Year 7

“Open it, Malfoy.” Pansy had a point; no sense delaying the inevitable.

Draco stared at the red envelope in trepidation. He’d never received a Howler before, though he’d certainly heard plenty of them addressed to other students.

“Do you think it’ll last until after breakfast?” he asked weakly. The Howler would certainly open itself soon, but maybe he could get it out of the great hall and somewhere more private before it exploded and started screaming at him.

“Nah. Nasty short timers on those things,” put in Theodore Nott. He shrugged. “You might as well open it, Malfoy.”

Draco swallowed hard and broke the seal on the envelope. The letter came to life, and Draco hunched down in his seat in anticipation.

“Draco Argos Lanval Narcissus Malfoy, I am very disappointed in you! A Weasley, for god’s sakes!”

Oh, god. It was from his father…and he had broken out Draco’s full name. Draco felt his cheeks heat. Everyone in the hall had turned as Lucius Malfoy’s amplified voice boomed out over the assembly. Ethe the professors, who usually pretended to ignore Howlers, were watching Draco as he cringed.

“You have dishonored our family for the last time, Draco! You may take this as a formal declaration of disinheritance. Do not come home for Christmas!” Then the voice dropped into a furious hiss, that Draco’s tablemates strained to hear. “By god, I hope it’s worth it, Draco. I had such high hopes for you.”

To his horror, Draco felt tears sting his eyes. He’d been expecting this sort of thing for some time now; to actually have it happen was something very different. Draco could pretend all he liked that he hated his parents and didn’t care what they thought, but that didn’t make it true. Couldn’t his father have chosen a less public way of doing this? The shreds of the Howler had barely settled to the table before Draco was on his feet, all but running out of the great hall.

Hermione looked at Ron, who had sat paralyzed as the Howler bellowed its message. “Follow him,” she hissed softly. Ron nodded and got up.

“Go comfort the little git,” Harry muttered. “Crying about his inheritance, I’m sure.”

Hermione turned a horrified gaze on Harry. “Harry, that is the most loathsome thing I think you’ve ever said,” she whispered.


Out in the hallway, Ron’s long strides ate up the distance between him and Draco. The Slytherin threw himself into his lover’s arms. Ron realized, shocked, that Draco was crying. The charcoal eyeliner Draco had taken to wearing was smearing its way down his cheeks. Ron held him tightly to his chest and murmured what he hoped were soothing words.

After a few minutes, Draco quieted. He pulled away and wiped ineffectually at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “You don’t need to comfort me, Weasley. I can take care of myself.” His lips pulled naturally into a sneer.

Ron let him walk away. But he followed, like a loyal hound, close on his master’s heels. Draco didn’t go far before he turned back.

“I suppose the entire school witnessed that little episode,” Draco murmured. His tears were gone, and his lips were set in a hard line.

“I’d say so,” Ron replied.

“Great.” Draco sighed. “Should I go ahead and commit seppuku, or just hope to be struck dead by a rogue Bludger at the next Quidditch match?”

“Seppuku is awfully messy,” Ron said, smiling kindly. “And you couldn’t guarantee the Bludger wouldn’t just paralyze you for life.”

Draco laughed. “That’s true,” he said. Ron opened his arms and Draco moved into them gratefully, resting his head on his lover’s chest.

“I guess this means your father found out you were shagging a Weasley,” Ron murmured.

“Either that or he found the bowl of soup I accidentally left in his office this summer,” Draco mused. Ron chuckled.

“Better now?” he asked, drawing Draco to arms’ length. His dark blue eyes were earnest. Draco nodded. “Good.” He leaned in to kiss Draco’s forehead. “Now let’s go back to breakfast, hmm?” Draco seemed hesitant; he had been publicly embarrassed, by his own father no less, and had no desire to face the other students.

As they walked, Ron murmured in Draco’s ear. “Your eye stuff is all smudgy.”

Draco halted and put his hands over his eyes. When he looked up at Ron, the kohl was perfect once more. Ron gaped at him. Wandless magic. It was not unheard of, but usually wizards didn’t learn it until well into their twenties or thirties, if not later.

“What?” Draco asked. Ron mouthed wordlessly, trying to figure out what to ask. Draco chuckled nervously. “Oh, the thing, with the makeup...I, um, well, my mother, you see…” He closed his mouth and looked up at Ron. “I did a lot of independent study over the summer,” he said, shrugging.

They walked back into the great hall; things had gone back to their usual commotion, and Draco went back to his seat without too much notice. Ron settled back down beside Hermione, who was steadfastly ignoring Harry for some unknown reason. Ginny thrust something at her brother roughly.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Letter from Mum and Dad,” she said shortly. He took it with a momentary hesitation; at least it wasn’t a Howler, he supposed.

My dear Ron,
I just received an irate letter from Lucius Malfoy. Would you happen to have any idea why that is? I wasn’t entirely sure how the words ‘debauchery’ and ‘corruption’ and ‘depraved’ applied to you.

Ron smiled at his father’s gentle humor.

Anyway, just wanted to let you know that I love you and I support you, no matter what. As long as you are happy, I am happy.

All the best,
Dad

Ron unfolded the bottom half of the letter, which was written in his mother’s flowing script.

Ron darling,
I can’t say I was exactly thrilled to hear about you and Draco Malfoy. Still, I trust your judgment. You’re all but grown up, baby. Just be careful.

And if your sister gives you any trouble you let me know. I won’t have my children badmouthing each other.

Mum

He tucked the letter inside his robes and picked up his fork. It was nice to know his parents weren’t total basket cases like Draco’s. At first he’d thought maybe the older Malfoy would stew over it for a while and let it drop, like Draco had suggested. He’d never imagined the old prick would send a Howler to announce that he was disowning Draco. It was, well, it was farcical.

When they got to Potions that afternoon, Professor Snape took Draco aside to talk to him. They both looked very grave as they exchanged words. Ron watched Snape touch the Slytherin’s shoulder comfortingly. He averted his eyes as Draco turned back toward the table where they sat. Ron wouldn’t describe Snape’s behavior in class that day as nice or charitable, but the Gryffindors escaped without losing any points.

Ron couldn’t help but notice the minor soap opera developing between Harry and Hermione that day. As he walked with Draco to Runes, he heard Hermione’s voice rising loudly above the hallway din, and Harry’s answering angry tones. Then the flat sound of a slap and Hermione stormed away from Harry, past Draco and Ron. They looked back at Harry, who had a livid handprint on his face and was still fuming mad. He sneered at them and turned away.

“That’s an iestiesting development,” Draco murmured.

“It’s your fault, you know,” Ron said lightly. Draco smirked. Then his expression sobered.

“I know how much you like Potter,” he said. “I fucked that up.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up, Draco,” Ron said firmly. “Harry and I were quite capable of it on our own.” He pursed his lips. “I don’t know what Hermione could be angry about, though.”

Draco bit his tongue to prevent a snide comment, which involved suggesting that perhaps she was not angry, simply mad, from escaping his mouth. Despite the fact that she was a mudblood, Granger had been decent to Ron--and to Draco himself--since this whole thing started. She had tried her best to patch things up between Ron and Harry, to no avail. And Draco supposed that, now that he had been disowned, he was really not much better than a Muggle-born. That didn’t mean he was fond of the obnoxious little brainiac, of course.

“We’ve got our first Hogsmeade weekend coming up in a couple of days,” Ron said, abruptly changing the subject. “Do you want to get together, for a drink or something?”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Weasley?” Draco teased.

Ron puffed out his chest. “No. What kind of poof do you think I am?”

“That remains to be decided.” Draco smiled sarcastically. “Oh, and Ron?”

“Yes?”

“Invite Granger, if she hasn’t smoothed things out with Potter by then.”

Ron kept his silenbut but from the rising of his eyebrows Draco knew he was surprised. They walked along for several minutes.

“Draco, are you beginning to...like…Hermione?”

Draco raised his chin defiantly. “Certainly not. Banish the thought from your mind.” Ron smiled.


“Get your head out of your ass, Potter.” Draco hadn’t meant to wind up alone in the alcove with Harry; unfortunately, there was no taking it back.

“Why, so you can shove your dick in it?” Draco and Harry circled warily. “I’m not like Ron, Malfoy. I’m not fooled. You’re still a fink in my estimation.”

“Watch yourself,” Draco growled.

“Or you’ll do what, exactly?” Harry laughed. “You can’t sic your daddy on me anymore. Poor ickle Drakey-poo’s got nobody to hide behind now.”

Draco snarled. “I’m proud of who I am, and I know where my loyalties lie,” he hissed, hands balling into fists. “I’m not the one who abandoned his best friend.”

“No, you were content to steal someone else’s.”

He could bear it no longer; Draco punched Harry in the face, fist connecting firmly with the other boy’s chin. This, of course, gave Harry license to escalate the encounter.

“Is that the best you can do? Pansy little bastard, with your makeup and your weak little punches…”

Harry slugged him in the chest, knocking the wind from him. Draco tackled Harry and pinned him to the ground, punching him in the face as many times as he could before the Gryffindor fo him him off. His face was bleeding from a half-dozen places. Harry got to his feet and circled Draco, hands twitching. When Draco moved in for a blow, Harry grabbed his shoulders, bringing his knee up into the other boy’s solar plexus. Draco whuffed and stumbled backward. Harry took the opportunity and landed a good punch to Draco’s eye.

“What in the name of Merlin is going on here?”

The two boys halted, looking up at the staircase with a shared sense of dread. Draco’s fists uncurled slowly as he stared up at the infuriated faces of Professors McGonagall and Snape.

“Ten points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall announced.

“And ten from Slytherin,” Snape echoed. Each of the professors grabbed their respective charge and Draco found himself dragged down the corridor.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Snape hissed, releasing Draco’s robe. “You’re a Prefect, Malfoy. You should not be engaging in fistfights.”

“Potter started it,” Draco said lamely. He met Professor Snape’s eyes. They both knew how hollow that excuse was.

“Be that as it may, I am very disappointed,” Snape said. “Do I have to assign you ten inches of parchment, or wiou lou learn your lesson without?”

“I can do without,” Draco said. “I’m sorry, Professor.”

Snape blinked. That was the quickest he’d ever been able to get an apology out of Draco, and for once the boy sounded sincere. He tried to lighten the air a bit.

“And next time you’re fighting Potter, don’t let him get up,” he said. Draco smiled nastily, and Snape returned the smirk. “He needs to be put in his place.”

“Yes, sir.” Draco smiled with relief. Snape wasn’t really angry at him; Snape was never really angry at him. But McGonagall had seen, and Potter was, after all, very well liked. It would do to use more caution in future.