Chapter Text
Draco watched the clouds fly by with a detached interest. He would arrive at Hogwarts for the end-of-the-year Feast in only ten minutes. If his memory serves him well, the Feast had started about five minutes ago so that he would be at least fifteen or twenty minutes late. This means that when he pushed through those giant doors, he would arrive either in time to see Slytherin lose the House cup or just afterward.
Suppose they were in the lead. A week and a half ago, Darco had been sure that Gryffindor was winning, but he knew how many extra points kids could squeeze from their professors those last few days. He still vaguely remembers convincing Vincent and Gregory to help him clean up the Owlery the last week of school. He had learned the House Elves were banned from entering the room and figured the opportunity would get a professor or two to give them extra points.
It did. Especially from Professor Flitwick, who often went in to feed the owls the less-than-responsible students should have remembered to feed. Twenty points wasn't a lot, but it was always a welcomed effort for Slytherin to try to get ahead. No one else had discovered that particular house point generator and the three swore to keep it between them to avoid the tip spreading through Hogwarts.
That was until the summer of the fourth year, when everything went to hell, and the Dark Lord returned. The three had far more important things going on than trying to win a silly little house trophy. Draco never did go back to the Owlery in his past life, and now, in his second re-run of the first year, he hadn't thought about the birds all that much. He may find time to slip away during the dinner to prepare it for next year.
Draco sighs, slumping more onto the carriage glass window. He is not sure if he even wants to go to the Feast, in all honesty. You've been to one end-of-year Feast once, then you've been to them all. But he did not want to be around his parents, so he impulsively left the hospital as quickly as he could. Only thirty minutes into his flight, he realized he had not changed from his hospital robes nor had any of his things with him.
Pops' diary included.
He knows his parents had claimed to pack his things while he had been.... preoccupied in his forced slumber, but his mind had been too disorganized to ask them where the stuff had gone.
Now, he would arrive at Hogwarts looking like the poor little case of MDC. How typical. The very idea of walking in front of so many eyes, knowing they would only see an eleven-year-old in overside hospital robes that would only make him appear more pathetic, made his skin crawl. Draco had grown used to the hateful glares and hissed whispers, but it's been a long time since pity had ever been aimed at him.
He has half a mind to tell the carriage driver to turn him around. But where would he go? Right now, Malfoy Manor sounded like a terrible idea to spend his days in, and he didn't think the driver would be convinced to fly him over borderlines into a new country to start a new life. Also, he's furious at his parents, vividly angry, but he doesn't want to leave him at the mercy of the war.
He couldn't escape to France yet. Not without dragging Mother, Father, and Pa there with him.
Reading the letters the kids sent him had helped tame his anxious thoughts, but there was only so much time he could buy with the kids' daily updates. He is excited to see everyone and knows the little beast has all been worried sick about him. From their perspective, Draco has been out for two whole weeks due to a professor attacking a severely terminally ill child.
Gosh, the poor things are going to be traumatized by this. Things might have been better if Pa or any staff had kept them updated on Draco's condition, but he has low hopes. Based on Potter's more frantic recent letters, they were mostly left in the dark after they said Draco had pulled through. Granger hadn't even been aware he was in a coma, as her letters had gone on and on about Draco needing to record everything he saw during his hospital stay.
She was fascinated with the difference between muggle and magical healing arts as her parents were somewhat involved with the practices as "dentists," whatever that was. He should ask her when he sees her tonight.
They hit a strong wind, causing the carriage to jolt a bit. Draco's head bounces against the glass softly, a dull ache forming on the side of it as he winces. Maybe the universe is telling him to stop whining. The universe should mind its own business.
Still, it's enough for him to sit up, ensuring the letters are neatly folded and stored in a neat pile at his side. He had organized them by date, telling himself he would re-read them all when he was more mentally able to. He is pretty sure he stared at the words more than read them, especially Fred's. He'll sit with the lad to make it up to him.
Draco wonders how his hair is looking. He hadn't thought to comb it, but with the carriage slowly tilting downwards, he figured he ran out of time to get it under control. He hoped it didn't look as bad as Aunt Bellatrix when she was too out of it to bother with her hair. There must have been a time when she cared about her appearance, but that was likely before the war and her imprisonment in Azkaban. During the last few months of her life, she would allow her strains of hair to fall into her eyes and puff up from lack of care. Other times, she would seem surprised that she had hair. Sometimes, Draco shutters to think that her madness is passed through his mother's blood.
The towers of Hogwarts come into view first, pulling Draco from his thoughts. He watches the castle appear with an out-of-body sense of numbness. He wishes for a moment to open Pop's journal and describe the scenery, his fingers aching to grab a quill and see what the other thinks. It's too bad that while he was in his forced coma, his parents had taken Pops and all his other belongings to who knows where.
He would have demanded what they had done with the seemingly plain muggle notebook if he hadn't been so angry. He doesn't think he can long converse with his parents and godfather. Draco will likely have to search the manor independently after the Feast. It will be troublesome, but at least it will be something to do that he could use as an excuse to avoid them.
The more he thought about it, the stronger the sense of numbness overturned his body. Draco briefly wondered if there was nothing he could do about it, but alas, the carriage rolled to a stop before the grand entrance. Madam Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall are standing at the top of the stairs leading to Hogwarts, watching the carriage approach with stern expressions and tightly clasping hands in front of them. There is also a wheelchair next to them, which makes Draco frown. The carriage driver hops down from his little seat, racing around to open the door for Draco, who is attempting to set the wheelchair on fire with willpower alone.
"We're here, Mr. Malfoy," the man says, his voice far too gentle to be anything but pity for him. The man had acted like Draco was made of glass the moment he saw him. Or, more accurately, the moment he was informed of what kind of passenger he was taking back to Hogwarts. "Do you need help getting down?"
Draco's glare softens into a pout. It's not this man's fault that no one is willing to believe his health, and he is just trying to be polite. His heart is in the right place, so Draco thinks he should try his best to be kind to him. After all, he knows how much of hell it can be working in customer service.
"I'm fine. I can do it myself." Draco proclaims, standing up on his own. He is hit with a sudden, overwhelming sense of fatigue when he stands, causing him to wobble slightly to the right. The man thrusts out his arms to steady him, but Draco bats his away, doing his best to regain his balance. "I said I'm fine! Just give me a second to stretch out my legs, please."
The man's face tightens in worry, but he does draw back his hands as Draco leans on the carriage wall. After a moment, he can stand and carefully makes his way to the exit. The driver takes a few steps back for every step Draco takes forward, hands still ready in case he falls over, but there is no issue going down the little stairs to finally have his feet touch Hogwarts ground.
For a second, all Draco does is take a breath and enjoy the cool summer air. He always loved Hogwarts at night, where the world was silent, and it was just him and the stars. Even when everything was terrible in the war and the years following it, the clear night sky always gave him a few moments of comfort. He tilts his head back, staring at the twinkling lights, wondering if the stars had seemed this close during his first life. He can't remember, but maybe it was because he hadn't yet known how to appreciate the quiet nights when he was eleven.
"Mr. Malfoy." Professor McGonagall says softly as if the stern woman was trying not to startle him. Dragging his gaze back down, Draco finds the two women have made their way down the stairs, the wheelchair floating behind them over the steps, much like his floating bed from the manor. The pair stop before him, offering a smile, but sadness is in the corner of their eyes. Draco's skin crawls. "We are so happy you could make it to tonight's feast."
"Thank you," he says, eyeing the wheelchair. He desires nothing more than to tell them he can handle walking alone, but the shake in his knees would belie his claim before he could even finish it. Draco hadn't felt this weak when he woke and marched down the hallway of St. Mugo's, but it seemed the weeklong lack of movement had finally caught up to him. "May I sit down in that?"
"Of course!" Madam Pomfrey rushes over with the chair, gently guiding him into taking a seat. Draco nearly slaps her hands away until he remembers himself and settles into his seat with a heavy thump. His pout grows more prominent as a few strands of hair fall into his eyes, highlighting how underprepared he is to make a public appearance. It is just great seeing his image issues. He wonders what they must all see because everyone's mood is somber. The carriage driver excuses himself, and the two women wave goodbye to him.
Draco looks away, back to the stars, as the wheels of the carriage roll over some rocks, the sound echoing in the silence of Hogwarts before it's airborne again. The firm flaps of the Abraxan's wings are very loud to ears as horses pull away, letting Draco know they will soon be mere specks in the sky. He should have gone with them.
"You're a little late, but you haven't missed much," Madam Pomfrey tells him as she conjures a warm blanket over his legs. Draco didn't realize he was shivering until the fluffy object was in his lap. He quickly moved the cloth to cover his shoulders, wrapping him warmly. It must have a heating charm infused within. To her credit, Madam Pomfrey doesn't seem to mind that he rearranges her blanket, merely pushing his chair to float over the steps. "You will be in a world of fun tonight!"
Draco offers her a weak smile. "Sounds great."
"Your healer sent over a strict diet for you, Mr. Malfoy," Professor McGonagall speaks up, walking alongside the student. "We had the house elves set up a special seat for you that followed these restrictions. I expect you not to take food from your seatmates."
"What the point of me being here then? I can't enjoy the Feast at the End of the Year Feast." Draco grumbles bitterly, catching the women off guard. They share identical looks of bewilderment, and he doesn't know why until he realizes this is the first time they have seen him unpleasant. He has memories of being a downright terror to the Hogwarts staff, but they do not. Because of the Black ritual, these two only know Draco as a sweet, withdrawn young Hufflepuff nicknamed Nicest and Smartest First-Year Wizard.
He severely lacked manners back then, so he attempted to make it up in his second go-about. He wonders if showing his nastier side will make them less pitiful, but the idea evaporates as soon as it starts to form in his mind. He could all but feel Pops shaking his head at him. He is right; someone of Draco's standing shouldn't be going around purposefully being a nuisance.
"You'll make lovely memories either way," Professor McGonagall settles on, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. Draco takes a deep breath and nods but refuses to say anything else.
He straightens in his seat, allowing the blanket to fall back to his lap, and he tries to push the hair out of his face and reminds himself that Pops would want him to present the best version of himself if he can. He also quickly apologizes to the women who rush to assure him it's alright.
Draco stares straight ahead as the large wooden doors swing open, hoping his expression doesn't show how unsettled he is. His emotions jump all over the place, going from numb to annoyed to embarrassed to determined, all within a few minutes. It was exhausting, and explaining that to anyone who saw it on his face would be a hundred times worse.
At once, he can see every portrait straining to get a good look at him. Even a bunch of paint and leftover magic gawk at him for his misdiagnosis. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth as the paintings start to whisper as they stroll by loudly. He doesn't have the energy to yell at them over it, but it makes him miss Pops all that more.
Pops would listen to his woes and help him figure out how to show he wasn't sick. Even though the muggle-born's memory had also seemed to think that he did suffer from MDC, it was slightly better to hear—or read—it from Pops.
"I would like to remind the esteem portraits of Hogwarts that we do not belittle or speak badly of a student if said portraits wish to keep the privilege of being hung in our hallways." Professor McGonagall bites, looking at a pair loudly debating how much time Draco has left to live. They didn't think he would make it past the third year, at least not without becoming a rotting vegetable. If he genuinely were sick, that would have been painful to hear.
The portraits scatter like misbehaving children, but a few linger to throw Draco's pitiful gazes. He ducks his head, and Madam Pomfrey speeds up, pushing his chair faster. He half wonders why she hadn't bothered to charm his wheelchair to move in the direction he wanted when he leans, but a part of him already knows the answer. They didn't think he would be strong enough to lean on his own.
It leaves a taste of ash in his mouth. His fingers twitch with the urge to complain to Pops. He misses Pops so much...
"Here we are, Mr. Malfoy." Madam Pomfrey tells him once they finally reach the front of the Great Hall. Behind the sealed, thick wooden doors, Draco could scarcely make out the multitude of voices that indicated the Feast was well underway. The healer crouches beside him, staring into his eyes with a motherly, barely condescending expression. "Now, I want you to know if you become overwhelmed, there is no shame in stepping away. All Hogwarts staff are ready to step in at a moment's notice should you need us. All you have to do is say the word and an adult will help, alright?"
He nods because he doesn't trust himself to lash out at her. Draco is not a child that needs to be handled like glass. He can feel the rage boiling in the pits of his stomach, even as her smile turns warmer. She likely thought him shy, and he would allow her to believe so. He is not in the mood to argue about his health once again. It's not like he will be taken seriously about it.
"I do hope you enjoy yourself tonight," Professor McGonagall tells him with a gentle squeeze of his right shoulder. "The end-of-year Feast tends to be the grandest. The house elves always go all out now that they know the students' preferences. This will end their time at Hogwarts for some, but it is only the beginning for others, such as yourself. "
Draco's eyes dropped, a wave of cold making him shudder. Was Hogwarts always this drafty, or was the unneeded treatment making him weaker than usual? "It's not the beginning for me, and it won't even be a good memory. Look at how I'm dressed. It's good that I've already been through this seven times."
He meant the words as a reminder that he was, in fact, from the future, but neither woman took it as such. He can tell by the slight hitching of breath from Madam Pomfrey as if though she was trying to fight off a sob and the tightening of Professor McGonagall's hand. Her jaw has a hard edge from where she is clenching her teeth, and her eyes take a specific glossy appearance, but she shows no other signs of distress. Putting on a brave face as a true Gryffindor would, no wonder she is the head of the house.
Draco wants to correct the misunderstanding, but he's too tired of it all to try. He should tell them he would instead go back to his dormitory so he could lay in bed for the rest of the night. Not sleep; Draco is done with sleeping after the past week and a half, but lying and staring at the ceiling for hours sounded so much better than spending the whole night being watched by all staff members.
He opens his mouth to let them know, but Professor McGonagall suddenly swings her wand over his body. Draco made a little surprise sound as he was lifted into the air in a swirl of magic. Right before his eyes, his hospital robes transfigure into a new outfit. They tighten around his body, shifting in a near-muggle white suit. What set it aside from muggle wear was the white cape that dropped from his shoulders down to his ankles while golden swirls bloomed at the hem. Elegant designs of green flowers and legs appeared slowly across his chest and down his pants legs, not in an overwhelming sense but a tasteful pop of spring color.
Then, the transfiguration teacher turned her attention to his sad little wheelchair. It changed from blooming into the throne in three quick slashes, with golden leaves covering above the wheels. The magic made the backrest taller, leaking into Lilly of Valley in lovely shades of gold and white. White, which matched the new cushions on a seat at the backrest. Draco's mouth dropped open.
It looked like a throne from some spring-themed kingdom. It was so lovely and elegant that he had no doubt Professor McGonagall had earned her Transfiguration Mastery.
As Draco was dangling in the air, Madam Pomfrey clapped her hands. "Oh, Minerva, it's perfect! Let me add a few things."
With a whoosh of her wand, Draco felt his hair slowly lift into the air, bending and weaving into the braid. There were slight pops as flowers bloomed between each twist, and all his hair was pulled to be tied to the back of his head. The time traveler couldn't see precisely what the hairstyle looked like, but he was grateful she added a few cleaning and beauty charms to her quick spell work.
He felt the oil disappear from his face as his skin grew softer, and his hair was washed and braided. He noticed his nails became clipped and treated into a perfect manicure, his dry lips turned smooth once more, and a present floral smell quickly surrounded him. Draco hadn't realized how much he smelled like a hospital until then. He is grateful they thought ahead.
When he landed back in his wheelchair-turned throne, Professor McGonagall gave him no time to ask for a mirror before she waved her wand at the doors. They swung open just as Madam Pomfrey grew too excited and threw out some environment charms. A waterfall of white rose petals appeared around Draco, blowing gently in invisible wind while a youthful but soft orchestra music filled the air. Its piano, flutes, and harps gave a near-angelic tone that had every head in the Great Hall turned towards the doorway.
All conversations came to a screeching halt as the students strained to get a better look at the returning student who had survived a murder attempt. Draco's head swung around the prominent place, trying to find purpose from all the staring, and for some reason, his gaze landed on his old friends in Slytherin. Vincent and Gregory each raised a brow at him as if both were wondering why he was making such an entrance.
He could hear their voices now.
A bit over the top, isn't it, Draco? Vincent would ask while Gregory would laugh, choosing to let his best friend make comments for the both of them. It is a sudden reminder that they had given up their close friendship because of his new sorting, and his chest squeezes in sudden longing. Life was meaningless, but their friendship had meant so much to him, and now it's gone.
Draco is alone.
Well, I am not alone entirely.
I still have Pops. He thinks, turning away from the two Slytherins. I may not have any friends or a place where I belong, but I have Pops, and that's all I need.
He noticed that the rest of the small group of kids he tutored in his study club were all but falling out of their seats as they looked at him.
There, their gazes lingered in surprised awe as Draco was slowly pushed into the Great Hall, feeling mortified by the specular he had become. Changing his clothes and hair was one thing; giving him theme music while strolling through the tables to his designated spot was another. He felt his face heat in embarrassment as the surrounding first-year Hufflepuff gawked at him, more than a few red in the face.
Oh boy, was there a cold on top of everything?
He opened his mouth to ask, but two strong arms suddenly wrapped around his shoulders and dragged him into a desperate hug before he could. "Draco! I missed you. Never do that to me again, you understand? I can't protect you from everything!"
Draco felt a genuine smile bloom as he turned slightly, feeling his best friend's cheek press against him. Justin didn't want to let him go anytime soon, even though he was falling over the throne's armrest to reach him. "Justin! I missed you too. Believe me when I say I never want to return to St. Mungo's."
"Bet you are merely saying that to get away with another Disney Prince entrance," Justin grumbled, pressing himself closer and rubbing his cheek slightly against Draco. It reminded him of a pouting puppy as if the child was trying to convince himself that his friend had returned. Draco chuckled at the child's antics, spotting the two witches who escorted him in and walking away with warm smiles in the corner of his eye.
"I still don't know what Disney is." He tells the other over the swings of harps.
"That's fine. I'll show you over the break. We're having the world's longest movie marathon."
Draco's eyes soften, squeezing back. "That sounds lovely."
I'm not as alone as I thought.
The music ends, fading into silence as his rose petals disappear in gentle sparkles. There is a moment of stillness before the whole place erupts in screams, applause, and stomps. Draco jumps in Justin's hold, causing the other to let him go. He leans back into his throne-wheelchair, watching the student body lose their minds. It's a lot like how the school reacted when Cedric was selected for Hogwarts Champion. Students began to crowd around him, talking over each other and cheering.
"Malfoy! I'm so glad you are alright!"
"That was the coolest entrance I've ever seen!"
"You're so pretty!"
"Quirrell should be Kissed for what he tried to do to you. He's a monster!"
"Welcome back! Welcome back!"
Draco doesn't know where to look or who to respond to, but Justin looks at his face before he's hissing and kicking people away. He also has a very pointing elbow and isn't afraid of proving it while he elbows three Raveclaws away with a sneer. "That's enough! Draco had a long day, and he still needs to rest. Get back!"
Honestly, the boy is the best. Draco breaths just a little easier as the crowd starts to break, but it's a short leave as a new crowd builds around him—a crowd of redheads.
"Duckling!" Fred sobs while Ron and George pat his back. "I was so worried about you!"
Percy rolls his eyes, sitting on the bench next to Draco as if he did not see the first-year Hufflepuff that scrambles away from being sat on. He does it with a certain rebellious flare that hints at his relationship with his siblings bettering. "Fred, clean your face. But Draco, we missed you so much. I'm glad you're safe."
Draco reaches a hand out to Fred, who clings to it while sobbing harder. "I'm sorry for worrying you, Fred. And thank you, Percy, for the welcome."
Fred hiccups as Ron and George help him sit on the other side of Draco. The House-elves did not want to put him at the end of the tables. Instead, they had carved out some of the bench and table, making a tiny little notch so that his wheelchair could comfortably sit in the middle of the table. Justin had been sitting there before Fred, but he was spitting insults at a Slytherin second-year who may or may not have implied Draco was doing this for attention. He never knew the Hufflepuff could be so vicious.
Said second year, was pushed out of the way by a running Nott, who was dragging along Longbottom by the hand. The two stopped just behind Draco's throne, leaning around the redheads to look him in the eye.
"Thank all the Magic!" Nott gasps, placing his head on Draco's shoulder, ignoring the sobbing redhead that he was half dropped over to reach Draco. "Thank all the Magic. I did not lose you. I would be alone, and I can't-I can't."
"I wouldn't have been able to handle the loss," Longbottom whispered, tears rolling down his face like broken glass. "I can't lose any more people."
Well, isn't that a kick to the heart? Poor things. He smiles as comforting as he can towards the two young boys. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon."
"He's lying. Draco is going to leave us all soon." Granger whispers sadly next to Percy, appearing like a bloody ghost. If Draco had not lived so many years with Death Eaters, Werewolves, and every other Dark Creature the Dark Lord had invaded his home with, her sudden appearance would have made him scream. He would have answered her and let her know he did mean to keep his promise. Still, Percy was already wrapping her in a hug, whispering comforting words into her hair, like an older brother would his sister, and he figured he was more than capable of handling whatever sadness she was going through.
He has his hands filled with sobbing Fred, Nott, and Longbottom. None of them looked like the tears would stop any time soon, unlike Granger, who appeared to be resigning but thankfully not in tears about him. Then, to add even more to the mix, Potter scoots beside Percy, squeezing his legs to reach Draco. There is a craze, almost desperate look in his eyes as he yanks the blond into a tight hug.
"Draco. You're here. You're alive," The little boy gasps. He isn't crying, but it's a close thing with his wavering voice and wobbly lip. "Draco."
"Hello, Potter." He sighs, leaning into him even as Nott chases after him, and Longbottom leans over to place his hand on Draco's shoulder, encasing Nott between the two in a strange four-person hug. Fred throws himself on the children with a gasp, crying harder than before. George and Percy glance at each other, shrug, and push Draco's wheelchair back, making enough room for them to wiggle into the hug. Percy guides Granger into joining them, having her take place behind Potter much like Longbottom to Nott was, and he covers Ron and Geroge.
The group must be gathering many stares, but for the first time in a long time, Draco could care less about what they think, not because he is sad or used to it but because he is so happy that he finds that all he needs right now is the opinions of these darling little beasts. He left his head, trying to look over all the children, where he spots Justin a few feet away, shuffling his feet and staring at the group in longing.
"Justin!" He calls, making the boy snap his head, and the children around him move back slightly. "Justin, come here! I want to hug my best friend!"
His friend's glowing smile was worth everything he had to put up with since his foolish idea of listening to Potter in the future. He doesn't even mind that Gryffindor has won the house cup, that half the school takes turns getting a hug from him, or that the Headmaster finds him later to question once again if he plans to continue his study club. He would have ignored the slight accusing tone any other night, but Draco is soaring about the feeling of friendship and the courage Pops has given him.
"I do, sir; I have to before it's too late." He said as the Feast started up again, and the children were all racing back to their tables to eat. Draco has pushed himself further away to get some air and watch the Hall. He never noticed in the time he had been in the past, but all the children here were so bright, so happy, so untouched by the horrors of the war. Had he not stopped once to appreciate that in the whole year?
All of this would go away in only a few years—this child-like wonder.
Headmaster Dumbldore's eyes narrow slightly, though others would not be able to tell. "Too late for what?"
Hurry. Hurry. We're all going to be on the frontlines, A voice whispered in Draco's head so softly that the children's laughter almost drowned it out. We're all dying, and I've never felt so alive.
But he didn't say that. Instead, he looked into the Headmaster's eyes with a sad, broken smile that had the older man rearing back as though Draco had slapped him. "You know why, sir."
Was it his imagination, or did the Headmaster flinch? He can't wait to tell Pops. Draco just hoped his parents hadn't done anything to him while he was away. He'll also tell the muggle-born who has appointed himself as his grandfather about his summer and club plans and maybe ask for advice on reconciling with his parents over the break. He noticed that Pa had been absent the entire Feast, and a part of him felt guilty about it.
He couldn't wait.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
While Draco was thinking of his summer vacation, Justin Flinch-Fletchley had stepped away to relieve himself in the first-floor boy's bathroom. He had chosen this restroom because the Weasley twins had placed some foul-smelling dungbombs in the male bathroom by the Great Hall. Rumors said it was retaliation against some Seven-Year Gryffindor Rex Thunderhove who had loudly mocked Draco's death.
They realized Thunderhove had a habit of using the restroom every day after lunch and had rigged the bathroom to encase him in a stench. Three weeks later, Thunderhove still smells like something rotten.
Justin didn't know all the details, but apparently, Thunderhove's mother and elder sister were killed in the war, and he blamed the Malfoys for their deaths. He had been excited that Lucious Malfoy was suffering similarly, even though Draco had nothing to do with what went down. Even after getting targeted by the Weasley twins, the older Gryffindor did not take back his words, instead shouting that he hoped Draco suffered.
He earned himself detention from professors, hateful glares from Draco's students, and even a well-placed punch to the neck by a Seven Year Hufflepuff with pink hair. Tonks is her name, and although Justin does not know her well, he notices she is one of the few who stares at Draco almost longingly. His best friend never saw her, but Justin did. She was always slightly in the background, her hand half stretched as though she wanted to reach out to Draco, but she seemed to change her mind at the last second.
It didn't seem she fancied Draco—because if she did, Justin would make her life hell—but instead, she looked at him as if he were a long-forgotten friend. He could have told Draco, but in the smallest corners of his heart, where cowardness resided, Justin worried that they were childhood friends and that Draco would wake to realize she was better than him, leaving Justin alone again.
He selfishly remained silent about Tonks all year, praying she would graduate and leave them alone. Then Draco got hurt, and Justin realized that attaching himself to his blond friend made him so alone again now that he was gone. He was glad the Weasleys got to Thunderhove first. The muggle-born was sure he would have done something a little less harmless in retaliation if the idiot hadn't stopped loudly proclaiming his best friend was taking his last breath as they spoke, and what the heck was Justin even doing while he was dying?!
Fighting Professor Quirrell for some stone with the thunderheads of Potter, Weasley, and Granger as if it were all some fairy tale? Going to class and running a study club like nothing had happened? Living his life as though Draco Malfoy was already part of the past?
Justin hated it. He hated that he was told to sit and wait until news of Draco's recovery- or death- came through.
Alone. Alone. Alone.
Just like before, just like home where he was nothing but the cursed child of the Finch-Fletchy. It made his darkest part more visible, and his fellow Hogwarts students avoided his past class or the study club. He was there, but Justin was also more background to the students of Hogwarts.
Personally, Justin could understand the Thunderhove hate manifesting in this way.
Heaven knows that if his family had been killed like that, he would hate anything that reminded him of their murders. He is self-aware enough to admit he would also blame Draco and would give in to the prejudiced word of mouth that made his own life a living hell just because it's all Justin knows. If so many people said it, some of the rumors had to be accurate.
That's why Justin was also connected to the rumor mill, be it the muggle upper class of home, the closed-off Houses of Hogwarts that whispered between them, or his little brother's safe space journal that he would often read to ensure Nathan wasn't hiding any bullying his sexuality may cause. No one knew he was; of course, he would never allow the fools to notice his information gathering, but he needed to be on top of things in case someone he cared for would be the target of deadly rumors.
No one back home knew for sure Nathan liked boys, but oh, those damn whispers made suggestions, and Justin hated them all. He always turned those rumors around with carefully placed comments and fake notes. He always made the people spreading them the topic instead of the source.
So far, he had ruined seven lives doing so and had watched his old muggle schoolmates bully three boys out of school. One he heard had taken his own life, but that was one rumor that he could never confirm. Justin never felt remorse for them, even though Nathan thought it was horrifying. His brother didn't know what he did to protect him, and Justin prays he never does.
Nathan was the family's angel, and Justin was his demon counterpart. That is why Draco reminded him so much of his brother, not for their appearances or even personalities but for their roles.
Justin was the demon standing near angels, ready to tear anyone he thought was a threat apart and not letting the blood splatter on his brother or best friend.
While spending time with Draco, Justin often wondered how someone so easily prone to selfishness and hate, like himself, managed to become a Hufflepuff. He was nothing like the Malfoy heir, who was kind to the point it hurt to see. It was so easy to notice that Draco had no self-value, and Justin clung to him because it was easier to manipulate people like that. He tried to appear friendly yet distant when he approached Draco, but his plans had fallen apart when he realized Draco genuinely liked him.
He thought of Justin as a friend. That has never happened before, so he was determined to keep Draco all to himself. He let all those fools look at him, even though they fancy him, but Draco would remain by Justin's side no matter what. Potter and his little gang of love-struck fools were out of luck.
He was a horrible person but a loyal one if nothing else.
Justin was walking back to the Great Hall when his foot accidentally kicked something across the tile floors. Looking down, he blinks at the plain black journal that almost seems to be muggled. What was it doing way out here? Did someone drop it? Too bad for them. Now, it was in Justin's hands, and he would use whatever was inside to his advantage.
He flips it open, wondering if he has found any information that could be useful, only to have his eyes widen as words appear on otherwise empty pages. Even after learning he was a wizard, Justin sometimes found the magic world to be far too surprising.
Draco, darling, I must confess something to you. Please do not write in this diary anymore.
Draco? As in Justin's best friend?
"Why?" He asks, but the journal says nothing. Justin looks around to ensure no one is around before he slips behind a pillar and pulls out a pen from his shoe. He always had something to write on him. One never knows when one overhears something that he needs to write down in case that person becomes bothersome and needs to be blackmailed into submission.
Why? Justin writes. He feels as though the diary is still in his hands. If he could give an inanimate object an emotion, he would even say that the diary is shocked.
Who are you? Where is Draco?
That depends.
On what?
Are you a friend of Draco Malfoy or a foe?
There is a pause where Justin thinks that whoever is responding to him- someone with a different journal? A friend Draco neglected to tell him about?- considers his answer, and he is half tempted to throw the book into the Great Hall fireplace, where words finally appear.
I'm Tom Riddle. I'm Draco Malfoy's friend. Who are you?
Justin bristles at the words, pressing his pen harder than necessary on the pages. I'm Justin Flinch-Fletchley, Draco Malfoy's best friend.
He underlines the last two words to show Riddle where he stands. Suddenly, he feels as if something with sharp teeth smiling at him as Tom responds.
Are you a muggle-born?
yes
A muggle-born following the Malfoy heir like a puppy. So protective of him, too. Flinch- Fletchley, I think you and I will get along excellent.