underwear any longer and so the Malfoys
have been withering away ever since,” Pansy added before falling into Millicent, laughing so
hard she began to wheeze.
“No,” Goyle said, surprising Harry as he couldn’t remember hearing either Crabbe or Goyle
speaking real words before. As far as he could tell they usually communicated in grunts. “My
dad was there last week, and he didn’t say anything about there being no elves. So that can’t
be why Draco is being weird.”
Pansy and Millicent turned to face one another with blank looks before Pansy let out another
shrill cackle of laughter and Millicent, shaking her head said, “I worry about you sometimes
Greg.”
Parkinson not a dick…Crabbe and Goyle probably a dick… He could do this. “My house
elves did not quit you imbecile. House elves can’t quit, and I am not being weird.”

The door to the compartment slid open and a tall, handsome boy with high cheekbones
entered. “Who’s being weird?” he asked as he squeezed between Pansy and Millicent, the
former pushing him as he did.
“Draco.”
“Yes, well, that’s pretty much his natural state so what’s new?”
“His house elves quit Blaise,” Crabbe said as if this was obvious.
“I am not being weird!” Harry shouted, his frustration at being an apparently unconvincing
Malfoy struggling to stay contained.
“You most definitely are being weird.” It was Theo, he looked up from his book for the first
time since Harry entered the compartment and held his gaze. “Why didn’t you write?” Harry
couldn’t place why but the tone had changed.
“That’s what I said!” Pansy interjected. “It’s fucking rude.”
“I was,” Harry stammered, “I was busy.”
“Busy?” Theo raised one eyebrow very slightly but otherwise his expression remained blank.
“I…um…” He couldn’t think of a single reasonable excuse that would make Malfoy cut them
all off for months. “My cousin died.”
Where in Merlin’s name had that come from?
Theo’s eyes narrowed.
“You don’t have any cousins.”
The others looked between Theo and Harry waiting to hear what Harry would say.
“My mother’s cousin.” He took a steadying breath trying to appear as if he thought this was
obvious and the conversation was boring him. “It was my mother’s cousin. I meant to say my
second cousin.”
“Which one?”
Harry stared dumbfounded back at him for several seconds cursing himself for this corner he
had created and for backing himself into it.
“Which one?” Theo repeated. “I’ll have Father send condolences.” Harry felt beads of sweat
form at his neck, and he felt constricted by the overly starched collar of Malfoy’s dress shirt.
What is wrong with T-shirts? he thought angrily.

Suddenly Blaise’s booming laughter filled the compartment and each of them looked away
from Harry and towards the source.
“Draco, you really don’t have to resort to terrible lying. If you are seeing someone you can
just say.”
“What? I’m not!” His voice was rising, and he felt sure the real Draco would have casually
drawled some witty reply, but he couldn’t regain his composure.
“Salazar! You are,” Millicent accused. “I’ve never seen you like this. Who is it? Daphne?”
“Or, maybe it’s not a Slytherin at all and that’s why he’s being so cagey,” Blaise quipped.
He didn’t know how to respond. If he denied it, he would only encourage them more and if
he said yes then they would ask more questions. More lies for him to keep track of later.
“He’s not seeing anyone, are you Draco?” Pansy had a look of fear in her eyes that Harry
couldn’t decipher. Malfoy had said they weren’t dating. “I would simply never allow it.”
“I told you, my cousin died.” He looked over at Theo, willing him to believe him and drop it,
but Theo was now determinedly looking away, his gaze dropped, a small frown playing
across his face. After a few seconds he picked up his book and began to read again without
saying another word.
Harry stood up. “You know, I think you’re right. I am hungry. I’m going to go find the trolley
witch.” He left the compartment without bothering to close the door and he heard Blaise’s
voice trail after him, “So, who do you think it really is?”

The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. Harry waited on edge for the Slytherins to
continue interrogating him, but the questions never came. Theo continued to read, Pansy and
“Millie,” as the others referred to her as, gossiped about almost every student in their year,
and Harry got by with the occasional noncommittal response to Blaise’s questions about
which O.W.L.s subjects Malfoy was taking. He went on patrol with Pansy only once more
and the closer they drew to Hogwarts, the calmer his heart rate became. Feast, sleep, find
Malfoy, find a way to switch back. That was the plan. When the train pulled into Hogsmeade
station, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s trunk and dragged it behind him as fast as he could.
“Draco, wait. Where are you-”
He ignored Parkinson and continued to push his way through the throng out into the evening
air. He noted with fear that Hagrid was not in his usual position calling out to the first years,
and Harry’s heart threatened to explode. He wanted nothing more than to walk over to
Professor Grubbly-Plank who seemed to be filling in for him and demand to know where
Hagrid was, but he instead made his way to the carriages that took the older students towards
the castle. A group of third year students that Harry recognised from Gryffindor took the last
remaining carriage before he could push in front, and he was stuck waiting for one to return.
“Shit!” he swore loudly, he couldn’t stand the thought of being in close confines with another
person and if a carriage didn’t come soon, he would be forced to share with the growing
number of people reaching the clearing where they stopped. A hand landed softly at his back,
and he spun around at the contact, finding himself staring at Theo.
“What’s going on with you Draco?” The concern in his eyes appeared genuine to Harry and
he tried to reconcile the softness with how he usually perceived Malfoy. “And please don’t
tell me you’re not acting wei-”
The opportunity for Theo to finish his plea was stolen by Harry’s sudden jerk backwards and
the startled gasp that fell from his lips. A disturbing winged creature strode up behind where
Theo stood. It was unlike anything Harry had ever seen before; its skin was stretched tight
over its skeleton, and it looked like it belonged to death itself. There was a harness around its
torso, and it appeared to be pulling a school carriage along with another identical creature.
“What the hell is that?” Harry stammered.
“What is what? Draco seriously, you’re worrying me. Do you need to go to the hospital
wing?” Theo kept his voice to a low whisper and looked over his shoulder as if to ensure no
one could witness Harry’s outburst.
“What’s that thing behind you!”
Theo turned to look at the creatures and took so long to respond that Harry wondered if he
truly was going mad.
“The Thestrals?”
“Thestrals? What are Thestrals?”
Theo’s face contorted into a scowl. “Draco this is getting tiresome. Whatever game you’re
playing please leave my mother’s death out of it. I don’t need to be reminded of the reason
why I can see these foul creatures and you can’t.”
“But I can see them,” the words tumbled out before he could process what Theo said.
“Right, because you can suddenly see the creatures that you haven’t been able to see for the
past four years. The ones you can only see if you’ve seen someone die. Who did you see die
Draco?”
Fuck. You could only see them if you witnessed someone die. That was why up until now
Harry would have bet his entire fortune in Gringotts that the carriages were drawn by
invisible forces. He could see them because of Cedric. He was going to be sick.

“I keep telling you, my cousin died.”

The sigh of frustration that was wrenched out of Theo was almost a roar. “Oh right. So, you
were there when this mysterious cousin of your mother’s died? I must have missed that detail
when you were ignoring all of my questions on the train.”
“I wasn’t ignoring questions and I…I really can see them.”
“Is this about the fight on the train before the summer?” He ran his hand through his hair in a
way that wasn’t emotional but seemed emotional in contrast to the stiff façade he had been
presenting on the train. “Because if it is then I’m sorry but I’m not going to apologise for
trying to keep your temper in check. You can’t just go around attacking Potter, not anymore,
and if your mad at me then you could have just written that instead of ignoring my letters.”
“I’m sorry.” Harry didn’t know what else to say, he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on
and it was dawning on him that there was more to Malfoy and Theo’s friendship than Draco
had told him.
“Its fine I just really wish…” Theo hesitated to finish his sentence and in the silence that
hung the rest of the Slytherins reached them and began piling in the carriage. Theo let out a
softer sigh than before and followed them, Harry trailing behind, giving up on his plan to find
a solo carriage and corner Hermione at the gates to the castle when she exited hers.

Harry didn’t eat much at the feast. The food was as good as it always was, but he was
struggling to keep it down. His stomach roiled each time he glimpsed over at the Gryffindor
table and saw his own face staring back at him from next to Ron and Hermione. Hagrid was
still missing, and he didn’t have a clue why. Malfoy hadn’t mentioned anything about Hagrid
during their Floo calls and he was worried something serious had happened to him, what if he
hadn’t made it back from wherever Dumbledore had sent him. He tried to calm his nerves by
reminding himself that the order would know, and Malfoy would have said something. He
scanned the staff table, looking to see if any of the others he knew to be Order members were
missing, but there were no empty seats. In the middle of the table, next to Dumbledore, Harry
saw a new face. A middle-aged witch dressed as though she was going to a three-year old’s
tea party sat on his left. Harry assumed she must be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts
teacher. His stomach sunk lower, he had the feeling his favourite subject was about to get less
interesting. He knew he shouldn’t judge her on appearances but there was something about
her, that he couldn’t place, that he found off putting. When Dumbledore finished introducing
her as Professor Umbridge to the room, she had actually stood up and interrupted him. Harry
couldn’t remember any other teacher ever doing this, he didn’t think even Lockhart, who
loved the sound of his own voice, did something like that (although he wouldn’t know for
sure considering he missed the feast that year). The speech she gave was mind-numbingly
dull. He tried in vain to pay attention, but his mind wandered of its own free will. He risked a
glance at the Gryffindor table and Hermione wore the look she donned when something was
insulting her moral compass and Ron looked like he too was struggling not to fall asleep.
Harry smiled and pulled his gaze to his own body that was leaning close and whispering to…
Ginny? What was Malfoy playing at?
“…Undersecretary, she’s like his assistant,” Blaise’s voice caught Harry’s attention.
“Excellent,” Pansy grinned, “It’s about time Dumbledore was put under watch.”
Blaise rolled his eyes at her, “Yeah, because when has anyone ever been able to get rid of him
before?”
“She doesn’t need to get rid of him, she just needs to put a stop to certain things. Putting
Potter on a pedestal for a start.”
“Your father knows her, right Draco? What do you think?”
Harry didn’t have a clue whether Lucius knew Umbridge or not and he had missed the start
of their conversation and whose secretary she was supposed to be.
“Um, yeah, I think he does.
“And?” Pansy asked impatiently, drawing out the syllables.
“She’s um…”
“Do you think Fudge sent her here to dig up stuff on Dumbledore?”
She was Fudge’s Undersecretary… She worked for Fudge, and she was friends with Malfoy’s
dad…
“Yeah, he did. He definitely did.”
“You cannot hide from me! Come out and play”
This was it. He was going to die. It was hopeless, there was nothing he could do. Cedric was
dead and he was outnumbered in every way. He picked up his wand, intending to leave his
hiding spot and face Voldemort down. He was scared but he was no coward. His father didn’t
die a coward and neither would he. He could hear the jeering and laughing of the Death
Eaters who encircled him, and he felt the urge to scream for help, but he refused to give them
the satisfaction of knowing he was afraid. He threw himself out and hoped for the advantage
of surprise, shouting, “Expelliarmus,” before Voldemort could throw the killing curse his
way. Their spells connected and Harry’s confusion was matched only by the fury radiating
from Voldemort. Shapes resembling bodies poured out of the wand that killed his parents, and
Harry recognised the first one as Cedric.
“Cedric, I’m sorry.” He called out desperately, “I shouldn’t have made you take the cup, I’m
sorry.”
“This is your fault.” Cedric replied, “You’re the reason I’m dead.”
“I didn’t know! Cedric, I didn’t know!” He had to believe him, Cedric had to know how sorry
he was. That he would fix it. He would tell everyone what had happened and make sure
Voldemort couldn’t do this to anyone else.
“Darling, wake up,” a soft, ethereal voice washed over him. It felt as though he was being
pulled. As though the scene around him was becoming smaller and his consciousness was
getting hazy.
“Wake up Harry,” It was his mother’s voice, he could see her now, next to his father and an
elderly man Harry had never seen before.
“Mum! Help me, what do I do?”
“All you have to do is wake up.”

“Draco! Wake up.”

Harry jerked upright, the sheets around him drenched in sweat. He could see a figure
hovering over him in the dark but couldn’t make them out. He moved his whole body back
against the wall behind the bedhead, trying to escape their grasp.
“Draco its me, stop.” He could feel the person fumbling for something and he reached out
looking for his wand just in case.
“For fuck’s sake, Lumos,” the figure whispered. A dull light cast a glow around the person
and Theo’s face became clear. Harry whipped his head around taking in his surroundings,
remembering that he was in the Slytherin dormitories and the wand he had been searching for
was not in fact his own but Malfoy’s.
“Don’t worry,” Theo said, mistaking Harry’s confusion for concern, “I cast a silencing charm
on you, no one else heard,”
“Thanks,” Harry had to admit he was glad to be spared the embarrassment of all the 5th year
Slytherins asking him questions. Theo sat down on the opposite end of the bed and stretched
his legs out, leaning his back on the bed frame. “Nightmare?”
Harry nodded.
“The usual one?”
Malfoy having a ‘usual’ nightmare was news to Harry, but he supposed he hadn’t shared his
nightmares with Draco so why would he do the same? He nodded anyway, at least it gave
him an explanation without having to lie. Theo pushed himself down on the bed so that he
was almost laying, and both of them were quiet for what felt like a long time. If any of the
Gryffindors climbed into Harry’s bed in the middle of the night and lay down with him
unexpectedly, he would feel a sense of discomfort, even with Ron. However, Theo did this
with such ease that Harry felt like this must be a natural thing that he did rather than a new
occurrence. It made him feel less strange about the experience.

The silence continued and Harry found himself wondering if Theo planned to sleep at the end
of Malfoy’s bed and what was Harry supposed to do if he did. He himself had started to doze
off and he was struggling to remind himself that despite the lack of discomfort on Theo’s end,
this was still the child of a Death Eater invading his space. Eventually in one of those
moments when Harry’s eyes were closing over, Theo said, “It was really difficult you know.”
Harry sat up slightly, so he was looking at him. “Dealing with my father alone all summer.
You know what he’s like and it’s gotten worse since the Dark Lord came back. He keeps
talking about how I should offer to take the mark.”
“What!” Harry didn’t bother to keep his voice down; despite the look Theo threw over his
shoulder to check the others were still asleep. They were fifteen. Voldemort surely was not
recruiting fifteen-year-olds.
“I already know what you think,” Theo snapped. Harry didn’t know what Malfoy thought but
he could tell by the tone this was something they had disagreed on before. “But it’s not as
easy for me to want to be like my father when he’s hexing me every other minute.” Harry
didn’t know what to say. It had never once occurred to him that Malfoy and his friends might
not want Voldemort back either. He had been so consumed with hating them, with a stupid
school rivalry that he didn’t stop to consider that some of them might act the way they did
because they were being forced to. He felt the hot sting of shame course through him. He of
all people should know what its like to grow up in a house where your first thought is
survival. He should have realised that just because they were sorted into Slytherin it didn’t
mean that they believed the same thing their parents did. Hadn’t he had the perfect example
in Sirius? That even the best people can come from the worst families. Why had he been so
quick to judge them all simply because they weren’t brave enough to openly defy their
parents like Sirius. Just because he had been told that Slytherin house produced evil wizards?
He had never interacted with Theo before today, hadn’t even bothered to remember his name
and yet he had assumed that he was just like Malfoy. Malfoy who had let a different side to
his personality make rare appearances in front of Harry recently.
“I’m really sorry,” he said quietly and as he fell asleep, he thought about the different ways
he could help Theo and any other Slytherins who maybe weren’t what they seemed.
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