Chapter Text
Even when Draco made a noble sacrifice at risk of his life, trust Potter to go and upstage him anyway.
He woke up alone, but his yelling drew the attention of Madam Pomfrey, who hissed at him to hush or he might wake the Potter boy. "One would expect you to endorse the prospect of Draco waking him," said the best voice in the world, "Given the likelihood Potter will never wake at all."
"Severus!" Draco cried out, forgetting all his reserve. He managed to sit up in bed, though his head spun with the effort. "Severus, you're here! You're alive! I'm alive!" He blinked rapidly. "Is Potter not alive?"
"Mr. Potter," Pomfrey said, "Has been through quite an ordeal. As have you, Mr. Malfoy. And he has not yet woken, but he will." She didn't sound confident, but Draco remembered Potter gone for a couple days at the end of term in the blue loop. He remembered well his own consternation at Potter's appearance just in time to watch Gryffindor win the House Cup. He would greet news of Potter's recovery differently this time around.
"I bet him it wasn't you," Draco called contentedly to Severus. "So I won. He's going to be so miserable I won." Severus came to sit by Draco's bedside, and Draco saw he was wearing the dragon Ouroboros ring. "Lovely ring," Draco said weakly. "Whoever made it for you... must have had exquisite taste."
"I'll leave you with your godson," Pomfrey said. Draco hoped Potter wasn't awake in time to hear that part. And then she left him with Severus, and Draco flung himself forward to hug him, because he had almost died and Severus couldn't hex him for it now. He even got two stiff pats to the back before Severus delicately extricated himself from Draco's arms.
"There, there," Severus said awkwardly. "You're not going to die." He frowned, seeing Draco still fearful. "And you're not going to have any scars, either." He seemed surprised to see even that not ease the tension on Draco's face. "And all your little friends will be fine. Granger and Weasley survive to be insufferable another day. And so, one regrets to say, will Potter."
"I thought I was going to die," Draco said, hearing how stupid he sounded, but still only half-lucid. "So, the Dark Lord, did Potter stop him?"
Severus frowned, then slowly turned to level Draco with the most unimpressed stare he had ever given him. "Draco Lucius Malfoy. Do not tell me you deliberately put yourself in peril to help Harry Potter." Draco shrugged weakly. "And what are these reports I hear, hmm, of you changing places in a chess game with Mr. Weasley, to save him from taking the role of a sacrifice? Have you lost your wits? Is St. Mungo's looming in your future?"
Draco felt his lower lip curl up unpleasantly. His head didn't even ache. He didn't know how long he'd been out, but between Severus and Pomfrey, they seemed to have done an exemplary job fixing him. He had been more sore after the centaur hoof. "It only made sense, sir. The three of them, they matter. But it's not like anyone would care if I was gone."
Severus stared at him unreadably, and then reached out and seized one of Draco's shoulders almost painfully tightly. "Do not," Severus said, with acidic forcefulness in every syllable, "Continue to operate under so ludicrous a delusion as that, Draco Malfoy."
They stared at each other, and Draco felt tears threaten to well up, before Severus let go of his shoulder and cleared his throat. He seemed embarrassed by his own show of sentimentality. "Weasley and Granger have been making a nuisance of themselves, asking for you as well as Potter," he added, as if that had been his only meaning.
"Did you find my wand?" Draco asked. Severus produced the talon wand from his pocket with a sigh.
"You may well have been better rid of it, Draco," Severus intoned, "But yes, for better or worse, it was found."
Draco beamed as he took it from Severus, feeling a thrumming of rightness go through him as the hilt fit cleanly into his hand. He found himself glad he had survived. "What day is it?"
"It is the night," Severus informed him, "Of the sixth. You have been asleep since you were recovered last night. You will stay tonight, no arguments. No doubt the Gryffindors will be sniffing around here asking after you tomorrow morning. And you may be pleased to know, or perhaps not, that in Potter's absence tonight, Gryffindor has lost their match with Ravenclaw."
Severus thought Slytherin had the House Cup in the bag now. Draco didn't have the heart to disabuse him of that notion. "Good of Potter to stay in a coma for it. I suppose he can be allowed out of it now, hmm?" Draco realized how much he'd sounded like Severus after he spoke, but that only earned him a ghost of a smile. "Sir, you never told me. What happened with the Dark Lord?"
"He did not get the Stone, as you must have gathered. But you will surely soon hear the story in more detail from your little friends." Severus frowned at the face Draco made. "What, boy? You told me on the first day of term that you had no friends. Do you still hold that to be true?"
Draco was starting to tire, but it seemed important he explain the state of affairs properly. "Granger is my friend," he explained with a yawn, "Because she's intelligent. Potter and Weasley aren't my friends, they're just her hangers-on. Study partners."
Severus actually let out a short bark of laughter at that. "Get some rest, Draco. There will be more than enough time to wander about imperiling yourself and upsetting your elders tomorrow."
"Professor Snape, sir?" Draco called, as Severus began to leave, and Severus turned back.
"Yes?"
"Is there any way..." Draco tried to look as pathetic as possible. "Any way I could stay over the summer with you, sir? You are my godfather."
"Much to my eternal inconvenience," Severus grumbled, and turned back to give him a wan look. "Oh, don't make that face, boy. If your father's tongue proves overly unkind in the weeks to follow, I do believe you might know a curse to stop it running."
"Draco!"
Draco's breakfast of eggs and bacon was unceremoniously taken from him, when it was knocked from his hands by a hurtling Granger. She flung herself into his arms with a garbled shriek. Weasley followed, hovering awkwardly over his sickbed with a hand raised in greeting. "Hey, uh, looks like the bacon stayed on the plate, mate." He picked it up and put it back on the table beside Draco, making a face. "Doesn't look like the eggs survived Hermione, though."
"Oh, Draco! We were so worried!" Weasley made a snorting noise and Granger gave him a pointed look, then turned back to Draco without missing a beat. "I thought you were dead, Frankenstein!" she sniffled, and hugged him tightly to her again.
Draco pulled back from her to regard her seriously. "Tell me what happened. Tell me everything."
He got roughly the whole story then, though the parts after Harry had left them behind at the Potions puzzle were just what they had pieced together from talking to Dumbledore. They talked and talked until the sun was high in the sky outside the hospital window, and Draco had to forcibly shoo them off. "Go on, Granger. Even if exams are done, you know you'll be missing the library. I'll be back there soon before term is over."
"You'd think," Granger sighed, giving him a judgmental look, "After we nearly all died together, even you would have to admit we'd crossed the threshold past which any normal civilized person would have begun to use each other's first names."
Draco groaned, rolling his eyes. It was too much effort to put up with her nagging about it anymore. "Alright, then. You can be Hermione. But just you."
She looked to be barely resisting the urge to crush him in yet another hug. Hermione wanted to hug him, he tried out in his head. It sounded as foreign as the backwards letters on the Mirror of Erised. But those had proved decipherable.
"Hermione," he said, "Will you leave the poor convalescing Slytherin in peace?"
"What about me?" said Weasley crossly. "You're Draco to me now. And she's the only Granger at Hogwarts, but there's loads of Weasleys. There'll be my sister next year as well. Really doesn't make sense for you not to call me Ron."
Draco closed his eyes. "Fine. You're right, there are too many of your family for it not to be a matter of practicality. I will refer to the two of you by first names henceforth, but on one condition." He paused to make sure they were listening. "That you both accept that under no circumstances, come what may, I will never so long as I have life in me refer to Potter as Harry."
They exchanged glances. "Alright, mate," said Ron, while Hermione sighed something to herself that sounded like Boys. "Listen, er, Hermione, you think maybe I could have a moment with just me and Draco now? I'll catch up with you."
"Oh, alright," Hermione said, and left them alone. When it was just them, Draco found himself the object of the most discomfiting stare he had yet received in the red line.
"Why'd you do it, Draco?" Ron asked finally, and Draco was quiet, though he knew what he meant. "Why did you take my place on that chessboard?"
It was objectively disgraceful. A Malfoy for a Weasley. It was a trade that never would have made sense throughout history, let alone now. But it had. It still did. It more than made sense.
Draco couldn't give Ron the full answer, but he didn't have to lie, either. "Isn't it obvious?" he asked, feeling suddenly very old. "I told you already on Halloween. You're Harry Potter's best friend. He chose you. That makes you special. He needs you. And he's going to need you for everything that's to come. This isn't going to be the end of it, Ron. This isn't going to be the last time people try to bring the Dark Lord back. And they're going to come for Potter, because he's the Boy Who Lived. Because of what he represents, and there's no changing that. Even if he wants to. So he'll need you. And you have to be there by his side."
"And what about you? Aren't we going to need you too?"
Draco let out a harsh snort. "Oh, come off it, Ron. You understand. Potter and Granger- I mean, Hermione- they're new to our world, but you're not. You're a pureblood, even if your family isn't in the Sacred Twenty Eight anymore. You know the way that world works. You know what a disappointment I am to my family in every possible way. I'll be lucky if I make it to a second year at Hogwarts."
Ron's gaze went unexpectedly serious in turn. "Draco," he said slowly, "If you're in trouble, you have to tell us. If your family- your father-" There was fear in his eyes, but a Gryffindor resolve that looked no weaker than in his 18-year-old self. "If you need us, we'll help you. The three of us. Just send word and we'll figure something out. My family-"
"Don't pity me, Ron," Draco said sharply. "That's the one thing I want less than anything. Not just from you, from anyone. I don't want anyone ever to pity me."
"You don't have to be so proud, you know," Ron said quietly, a measure of dismay mixing with the pity on his face.
Draco spread his arms wide. "Pride. What else do I have?" he asked with the bitterest of irony, only for Weasley to laugh and say with a shrug,
"I don't know. Us?"
It was only after Potter woke up, and they were rushing to the hospital wing, that Ron and Hermione remembered the bet about Snape and Quirrell. "Bloody hell," Ron said, faltering in his step. "Draco's gonna make us all do our forfeits now that Harry's alright, isn't he?"
Hermione's pained look made Draco feel uncharacteristically merciful. "Oh, not you two," he drawled. "I don't need your praise. What use is there being told something I already know? We'll tell Potter you did yours before he woke up."
"That's really big of you, Draco. I suppose you're going to let Harry off as well?" Hermione asked earnestly.
Draco looked at her like she had finally flipped her lid. "Have you ever met me, Hermione?"
It was the first thing Draco said to the Boy Who Lived, as the three of them walked up to the sickbed that could have been his deathbed. "Harry!" Hermione shrieked, and almost flung herself on Potter as she had Draco, before seeing his more bedraggled state and seeming to think better of it. "Oh, Harry, we were sure you were going to- Dumbledore was so worried-"
"Draco," Harry interrupted, staring up fiercely at where Draco was lingering a step away from them. "Is that you?" He put back on his glasses to look him over. "You don't look hurt at all. I thought-"
"Sorry to disappoint," Draco drawled, "But in lieu of my untimely death, Potter, you will indeed be spending your last day of first year as a Slytherin."
None of the consternation registered in Potter's face that Draco expected. "I thought you might be dead. Don't ever do that again, Draco."
"Oh, no worries," Draco said nonchalantly, "Next time I'll just let the ginger kick the bucket," and he and Ron embarked on a wave of childish shoving that made Hermione impatiently clear her throat while Potter smiled.
"Oh, Harry, I can't wait any longer, tell us what really happened," Hermione pleaded, and Potter told them everything. Draco's heart went colder at the mentions of the Mirror of Erised, but otherwise, it was much as he had imagined. He obliged Potter by joining in on Ron and Hermione's gasps and screams, though, except for when Potter told them what was under Quirrell's turban, and Draco couldn't resist putting in a smug "I told you so."
Potter glared at him, and it was all too much of a relief, to feel that scowling intensity turned on him again. "You were always so sure it wasn't Snape, weren't you."
"That," Draco said, "Is because I am in possession of a brain, but I do pity you the lack of one, Potter. Perhaps with your most recent act of heroism, your public will be moved, and we can all put in a collection to purchase you one."
"So the Stone's gone?" said Ron finally. "Flamel's just going to die?"
"That's what I said, but Dumbledore thinks that- what was it?- 'To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure'."
"I always said he was off his rocker," said Ron, looking impressed, while Draco had to stifle a laugh at the contrast with a certain other powerful wizard of their times. Granted, of all the things said in Draco's recollection of Voldemort's mind or lack thereof, well-organized had never been one.
"So what happened to you three?" said Potter.
"Well, we got back all right," said Hermione. "We managed to get Draco out- that took a while, but we used the Featherlight charm Draco taught me- and we were dashing up to the Owlery to contact Dumbledore when we met him in the Entrance Hall. He already knew- he just said, 'Harry's gone after him, hasn't he?' and hurtled off to the third floor." In the process of which, Draco assumed, he had remained a Featherlight dead weight.
"D'you think he meant you to do it?" Ron said to Potter. "Sending you your father's cloak and everything?"
"He obviously did," said Draco. "This was all set up too conveniently not to be by design." It was downright un-Gryffindorish of the old bastard, really.
"Well," Hermione exploded, "If he did- I mean to say- that's terrible- you could have been killed."
"No, it isn't," said Harry thoughtfully. "He's a funny man, Dumbledore. I think he sort of wanted to give me a chance. I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here, you know. I reckon he had a pretty good idea we were going to try, and instead of stopping us, he just taught us enough to help. I don't think it was an accident he let me find out how the Mirror worked. It’s almost like he thought I had the right to face Voldemort if I could..."
"Yeah, Dumbledore's barking, all right," said Ron proudly, while Hermione leaned over and privately whispered to Draco that Muggles would never tolerate such child endangerment by educational figures. Upon which Draco, disturbingly enough, had to side with the Muggles.
"Listen," Ron went on, "You've got to be up for the end-of-year feast tomorrow. The points are all in and Slytherin won, of course-"
Oh, if only. But Draco was prepared for the blow to fall this time. He could take it, he had resolved, in a philosophical light, just as Ron seemed to be doing now. He would not show less emotional control than a Weasley.
"You missed the last Quidditch match, we were steamrollered by Ravenclaw without you- but the food'll be good."
At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled over. "You've had nearly fifteen minutes, now OUT," she said firmly.
Draco's housemates were all jubilant, as they came in to find the Great Hall draped in green and silver, and the serpent banner hanging behind the High Table. Draco wondered if Severus already knew what was coming or could guess, or if he was about to be blindsided the way Draco had been. He hoped it would not make it sting more for Severus, that the great deeds Gryffindor were about to be rewarded for, were enabled by his own traitorous godson. But he had seen Severus wearing his ring as he passed him on the way in. It Draco was in good favor, if Severus didn't just mean to hurl it at Draco's feet in dramatic disgrace after Draco's Gryffindor-coddling cost them the Cup. Unfortunately, Draco's only real defense to any such charges was one that would lock his tongue before he could speak it.
Potter was late, which made Draco anxious instead of pleased. He kept sneaking glances over at Ron and Hermione, only for a hush to fall that announced the arrival of the famous Chosen One. Draco's fellow Slytherins began to whisper darkly, making speculations about recent events that they probably knew Draco could answer. But none of them dared ask.
Dumbledore arrived moments later, and another hush fell. "Another year gone!" he said cheerfully. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are all a little fuller than they were... you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts...
"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six; and Slytherin, four hundred and fifty-two."
Draco saw his fellow Slytherins burst out in cheering and stamping and goblet-banging. He made himself clap, trying not to wince at the bait-and-switch he knew was about to come. He was starting to wish he had warned Severus, if his tongue would have even let him.
"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."
Draco could feel the tension in the air as Vince quickly stopped banging his plates together.
"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes... First- to Mr. Ronald Weasley..."
Draco had written this down in his notebook, finding the memory in his head with little difficulty. He remembered nearly every bitter word.
"...For the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Draco rolled his eyes and stared down at his hands, beginning to pick at his fingernails as Gryffindor cheered. He heard Peter Weasley telling the other prefects, "My brother, you know! My youngest brother! Got past McGonagall's giant chess set!"
Apparently word of their exploits had spread farther than Draco had known. Maybe Ron's awful Prefect brother would stop lording so much over him now.
"Second- to Miss Hermione Granger... for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."
Draco looked over with a reluctant fondness to see Hermione in tears, and felt the impending defeat as something at least slightly bittersweet instead of just bitter.
"Third- to Mr. Harry Potter..." said Dumbledore. The room couldn't have been more silent. "...For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."
And there it was, four hundred and seventy-two points. Earlier than the last time, with the twenty points Draco had lost Slytherin helping with that bloody dragon taking Slytherin down this time to only four hundred and fifty-two. He could feel the stares on him aware of him as the root of their loss, though he could have told them it wouldn't have mattered. Any admonitions directed towards Draco, though, were swallowed up by the seismic roar that burst out, not just from Gryffindor but the other two. Would Dumbledore even bother to give that cursory ten final points to Longbottom? Draco had always suspected those had just been token points to dramatically finish with giving Gryffindor the prize.
Dumbledore did bother. He raised his hand and waited for silence before continuing. "There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."
A part of Draco almost wanted to clap. See, Longbottom, he thought ruefully, I told you that you were really a Gryffindor.
Another roar erupted. Draco was only waiting for it to be over, keeping his gaze resolutely lowered, so he wouldn't have to watch that hideous sight of green banners giving way to red. But Dumbledore gave no sign he was finished yet.
"And lastly," Dumbledore said, in the same calm clear tone ringing out over all their heads, "For selfless courage in the face of death, I award seventy points to Mr. Draco Malfoy."
Draco looked up, not trusting his ears. He only began to believe them when Dumbledore declared the House Cup therefore remained with Slytherin, and the feast began, with the hall still covered in green.
Green looked good on Harry Potter. Not only did it match his eyes, but the silver in the Slytherin tie brought out a certain aristocratic tinge to his features absent against the more vulgar gold of Gryffindor. Draco straightened Potter's tie without any attempt to hide the snide glee on his face, amusement only matched by Ron's wheezing chuckles in the face Potter's utter desolation.
"He's not actually going to make me go out and wear this in front of everyone," Potter said wincingly to Hermione. "Please tell me he isn't actually going to go through with this."
Draco took more time finishing Potter's Slytherin tie than he had to, before straightening the dark green collar of Potter's robe and not bothering to hide his admiration for the picture Potter made, for once. He would think it for the Slytherin apparel only. "Perhaps I would have changed my mind, Potter, should your appearance have too gravely profaned our noble colors. But instead... I find Slytherin rather suits you."
Hermione looked at Draco rather severely, thinking him solely speaking in mockery, though she could hardly muster much consternation. She had been floating on air since exam results came out, when not only Ron and Potter passed with good marks but Longbottom came in just over the line, Severus's best efforts notwithstanding. But even Draco's better than perfect scores in Transfiguration and Potions had not been enough to unseat Hermione from her new throne at the top of the year, with not only a perfect score against his mediocre History of Magic marks, but a hundred and twelve percent in Charms, which she had still failed to explain to him. But Draco hadn't been bitter to have his nearly 19-year-old brain beaten by a 12-year-old's.
Much.
"Come on, Hermione, he's lucky I didn't make him do this the last full day of term," Draco laughed. "Everyone isn't even going to see him on the Hogwarts Express."
"No, they will," Ron crowed, "You're never living this down, mate," and was the first to call attention to Potter when they finally emerged from the abandoned classroom where Potter had swapped his robes for a pair of Draco's. Finnigan and Thomas nearly fell over laughing at the sight, which was nothing to the satisfaction it put on the faces of Vince and Greg, who did fall over, and down a few stairs, but nothing they couldn't happily walk off.
Draco stared back up at the Thestrals in the sky as their boat took the four of them back across the lake. "Look," he said, nudging Potter, "You should be able to see them now."
"What?" Potter asked blankly, despite Draco being pretty sure he'd killed Quirrell, but there was no accounting for Gryffindors. They probably had to have a symphony orchestra worth of people bite it right in front of them for them to register they'd witnessed a death.
"Nothing," Draco sighed, and reached over to tug at Potter's Slytherin tie a little more, just for his own satisfaction. "I wasn't lying, you know, Potter. You really would have looked perfect as a Slytherin, even if you didn't fit the part."
Potter flinched, then cast a nervous look at Ron and Hermione bickering in front of the boat before leaning over and whispering, "I was almost sorted Slytherin, you know."
"What?" Draco hissed, so loud Potter once again had to cover his mouth.
"It's true," Potter said grudgingly. "It said I had a thirst to prove myself, and that I could be great, and Slytherin could help me on to great things. It tried to talk me into it. But I just kept asking the hat not to, and eventually, it gave in."
Draco tried not to show the twisting feeling that put into his chest. "Well, that's nothing special, Potter," he said loftily, trying for a laugh. "The hat told me something far more interesting, you know, about my suitability for the houses. What was it? Oh, yes, that I lacked the courage of Gryffindor, the discernment and clear thought of Ravenclaw, the faith and good-heartedness of Hufflepuff, or the ruthlessness of Slytherin."
"Are you making that up?" Potter asked quietly, "Because that's not you," and Draco had to swear, if Potter gave him that shy little smile one more time, he was flinging himself from this boat.
Longbottom sat with them in their compartment on the Hogwarts Express, bemused by Draco's declaration that he was hands-down his favorite Gryffindor. Ron and Hermione's huffy reactions were quickly upstaged by Potter's sputtering fury. "Now, now, Potter," Draco drawled, smoothing a hand over the snake crest on Potter's chest. "That doesn't include you at the moment, remember. Until tomorrow, you're a Slytherin."
Draco considered trying to shake the others when leaving the platform, maybe even falsely insert himself to be seen in a mass of Slytherins, but there didn't seem much point, based on what his parents surely already knew. He went with the Gryffindors as they were beckoned out in twos and threes, and regretted it instantly when he saw the wizened old woman waiting to affectionately enfold Longbottom in her arms. His wand felt like it burned in his pocket. But he obligingly waved goodbye to Longbottom and his gran before watching them leave the platform.
They walked further past the gateway, and there was Ginny Weasley, pointing at Potter and calling out his name like all the other students had while leaving, still starstruck by famous Harry Potter. He found himself sourer to see her than the rest, calling out, "There he is, Mum, there he is, look!" Don't worry, little girl. Soon enough, you'll get your wish, and your precious savior will be all yours. The blue loop could never change past that.
Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them, though she had to be disconcerted to see Malfoy white-blond in their midst. "Busy year?" she said, and managed not to do a double-take at the green color of Potter's tie.
"Very," said Potter, while curling his hand over his tie and collar. "Thanks for the fudge and the jumper, Mrs. Weasley."
"Oh, it was nothing, dear."
"I- I lost a bet with Draco," Potter admitted to Mrs. Weasley and her daughter. It didn't shake the adoration of Ginny Weasley, who looked at him like all the stars shone out of his eyes.
"Ready, are you?"
And up came the most preposterous, purple-faced, moustache-wearing farce of a Muggle, scowling at Potter's owl of all things, if it wasn't one of the only decent possessions besides the broom and cloak that Potter owned. Behind him was a plain-faced Muggle woman and a wide-looking Muggle boy, who looked similarly unhappy to see Potter, though with more of a share of fear than derision on their homely faces.
Draco couldn't believe it. These were the famed Muggles who had raised Potter in the wild like a savage beast. It was like going to a zoo and seeing the prize exhibit.
"You must be Harry's family!" said Mrs. Weasley.
"In a manner of speaking," said the purple-faced one. "Hurry up, boy, we haven't got all day."
Draco frowned, and before he could think better of it, inserted himself between the Muggle and Potter. "Are you speaking to this boy, or that round-faced blond simpleton over there? Because surely a Muggle would never dare to speak with such disrespect to Harry Potter."
"Draco, it's fine," Potter hissed, tugging at his sleeve and trying to disengage him.
"And who might you be, you poncy little git? A posh sort of freak, then, are you?" the Muggle sneered, and Draco knew then what he should have always suspected: Potter had seen his parents in the Mirror of Erised because he had never known kindness from the family he had.
"Oh, yes, a posh freak." Draco's smile bared his teeth. "One who dislikes to hear himself spoken ill of, let alone his friends. Shall we see if that Muggle tongue would be better utilized-"
"Draco, you can't curse him here!" Hermione hissed, grabbing at his hand before it could go into his pocket, while Ron and Harry flocked around them fearfully, and Draco didn't move his gaze from the Muggle's until he could see fear finally in those beady eyes.
"Well," Draco said, "It seems my friends are more merciful than I. You ought to thank your nephew with that uneducated tongue, for still having a tongue capable of speech." He tilted his chin up, hearing Severus's notes in his voice, and pretended he was a Dementor as he watched the light all drain from the Muggle's eyes. "Farewell, then. I do so hope to hear of an appropriately respectful treatment of Harry Potter. If not, rest assured that there are limits to the mercy of a Malfoy."
"Draco!" Potter snapped, and Draco rolled his eyes and stepped back from the Muggle. "You're mad," Potter hissed, and then reached out and touched Draco's hand for a solitary moment, before he followed the Muggles.
It was not quite before he finished saying his goodbyes to an amused Ron, exasperated Hermione, and the shell-shocked Weasley women, that Draco felt eyes in the back of his head. He made a point of not turning around, not hurrying his goodbyes, and hugging Hermione with a flick at the turquoise on her wrist, before turning to face his father.