Draco closed his trunk, latching it, and sat on his perfectly made bed beside it. His hands hung between his knees, fingers twisting together as he gazed around the room. He’d spent all summer refusing to admit or acknowledge anything and he would continue to considering he had to let it all go. However, in that single moment, alone and to himself, he was willing to admit that some part of him had found something at Prince Manor; acceptance, safety, comfort, happiness, strength…dare he say it, maybe even home? He wasn’t sure exactly, but he could admit to it in that second before he had to leave it behind forever.

“Mr. Malfoy.”

He looked up at Snape in the doorway and he remembered the previous night. The man, while in his own agony, had taken the time to comfort him and Potter. He’d never realized before what he’d been missing from his parents, had never known more than the Malfoy way, but he’d seen it last night. In a professor that hated him, he’d found a comfort he should have gotten from his own mother and father, but never had. Such a feeling denied him for fifteen years, only to get it and have to lose it immediately.

Such cruel fate.

“It is time to go,” Snape said.

“Yes, sir,” he said and stood, smoothing down his smart trousers and tucked button-down shirt. He cast a quick Featherlight Charm on his trunk and carried it downstairs, following Snape. They walked into the study, joining Leif, Alexei, and a nervous-looking Potter. He met the Gryffindor’s eyes and was sure he saw some other emotions, but, as they were moments from re-entering reality, he didn’t want to identify them all. It seemed Potter thought the same as the Gryffindor broke their eye contact and looked down at his trunk in front of him.

“Harry, Draco,” Alexei said and they both looked at the vampire. “We want you to try and be prepared. With your magic active and thriving, it is going to be difficult and overwhelming to be around so much other magic. Harry, you will struggle with the emotional side of your magic. You know what is happening at Hogwarts, the Ministry painting you as a liar and instituting an official as a professor to try and control you, Dumbledore, and the school. You must try to reign in your emotions or you will very easily lose control of your magic with so much other power around.”

Potter’s face tightened and Draco felt a touch of sympathy. They’d seen the Daily Prophet every morning with Snape reading it, and they had been able to track the Ministry’s slander against Potter and Dumbledore. Both were being called mad liars as the Ministry denied Voldemort’s return, and made ridiculous claims that they were working to overthrow Fudge and the Ministry. Hence, the instatement of Dolores Umbridge as the new Defense professor in an attempt to keep Hogwarts under control and stop Dumbledore from building his alleged army. He and Potter had already been warned against engaging with Umbridge. Potter would have to try not to retaliate against the ‘liar’ claims and Draco would have to look out for recruitment attempts.

It was going to be a rough year.

“Draco, you will struggle with being around hundreds of signatures,” Leif said. “You will have to find a way to ground your magic. It is, unfortunately, something only you can figure out. Do your best not to connect with cores, but let yourself feel the magic. It may help with control.”

Draco nodded, another thing to be nervous about added to his pile.

“We will see you soon, but be safe,” Alexei said and, shocking Draco, hugged both Potter and him. Leif followed moments later. Too stunned by the embraces and his suddenly teary eyes, Draco didn’t fully register all of what Alexei had said. He had no time to try either as Snape was finally herding them along.

“Mr. Potter, it is time to get you to Headquarters,” Snape said, stepping over to the fireplace and looking at Potter expectantly.

“Right,” Potter said. He grabbed his trunk and headed towards the fireplace. When he stopped in front of Draco with his hand out, Draco frowned at him in confusion. “Thanks for not being a Death Eater hell bent on my death.”

Draco couldn’t help his smirk and clasped the Gryffindor’s hand. “Sure, though I can neither confirm nor deny my desire for your death.”

Potter smirked back. “Still a ferret.”

“And you’re still a prat.”

They released each other and he watched Potter disappear into the green flames with Snape, his grin slowly falling until it was gone. In its place, a dull ache in his chest. He waited with Leif and Alexei who conversed quietly in Russian behind him until, a few minutes later, Snape returned alone. He headed out of the study at Snape’s gesture, but stopped in the doorway to watch the three men whisper to each other. There were nods and both Leif and Alexei touched Snape’s arm or shoulder before the professor broke away.

Snape gave him a light push to leave the study and they walked to the front door. Snape locked the doors behind them and they followed the path side by side to the large iron gate, stepping through it and the wards. Draco felt the difference immediately. He was no longer surrounded by their mixture of magic, could no longer feel Leif or Alexei as strongly, and it left him…empty. He frowned back at the manor.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape said and he took the man’s arm, readying himself for the side-along Apparation.

When the squeezing stopped and Draco opened his eyes, they were in some narrow, tucked away corner of King’s Cross Station. Muggles were hurrying everywhere as whistles blew and bells rang.

“I cannot take you further,” Snape said quietly.

Draco looked up at him and nodded. “I can manage, sir.”

Snape stared at him oddly. “Be safe.”

Draco nodded again. “Thank you, Professor.”

They both knew it was for more than bringing him to King’s Cross or telling him to be safe.

The feel of Snape’s hand squeezing his shoulder lingered long after the man was gone. After taking a few breaths, he left the corner and casually joined the rushing throngs, heading for Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. He ignored the few bumps he received as people ran by, relieved when he finally spotted someone disappear through a brick barrier. He walked up to it and carefully stepped through when there was a lull in Muggle eyes.

As soon as he was through, he gasped and his hand flew to his chest. Leif had been right. The magic was overwhelming. There was so much and they were all different and it was everywhere. It was like being crushed and his magic felt staticky as it tried to figure out what to do. He could tell he was panicking and slammed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths. He kept his magic inside, but he let all the other signatures brush over him. Nothing felt overtly dangerous and that helped his magic settle minutely.

However, it still wasn’t enough. He needed something stronger to keep his magic calm. What did his magic want? It wanted to find something—someone—specific. It was worked up because there were too many unfamiliar signatures. It wanted the familiar magic it had become used to, had bonded with.

Would memory be enough?

Fighting through the growing pressure in his chest from his erratic magic, he dragged up the previous evening when he had reached out for Potter’s, Snape’s, Leif’s, and Alexei’s magic. He let the feelings of their magic fill him. His magic jumped around, clearly hoping the memory meant the real thing was nearby. It tried to take off, as though angry at being tricked by a memory, but he held it close, continuing to replay the memory. Eventually his magic relented and accepted the memory of their magic. It swirled around inside of him, pulsing with the imagined magic. As it settled with the memory, he was able to open his eyes as the magic surrounding him was no longer bombarding him.

He straightened up, collecting himself, and headed into the masses to the Hogwarts Express. He handed his trunk to a worker to be stored and was going to board when he spotted Potter standing with his friends. Potter had his back to Draco, but Weasley noticed him. The redhead’s face turned disgusted and he said something to Potter who spun around, his eyes searching until they found Draco.

Something passed between them.

It took him a moment to remember they were supposed to be going back to normal and looking at each other without glaring was not normal. He also realized his simmering magic had noticed a familiar signature in the vicinity.

He made a quick decision then. Pulling a sneer onto his face, throwing his head up high, and putting his hands in his trousers’ pockets, he sauntered along the platform, heading directly for the trio of Gryffindors. Potter was closest to the train, allowing for him to rather aggressively shoulder-check him as he walked by.

“Watch it, Potter,” he spat, glaring at the Gryffindor with all he had. Yet, at the proximity and contact, his magic instantly reached out to wrap around Potter’s Elemental Magic. The contact brought a calm to Draco, helping his barely contained magic settle even as it was forced to leave Potter’s behind within seconds.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” Potter shot back after his eyes widened just slightly, indicating he’d felt the brief tangle of their magic.

“Oi, you should’ve stayed gone, ferret,” Weasley said angrily and Draco made sure to keep his sneer to avoid showing any other reaction.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily, Weasel,” he drawled and boarded the next car he passed as Weasley hissed something to Potter and Granger, pulling their attention away from him.

He let out a breath as he found himself alone in the car and quickly slipped into an empty compartment. He pulled the blind over the door window and flicked the tiny lock before collapsing onto one of the seats by the window. He peered out, watching all the milling students, finding the three Gryffindors once again. Whatever they were talking about seemed to be intense if Weasley’s disbelief, Granger’s annoyance, and Potter’s anger were anything to go by. Eventually Potter shook his head and walked away down the train, Weasley and Granger chasing after him. Once they were out of sight, he resumed watching the other students. He let himself be distracted by his amusement over the frantic first years, but it didn’t last long as he soon found a group of Slytherins he had been dreading.

Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Gregory Goyle, Vincent Crabbe, and the Carrow girls were looking around the platform and he knew they were looking for him. He sunk back slightly, but still kept an eye on them. Nott was clearly the new leader of the group as he said something and headed to the train, the others following close behind. He quickly pulled the blind over his window and leaned back in his seat, sinking down unintentionally. He stayed completely still and quiet as a variety of voices grew louder, students going back and forth past his compartment. His heart beat violently when his locked door was jostled, followed up by unintelligible to him mumbles before whoever it was moved on. He released the breath he didn’t know he was holding and let his head fall back against the seat.

It was going to be a long trip.

He pulled his bag into his lap, opening the clasps and flipping it open to dig through. Trying to decide what to do to pass some of the trip made it clear how little he had now. He only had what Snape had managed to get from his room which wasn’t much in and of itself. The Malfoys were materialistic, yes, but only in regards to what could build power and show status, leaving him with little time-passing activities. As he pushed aside his, at this point, well-used journal, school notebooks, and a couple of class texts, he found a couple of books he knew he hadn’t put in his bag. He pulled them out, finding one to be a text about Aether Magic—Magic of the Gods, it was called—and one to be what seemed to be a Muggle novel called Frankenstein. Jostling his bag to put it back on the seat, he heard off jingling and dug into the bag again. He found a small pouch with a handful of coins in it and a short note in familiar scrawl.

Ensure you eat something, Mr. Malfoy.

Something bubbled inside of him and he sighed at the sense of loss. Leif had given him what was likely a very rare text, and Snape had given him a book of his and money so he could have something on the train. How was it, Snape had done more for him and seemingly cared about him more in seven weeks than his own parents had in fifteen years?

His chest tightened painfully as he thought of his mother, as little of one though she may have been. She had never been very involved, had never shown him a hint of anything other than indifference. He knew early on she hadn’t wanted him, had only had a child out of obligation to produce an heir for the Malfoy line and a prodigy for the Death Eaters should Voldemort ever return. Yet, she was still his mother and her murder devastating, especially since it was his fault, regardless of what Snape said. He’d selfishly abandoned who he was supposed to be because he was weak and she had died as a result. He could feel the guilt clawing its way deeper and deeper into him, but he didn’t care; he deserved it.

Not bothering to try and chase away the depression he was now settled in, he put his bag back on the seat beside him and flipped into Magic of the Gods just as the train started to move. It was a fascinating text, reading more as a narrative of the history, discovery, use, and views of Aether Magic than an academic text. It was made up of facts put together in a story-like format, creating an academic and analytical foundation of the magical branch within intriguing and relatable stories.

It was hours later that he finally put the book aside, reaching just the third chapter, but loving every word he read. It was enlightening learning more about his magic as well as enjoyable reading something so far removed from everything he’d been forced to consume growing up. He had to thank Leif somehow.

He frowned and looked up at the wall across from him when he suddenly felt a rush of magic, familiar magic. It wasn’t strong, coming from a distance and attempting to be controlled, but he could still feel the hints of Air Magic mixed with Fire Magic. What was going on with Potter that had his magic acting up on the train?

He got to his feet and opened his compartment, peeking his head into the corridor to see if he could find out what was going on. He saw a group of students several compartments down walking in the opposite direction, but that was all. He couldn’t see Potter and the magic was just as muted in the corridor as in his compartment. He pushed away his odd concern and pulled back into his doorway as the lady with the meal trolley came by.

“Anything for you, dear?” she asked.

He snatched up the little pouch of coins from the seat and examined the items on the trolley. He grabbed a small hand pie and a couple of liquorice wands, dropping the required coins into the woman’s hand. She gave him a smile and slowly pushed the trolley down the corridor to the next compartment. He had just turned to re-enter his compartment when a large hand gripped the back of his neck and shoved, sending him flying into the compartment. He caught himself on the window, dropping his food but stopping himself from crashing into the glass. He spun as Nott and Goyle stepped into the compartment, Flora and Hestia Carrow behind them in the corridor. He stiffened, his eyes flickering between all of them with a nervousness he hoped they couldn’t see. The hate in Nott’s face was terrifying.

“Shouldn’t have come back, traitor,” Nott said. “You know what’ll happen.”

Draco just glared at them, refusing to give them the satisfaction of any response. He wasn’t sure what they had planned. He knew traitors of Voldemort were meant to be taken care of slowly and in the most painful way possible, but these Slytherins clearly had ideas of what to do for now in the confines of the train. While he knew they were all far more proficient with torturous magic, he also knew Nott had some physical skill and Goyle just had brute strength.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Nott taunted. “Turn into a coward?”

Draco’s glower deepened with hate. “I’m not the one willing to live my life as a slave.”

The fist that came at him was not unexpected, but the pain was. After seven weeks free of pain for the first time in his life, this pain was jarring. He felt his lip split instantly, but he managed to stay steady and threw his own punch, landing his own hit.

It spiralled after that. Nott and Goyle flew towards him, pinning him against the window while throwing fists and knees and feet. He wrestled free the best he could, throwing out a knee of his own and catching Nott in the intended spot. As Nott fell to the side in pain, Goyle took his place, trying to slam his head back against the glass. He slammed a hand into Goyle’s throat, hoping to throw the Slytherin off of him, and, while Goyle certainly stumbled, it didn’t stop him from managing to finally slam Draco’s head into the window.

Dazed and in pain, Draco hardly noticed when his magic rose up and blasted outward, throwing Goyle out of the compartment, crashing through and shattering the compartment door. In the brief reprieve he got, Draco tried to get his bearings back and tried to get out of the compartment, only for Flora and Hestia to grab him and throw him to the floor together. His magic blasted out again, throwing them into the ceiling and dropping them hard onto the seats, unconscious. By then, Nott had finally recovered and Draco found the Slytherin on top of him. He wrapped a hand around Nott’s throat, trying to push him off, but Nott’s arms were longer and he was able to hit him again and again. Draco felt skin and bone break, felt blood pour into his mouth and out of his nose.

He was growing weaker in the pain and trauma he was enduring, and his attempts to fight back were becoming less effective. His vision was tunneling as the hits became more and more aggressive. He wasn’t sure how long it had been going on for by the time a hit threw him into darkness.