Chapter Text
The last time Draco Malfoy looked forward to going home was when he was ten years old.
It was raining outside, and Mrs. Zabini was ending another relationship so there was a lot of yelling during his and Blaise’s playdate. Blaise had been in a foul mood because his mum wouldn’t let him tailor his clothes and Pansy hadn’t been much happier because she wasn’t allowed to hex her annoying teachers. Narcissa picked him up at noon, promising to go home and have tea with Lucius, and Draco had nearly cried tears of joy.
If someone had told him last year that he’d be looking forward to seeing his father he would’ve hexed them blind.
But here he is, nearly vibrating in the car much to Narcissa’s annoyance.
“Will you calm down? You haven’t even heard the best news yet.”
“News?” Draco tries to still his legs, it doesn’t work well. He wants to be home now. The sooner he’s home, the sooner he can check on Lucius’s arm that may or may not have been used to revive the Dark Lord, but hey, having his father not beat him is an expensive price to pay.
Plus, as soon as he’s done with that he can call Harry on the weird ‘cell phone’ thing Hermione made.
“Yes the news, Sirius and Remus will be joining us for dinner.”
Yeah, he kinda expected that. After all, Sirius can’t see his godson, so his cousin’s kid will have to suffice. Draco would be irritated if he could care.
He can see the manor gates in the distance, he’s nearly home.
Next to him LuLu purrs, nuzzling her little white head into his thigh like she’s relieved to be back too.
What a difference a year can make.
The manor seems smaller now, not looming over him like the past few years. He doesn't feel the slightest bit of anxiety looking at the steps, walking into the door feels more like coming home than it ever has.
“Welcome back, Master Draco.”
Draco smiles down at Sisily, handing his coat to Winky “You got Geia taken care of, right? Food supplies and direct line to Harry?”
“Yes Sir,” Winky replies, “Misses Geia has the contraption Misses Hermione made for Mister Harry, and I already be bringing your things to your rooms, sir.”
Perfect. Now his weird Parstletoungue boyfriend can talk to their Basilisk friend. He’s sure that won’t cause any problems for anyone.
“Wonderful,” He pauses for a second, peering at her outfit. Something is off about it…. “Winky, did you make yourself another outfit?”
Winky blushes, her ears going back a bit, “Yes sir.”
“It looks wonderful-”
Narcissa ruffles his hair, leaning beyond him to compliment Winky herself. “You look lovely dear, Sisily, friend, could you bring some tea to my room? I think my darling Dragon will combust if he doesn't see his father soon.”
“I wouldn’t have to run if you’d let me apparate-”
“Absolutely not! You're only fifteen, you have two more years before you’re allowed to get your license!”
Draco would bother with a glare, but he’s a little busy sprinting up steps.
His parents’ room is furthest down on the West Wing because it’s the biggest and his mother loves the view.
Their entry way is a little over the top, but that’s just because Narcissa loves pistachio green and Draco’s more of a emerald green person. Even so, their fainting couch by the fireplace used to be one of his favorite napping spots. When he was young he’d curl up next to whichever one of them was reading there and dream of faraway places more magical than himself.
His own room has the same ceiling to floor windows, the same silky white sheets, as many pillows as he wants in his king bed.
His room does not, however, have Lucius propped up in bed with a book.
Lucius looks up when he rushes in, already smiling. He has his glasses on, his hair tied back. He hasn’t look his close to dad in so fucking long.
“Dragon! Welcome back! How was the ride? Did your mother tell you that-”
“Book down, please.”
Lucius gives him a look, but he does slowly put down his book and hold out his newer arm. Draco grabs his wand to run a diagnosis, but watching the magic growing his father’s arm is a little distracting. Unbelievable. Anyone who saw it would assume Lucius only got his hand cut off, not his entire arm, elbow and Dark Mark included. Poppy was right, his medical magic does have a long way to go, but her outrageously good healing doesn’t account for the disappearance of his father’s Dark Mark. At least, Draco thinks it’s gone. They won’t really know until the arm is fully healed, and even then, just because the mark is gone doesn’t mean Lucius’s ties are cut.
Magic always lingers for bloodlines like theirs.
“Are you done yet? I’ve been taking all my potions, I rather think you and Madam Pomphrey did a splendid job.”
“Don’t listen to your father, Draco, he just hates medical talk when I’m in the room.”
Well, Draco understands why. The last time he left his father’s health in his mother’s hands she killed him. Not for long, of course, and she did fix their little curse issue, but he’s still of the opinion that death was a little unnecessary. They’re still cleaning up the dungeons.
“I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re on about, love.” Lucius bristles, “I just want to know how our son’s final days of school went.”
Draco would call bullshit, but he has to call Winky for his father’s potions. It’s not a total loss, after all, he doesn’t have to call bullshit when Narcissa can do it with a single look.
----------
Sometimes Harry really thinks he’s been cursed in life.
It’s really the only explanation and it makes a ton of sense.
He’s born, which has potential, but then his parents were both violently murdered, so that’s not all great. And he had a chance to live with his godfather and the werewolf boyfriend, literally the plot of some romance novel, he’s sure, but that somehow ended up with Sirius in Azkaban, Remus depressed, and Harry in the care of some of the most abusive people he’s ever met in his life. He’s lied to for years, and then he gets magic, something he had only dared to think about, but he got it at the cost of having to kill a professor at the ripe age of eleven. A repeating theme, of course, because he gets to go back to the wonderful magic world, but only if he endangers his best friend’s little sister. He gets to make friends with his enemy, but only if he realizes that his parents were betrayed by one of their closest friends.
Harry gets to experience love, from family that he has now, friends that he never expected to make, and the biggest asshole that always makes him warm. He gets to feel happiness, but only if the world’s biggest killer comes with the little joy that’s filling his life.
So yeah, Harry’s willing to bet his entire trust fund that he was cursed as a baby.
He’s so deep into his new theory, planning out how he’ll present it to Hermione, that he doesn't even notice Uncle Vernon talking to him.
“-oy! Are you even listening to me?! You come into my house, use my water, eat my food and you can’t even bother listening?! You-you-”
Harry doesn’t even have time to duck from the meaty hand. He’s lucky Draco cast that unbreakable spell on his glasses last year, otherwise they’d be long gone.
He has a fading bruise on his left eye, and now he’ll probably have one on his right to match.
Something about that seems fucked up, but a lot of his life is fucked up.
As punishment for not paying attention and getting caught, Vernon exiles him to his room for the evening, no food, no water, not even his wand.
He’ll be let out in the morning for chores, but for now he has to worry about hiding his newer puffy eye, Draco will be calling any minute.
As soon as he thinks it, a little ringing sound starts in his pocket.
“Harry?” Godric, it’s only been a few hours and he’s missed his boyfriend’s voice, “I tried to call earlier when Sirius and Remus were here but you didn’t answer.”
“Yeah, sorry, I was with Uncle Vernon. How’s you dad?”
Draco goes into detail, giving an unnecessarily graphic description of his father’s arm, updates him on Lucius and and Narcissa, it’s all going swell until there’s a knock at his door and because the Dursleys have a tendency to take good things away from him, Harry shoves the phone under his bed.
“Who’re you talkin to, boy?!” Vernon yells, flinging open the door.
Harry stands so he looks less suspicious. “No one.”
“No one who?”
Harry knows he’s supposed to say sir, he knows he is but he’s not going to and it’s going to cost him one smack to the face but it’ll be worth it-
“Vernon! We only have so long! Have the boy come now!”
Huh?
Harry wants to ask what’s going on, but he can’t speak until spoken to here, so he waits for Vernon to give him permission to go. He can get away with some back talk, but he wouldn’t dare to outright disobey.
Apparently, Aunt Petunia is having a dinner party tomorrow, and her friends all like Harry’s cooking, so he’ll be doing the work. All of it. The cooking, the cleaning, scrubbing the dishes, making sure the house is presentable. Guests will arrive at five tomorrow evening, and it’s eleven o’clock. Aunt Petunia hands him a list with a frown like something displeases her.
“I understand,” She says slowly, like he’s still five and learning how to speak properly, “That you are slow. But this better get done, mm? Take a shower while you’re at it, you smell dreadful. Or maybe it’s that hair of yours,” She frowns deeply, “We’ve tried shaving your head before, that man’s genes are so hard to weed out.”
It’s a low blow, his parents are a sensitive topic and they both know it, but he knows what happens if he lashes out.
He doesn’t like what happens when he lashes out.
So, instead, Harry begins with dusting. Then he’ll prep the turkey because it has to slow cook for twelve hours. As soon as that’s in the oven he cleans counters so he can clean the silverware, and the table, and the plates. He’ll have to shine them afterwards, but he won’t risk Aunt Petunia’s anger. After that he beats the dust off the couch, cleaning up the living room as quietly as he can. He sweeps and scrubs the floors, and when he’s done with that it’s seven in the morning, which means Vernon will be down soon, so he hurries to make coffee and a quick breakfast.
He has to wait for Vernon to sit down to drink his coffee.
It’s a system he’s worked out by now. If he showers before Vernon drinks his coffee Vernon only gives him two minutes. One minute to figure out why there isn’t coffee, and one minute to figure out where the hell Harry is. If he does it after Vernon has had his cup then he’s cranky and will throw Harry out of the second story bathroom so he can use it for his early morning poops. But, if Harry catches that sweet spot right as Vernon takes the first sip, he gets a whole five minutes.
“Make yourself scarce,” Vernon glares as Harry hands him his briefcase, “my wife deserves better than a stain in her house.”
As soon as he’s gone Harry rushes to finish up the kitchen. The party is being held in the backyard, so he’ll spend the day gardening. Even so, food is being served in the dining room that has a clear view to the kitchen. He still has dishes to wash and he has to finish breakfast for his aunt and cousin and then clean up that mess and if Aunt Petunia’s kitchen isn’t ready by eleven then-
“What is this?”
Fuck. He forgot to clean Vernon’s coffee from this morning.
“You’ve had twelve hours, boy.” He hates her disappointed voice, it never bodes well for his body. “Twelve hours and you leave a mess? In my kitchen, in my home. The one I invited you into when your parents had their...accident...I’ve been so kind to you...and this is how you repay me? With filth and squalor?”
She speaks evenly and coolly, like a viper waiting to strike, but he’s met a basilisk, and Geia is supposed to be the scariest one out there. Harry squares his shoulders. That’s right, he’s friends with a fucking basilisk. He kissed the hand of Narcissa Malfoy and escaped from Tom Riddle. Some petite suburban mum isn’t going to scare him!
“You know what this means, of course.”
Harry’s blood runs cold.
He reminds himself that this is nothing. Draco’s faced worse. It’s not being chained to a dungeon and beaten by his own father. Worse things have happened.
“Hands on the sink, boy.”
He’s shaking worse than he was when Draco kissed him the first time.
Belts always look weird in Aunt Petunia’s little hands. The one she holds now is tiny and white, Pansy would criticize it, saying something like how cream looks much better with pale pink than white. She’d also probably make fun of him for shaking at the sight of a belt in tiny pale hands, but he can only do so much.
Harry would willingly face Riddle a thousand times if it meant never having to see that sight again.
“You will count.” Aunt Petunia says, voice like she’s merely commenting on the weather.
He always counts. If he doesn’t, Vernon gets a shot at him. Aunt Petunia at least lets him hide it, if Vernon had his way Harry would no longer have a mouth or skin colored skin. The twins voice in the back of his head snark out something about a bruising fetish, but Harry can’t focus on that while he’s counting.
Vernon is all force, no precision, no thought into his movements. He lashes out randomly, worse if Harry doesn't obey the rules. Aunt Petunia is the exact opposite. She likes to know how much he can handle and force him past that. They make it to seventy-five hits, repeatedly in three particular spots, the middle of his butt where it will hurt to sit, the back of his legs so it will hurt to stand, and the base of his spine because his aunt is a bitch. By fifty Harry’s vision is swimming, by sixty he’s crying, and by seventy he’s having trouble counting.
“Last one.” Aunt Petunia says softly, calmly.
It’s not the last one.
She takes it to eighty, kicking him out of the kitchen so his tears ‘won’t ruin the food of my good guests’.
He’s not allowed to sleep even though his body is begging to lay down and rest. A bed sounds wonderful, but he knows that even if he does make it to his ‘bed’ in his ‘room’ before tomorrow, he won’t feel safe enough to actually sleep. No, that will have to wait until August when he can finally go back to Hogwarts.
Blaise would be mortified by his aunt’s garden. He’d find a thousand things wrong with it, bring Petunia to tears. Harry fantasies about it as he clips roses that have clearly been neglected over the school year.
The Slytherins would march into the house, noses high in the air like the pompous assholes they are. Pansy would take one look at the lot of them, Vernon, the overweight buffoon without a shred of intelligence, Petunia, a embarrassing excuse for a housewife that wouldn’t last long against the messiest real thing, and Dudley, Merlin he can’t even guess the awful things she’s say about Dudley, but he knows it would reduce them all to shreds.
Blaise would go next, making sure to be extra vicious because he’s almost as over protective as Ron. He’d begin with the quality of Petunia’s ‘fine’ china, slander Vernon’s favorite chair, make sure they know how drab and dreary the wall paper is. He would probably laugh at whatever Dudley thought cool, dumb down his sentences so Dudley could understand the level of insult being directed towards him.
Millie and Theo would lap up at the scraps Blaise and Pansy left them, going after the food, the curtains, Petunia’s barely passable self respect. Theo could probably take one look at Dudley and utter a single sentence to destroy him.
And Draco?
Draco wouldn’t step foot in the hovel. He’d act offended at an offer to walk on unclean floors, say something ridiculous about Harry’s room being the only presentable one. He could set Vernon on fire with a single glare, which would probably make Dudley pee himself, which Harry kinda needs to see.
Harry would like to believe Draco would also go all scary veela on Aunt Petunia like he did on Crouch Jr, but he’d have to beat the Weasleys to her. His family would, without a single doubt in his mind, curse Petunia until her hair turned grey. Well, all of them except Ron. Ron would just punch Dudley and let Hermione knock out his Aunt. They’d save Vernon for Mrs. Wealsey.
He doesn’t even want to imagine what his other adults would do.
There’s no telling with Sirius, he’d either go straight to murder or at least give the lot of them a very through beating. Remus seems more the type to destroy their self confidence.
Narcissa wouldn’t bother with any of it. She’d get Harry and whatever he cared for out and a week later she’d be talking about how unfortunate it was that his aunt’s kitchen burned the entire house down.
Harry snorts at that idea right as Aunt Petunia calls him for more instructions.
He only has an hour to finish the garden, and yes she’s upset at the idea of him bleeding in her home, so she makes him wash his cut up hands with a ridiculous amount of soap that stings so fucking bad. He winces once, and her response is to slap him, so he does not wince again.
Then he has to go out and put lights up, begin chilling the wine, wash his hands again, finish food.
He’s right in the middle of mincing garlic when there’s a knock at the front door.
Strange...it’s only two. Guests won’t be arriving for a few hours, Dudley isn’t even awake yet.
Harry moves to get it, but Aunt Petunia stops him.
Her nails dig into the back of his throat. “Over my dead body will you answer the door! Look at you! You have no grace, you smell like garbage and your clothing isn’t much better! You know you’re not allowed looking like this! Cupboard! Now!”
Harry wishes she’d sent him upstairs. Upstairs is where his cot is. He doesn't get a real bed, but they did give him a room after the whole ‘wizards at our house’ ordeal. Yes, the room doubles as a storage room for things Dudley can’t decide if he likes or not, but it’s a room all the same.
Instead Harry’s shoved under the stairs, which is a lot more uncomfortable than it was when he was eleven. He’s much too tall for this now, not that he has a say in the matter.
Harry tries to wait patiently, but it’s very dark, they never did put a light down here, and he knows it’s bad to eavesdrop. Aunt Petunia always questions him to make sure he doesn't listen in to her conversations, but he hears his name. How can he not listen in when she’s talking about him?! He’s not supposed to exist!
“Harry?!” She giggles, her nervous giggle that always means angry thrashing for him if he steps a toe out of line, “I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t the faintest clue-”
“Point me Harry Potter.”
Holy fuck.
There’s no fucking way.
“The cupboard?!”
“Please,” Petunia scoffs, “As if a respectable lady such as myself would-”
“Listen, lady.” The male voice turns rough, it’s also a lot closer, or Harry thinks it’s closer, he can’t really tell, “I don’t care what type of woman you are, but I do believe it’s in your best interest to keep your mouth shut.”
There’s a little creek and light floods his cupboard. He squints a little, the light really is blinding, but even more blinding is the happiness that comes from seeing Remus’s face.
Grated, that happiness only lasts until he sees how furious his godfather-in-law is.
“Harry?” Remus asks. His voice is much too gentle for this house, it seems almost as out of place as his perfectly fitting suit.
Harry nods, because he’s not supposed to speak until spoken to in this house, but it’s Remus and he knows Remus would never let anything hurt him, and he’d like to make sure he isn’t hallucinating because he hasn’t slept in a bit so he whispers his response. “Remus? You’re-you’re real?”
Remus looks sadder, which makes him look more like the real Remus. “Yes I’m real, come out of there, silly.”
Harry knows Remus would never hurt him, but he’s also had nothing but violent touches these past few days, and he is still at the Dursleys house, so it’s perfectly reasonable for him to flinch when Remus gently touches his shoulder.
Even so, Harry knows what happens when he disobeys here, so he creeps out, making sure to stay in front of Remus so Aunt Petunia can’t hurt him.
Remus doesn't like this one bit, as a matter of fact, Harry can’t say he’s ever seen Remus so angry, which is impressive because he distinctly remembers last year when Remus nearly broke a table because Crouch Jr. used an unforgivable on Draco.
“Where are you things, Harry?” Remus asks. Harry wants to reply, but he can’t speak freely in front of Aunt Petunia. His body is one thing, but Sirius would have a fit if she hurt Remus too.
His silence is apparently not the right thing.
Remus turns him around slowly, Harry feels stupid for flinching at the contact, but he also feels justified for flinching when he gets a good look at Remus’s face. His teeth are going to break if he doesn’t stop clenching his jaw like that.
“Can you take me to your things?”
Harry nods, and since Aunt Petunia doesn’t protest he leads Remus upstairs. He knows he’ll pay for this later, Aunt Petunia has that look she gets before starving him, but it’s her own fault for not saying ‘no’.
Remus growls a bit when Harry opens the door, and he gets it. Dudley has a lot of shit.
Harry weaves his way past toys, clothing, and other shit he’s afraid to touch, right to his little corner of the world.
“This is it?”
There’s quite a lot, actually. He has his cot, the bag of clothes he’s allowed to wear with the Dursleys, Hedwig, and his trunk that may or may not be locked with his wand on the inside. Harry nods just once, and to his surprise Remus takes out his wand and shrinks Harry’s trunk, it looks like one of the dolls Dudley used to play with.
“Grab Hedwig’s cage, she can follow us.”
Harry opens his mouth to ask a question, then remembers where he is and shuts it. After a brief pet and a kiss to her forehead, Hedgwing takes off and Harry is left with a toy sized trunk, an empty cage, and a lot of confusion.
They go back downstairs where Aunt Petunia is waiting.
“You’re taking that thing with you, I hope?” She snorts, but Harry’s more surprised that she’s actually talking about him with someone else. “It won’t do to have a freak in my home, Vernon would faint if he saw what the garbage brought with it this time. Nevermind that Lily could never make the right choices, what with settling us with that-that boy, now look! A scarfaced freak tag along-”
”Shut up.” Harry whispers.
Aunt Petunia smirks. “Excuse me?”
“I said shut up. You don’t get to talk about Remus that way.”
“And you don’t get to speak without being spoken to!”
Harry flinches as she takes a step forward, and then a large hand comes between them.
“Harry will do whatever the hell he wants, as he is no longer of your concern. As of this day, if he never wants to see you again he won’t have to.”
What?
What the hell is happening-
Hope swells up inside of Harry’s chest, warm and bright and threatening to spill out into his eyes. He doesn't listen to the rest of Remus’s speech, too busy trying to put it all together.
Remus came to fetch him.
Remus lives with Sirius.
Sirius offered to take him in.
Remus is going to take him home.
What is a home though? Will Hedwig have to stay caged? Will he still cook and clean? What about sleep? What if his cot isn’t as warm?
“Come along, Harry.” Remus says, offering an arm, and Harry’s not sure what he’s supposed to do, but he takes it and the world starts to spin.
The last thing he sees of the Dursleys' house is Aunt Petunia’s panicked face and the smell of burned turkey.
----------
Draco hasn’t the faintest clue until Winky brings him the morning paper.
He’s having this wonderful dream about sunbathing in a pool with his friends, and then Winky shows up and starts calling his name, which he doesn’t mind because he quite likes his elf and she usually has good thoughts, so whatever she’s trying to bring to the party Draco will probably be down with-
“Sir! Sir! Wake up Master Draco! You should be seeing this sir!”
His left eye pops open only because he hears LuLu huff and her body weight disappears from his side. Draco sits up with a yawn, dragging the white Kneazle back to his chest before addressing his loud little elf.
“Good morning to you too, Winky, what on Earth is so important-”
Draco stops talking when he sees the front of the day’s paper.
Sirius is there, in a fucking suit, Remus by his side, and that’s not nearly strange enough because the Daily Prophet decided to add a picture of Harry from the Tournament.
Winky hands it to him before he can snatch it.
“Sirius Black: As Pure As Snow?” He locks eyes with Winky, who nods so excitedly her ears flop, “Black, unfairly persecuted fourteen years ago pleads innocent?! ….never had a trail…... Lucius Malfoy , along with the help of Percy Weasley , secured an innocent man his right to trail….. under Veritaserum Sirius Black has been deemed innocent of all charges?!.... plans on adopting his rightful godson Harry Potter?!” His mouth is stretching out in an grin that hurts, he’s squeezing LuLu so hard she’s hissing and-and-
Draco rushes out of bed, running all the way down to the dining room with the newspaper in hand. He skirts right up to the head of the table and slaps it down in front of his father with his grin still pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me you got him cleared?!”
“We tried,” Narcissa daps her mouth, “But you weren’t listening last night.”
He’s giddy for so many reasons, so happy that he throws his arms around his father without a second thought. “Thank you…. thank you!”
Merlin this summer just got so much better.
He can take Sirius to the little shops in Diagon Alley.
He can see Harry.
Harry won’t have to be around those awful care takers!
“Master Blaise and Misses Pansy are here for Master Draco.” Sisily pops in to tell them. Draco runs out to the living room, not caring at all that he’s still in his pajamas.
“Did you hear?!” Pansy asks, waving her own paper.
“Yes!”
“I can’t believe-”
“I know it-”
They’re all laughing and giddy, and then he notices that neither of them are in pajamas, and it’s only nine in the morning….
“Oh good.”
Draco turns to see Narcissa, leaning casually against the railing in what she calls ‘casual clothes’ that’s really her sparring uniform. “You’re here early, come grab breakfast before we start.”
“Start?”
She raises her eyebrow, “Did you listen to anything I said in the car two days ago?”
No. No he did not because he was very concerned about his father, and getting to talk to Harry, but she doesn’t need to know any of that-
“Your selective listening is worse than mine, dear. Come along, I’ll explain your training over breakfast.”
Draco blinks twice, but Blaise and Pansy push him forward and the scratches he got from LuLu did hurt so he can’t be dreaming. Maybe he just heard Narcissa wrong.
“Training?”
She doesn’t answer, just offers him a coy smile that makes his stomach feel like led.
Oh well, at least it’s an improvement from last summer. Or it is until he, Blaise, and Pansy are face to face with their mothers, Severus, and Lucius.
“Are we in trouble again?” Draco asks. He’s assuming they’re not going to be secretly served Veritaserum considering that they’re all in workout clothes, but then again, he wouldn’t put it past his mother to sprinkle the stupid potion into their yard fertilizer.
“Not quite.”
“Don’t trick them, Narcissa,” Mrs. Katherine Parkinson’s sighs, “You’ll make them think this will be easy.”
“Please mum, whenever you three get together it never ends well for us.”
Pansy has a point, Draco is admittedly nervous. Blaise and his mother portray the exact same aloofness to the untrained eye, but Draco picks up on Belle’s eagerness and Blaise’s exasperation.
“None sense.” Katherine says, “If you’d listen to me in the car you’d know what’s happening.”
“She didn’t listen as well? I swear Draco’s worse than I am about tuning people out.”
Lucius badly hides a laugh, Draco glares at both his parents for good measure. He’ll trick them later. Put salt in their coffee or something just as annoying.
“I do believe that may be my doing,” Severus frowns, “And to answer your questions, we are at the beginning of a war, that is all the reasoning you need to be trained.”
Narcissa takes a step forward. “We’ll deal with three categories; dueling, sneaking, and heritage. Don’t give me that look Draco, we both know how powerful Pureblood lines are. It would be foolish of us not to utilize our ancestor’s gifts.”
Draco thinks his mother completely misread his expression. He’s not nervous. He’s excited.
If he’s lucky, and this shit pays off, he might get to fulfill his dream of punching Tom Riddle right in his wannabe-snake face.