Draco sighed and shoved the newspaper to one side, the face of a masked Death Eater staring malevolently back at him. Who was hidden behind that uniform? Was it his own father glowering at him right now, or just one of his close companions who had perpetrated the murders listed in this copy of the Daily Prophet? Draco didn’t know.

But he needed to.

Draco needed to know everything his father had done - everything his family had done, really, since he had decided to read about every single one of his awful relatives as penance. He’d learnt about the suspicious activities of Abraxas Malfoy that had never amounted to charges, he’d read about his mother’s cousin, Regulus, who had deserted the Dark Lord and was killed at eighteen, and he’d read enough about Aunt Bella and her horrid husband to make him turn his stomach. He’d saved Sirius Black for later, since everybody knew what he’d done - for now, Draco was focusing on Lucius.

So many murders. So many people tortured. So many horrid, bigoted comments that made Draco feel so terribly ashamed, not least of all because he’d agreed with every single one of them until recently…

Draco certainly still thought that Muggles were beneath him, of course, but Muggleborns? Severus had taken to using one particular phrase: 'a wizard is a wizard'. There were no differences in power levels, no intellectual defects caused by their Muggle blood, nothing that could differentiate Draco and his thousand year old magical blood from the likes of Granger. The fact that there was no real science behind Muggleborn inferiority like Draco had believed truly made his jaw drop.  He couldn’t understand how his father, who Draco had always thought to be so intelligent, was blinded by this sort of stupidity -

Because he wanted to believe himself superior, Severus’ voice whispered in the back of Draco’s mind. He wants to believe he’s more powerful and worthy by birthright, and will do whatever mental leaps it requires to convince himself of such things…

That conversation, amongst many others, had been enlightening in ways Draco refused to admit publicly. Severus had held many such conversations with him over the summer, as a matter of fact. He had explained in excruciating detail the dangers of prejudice, and had even talked about his own personal story when it came to his time as a Death Eater. The mere memory of that conversation made Draco shiver upon recollection. 

The summer heat pressed down over Cokeworth like a thick, oppressive blanket. No mercifully cool breeze stirred the stifling air, and every inhale and exhale tasted stagnant and muggy. 

Draco fanned himself with one hand and wiped away another bead of sweat from his brow before it dripped into the potion below. His entire body was drenched in perspiration. Severus' laboratory always ran hot, but in the midst of the July heatwave they were experiencing, it was practically an oven. Worst of all, the Muggle neighbourhood Severus lived in could not be properly warded with climate controlling enchantments, so they were stuck experiencing the worst of the heatwave with no relief. Draco was almost considering breaking Severus' stupid ban on summertime magic to cast an Aguamenti over his head for a brief reprieve from the torment. He couldn't understand how Severus was wearing his usual black robes, buttoned to the throat and sleeves to his wrists. How had he not collapsed from heat exhaustion yet?

"I can't believe you're going around in this weather dressed like that! It's absolutely boiling!" Draco commented. He purposefully gestured to his light summer robes, rolled up to the biceps. "Do you have an aversion to elbows or something?"

Severus lowered the heat beneath his cauldron and looked at Draco for a very long time, expression blank. He slowly and deliberately lowered his hand to the cuff of his left sleeve, unbuttoned it, and pulled it up past the elbow. A familiar, faded tattoo of a skull and snake stared back at Draco.

In his list of mortifying moments, this definitely cracked the top three. You could have cooked an egg on Draco's burning cheeks. 

"I - it slipped my mind Severus, I apologise -"

"Don't," Severus said smoothly, sliding his other sleeve up. Draco remained silent, furiously willing the pink flush in his face to die down while he tried to find the correct words to remedy such an awful faux pas. People with Dark Marks generally made an effort to hide them from the general public to avoid their scorn. Father had never once had his on display outside of the privacy of Malfoy Manor, and even then he tended to favour long sleeves at home. Draco didn't really understand why Severus wouldn't bare his arms in the privacy of his own home, though. He'd been here four weeks, and had never once seen Severus' arms until today despite the raging heatwave battering Britain.

After enough time had passed for Draco's blush to fade, he awkwardly cleared his throat. "Erm - it doesn't bother me seeing it, you know. I've seen my father's Mark plenty. You don't need to hide it."

Severus looked back up from his cauldron and arched an eyebrow. "Has it occured to you that perhaps I do not want to see it?"

Draco, who that had certainly not occurred to, awkwardly coughed and ducked his head. Severus tapped his wand against the rim of his cauldron, placing it under a stasis spell. That was a surefire sign he wanted to devote his full attention to the conversation - or lecture - at hand.

"I am deeply ashamed of this, you know," Severus said bluntly. He gestured to the Dark Mark. "This tattoo represents the biggest mistake of my life."

Draco watched Severus, wide-eyed. "Why are you ashamed? Once or twice I overheard Mother and Father talking, while they discussed your, ah… your true loyalties. They said Dumbledore vouched for you during the trials, and that you'd turned spy."

"Turned," Severus emphasised. "Draco, I joined the Death Eaters willingly." 

Draco stared hard at the ingredients on his workstation, unsure of how to proceed. He felt very uncomfortable discussing any of this, since any talk of the war came dangerously close to 'Muggleborns are just like you and I' territory.

"Look at me." Severus' tone was stern and severe, so Draco reluctantly met his gaze. "I am going to tell you the full story, and I want you to listen."

Draco nodded slowly, uncertainly. Mother and Father staunchly refused to discuss the war with Draco, and Severus' sudden willingness to shocked him.

"I am a half-blood," Severus said. Draco's jaw dropped with shock. That was honestly true?! He'd had his suspicions, considering the location of Severus' home, but he'd never expected them to amount to a confession!

"My father was the worst sort of Muggle," Severus continued, face unmoving. "My mother was a disgraced, disinherited Pureblood, who was left too disabled to work by a Transfiguration accident. She was entirely financially reliant on my father, a violent drunk who she couldn't defend me from."

Draco's eyes continued to widen with horror, but Severus' tone and countenance remained unchanged. 

"My childhood left me prejudiced against Muggles, and made me a prime candidate for a Death Eater. I fell in with a group of Purebloods who sympathised with the Dark Lord and convinced myself that I was superior to Muggles - and to a degree, Muggleborns - and joined the Dark Lord because I thought he'd give me the power and glory I so desperately craved." Severus shook his head, and a hint of pain managed to break through his forced calm. "There is no glory in serving the Dark Lord, Draco. Being his servant - although I think slave would be the more appropriate title - is not an honourable life. He tortured his followers regularly - sometimes as punishment, more often still for his own amusement." He gestured to the Dark Mark. "This brand ties you to him forever, and if you wavered in your loyalties for even a moment, if you so much as contemplated disobeying his orders, death would be a lucky escape from his wrath."

Draco swallowed, hard. What little he had gleaned about the war consisted of Mr Nott, Mr Crabbe and Mr Avery fondly reminiscing over wine about the days where Muggleborns knew their place. Nobody had ever described it like this… 

"I had a best friend - a Muggleborn girl." Severus' throat bobbed. "In my fifth year, I ruined our friendship by calling her a Mudblood. My own prejudice destroyed something I valued dearly. I then proceeded to serve the man who despised her and all of her kind, even though I knew the Dark Lord wanted any and all Muggleborns gone. Eventually, the Dark Lord did murder her. I have to live the rest of my life knowing that I aided the man who killed her."

"Oh." Draco's voice had become rather strangled.

"I think that the day I decided to use that slur against her was a fork in the road of my life," Severus said quietly. "Perhaps, Draco, if I had been more mindful of my language and prejudices, I would not have ruined a true and genuine friendship to associate with my 'superior' Pureblooded companions, people who themselves sneered at my half-blood heritage. I would not have permanently marred my arm with this tattoo that reminds me every day that I chose to be a slave. I would not have assisted the man that murdered my friend." His sigh was deep and heavy, and told the toll of a thousand mistakes. "These sorts of prejudices need to be stopped early. You do not want to end up like me, because these regrets will weigh on your conscience every day for the rest of your life."

Draco finally broke away from Severus' earnest gaze and fixed his eyes to the stained floorboards. A month of chiding lectures about making nice with Mudbloods had fallen on deaf ears until now, where Draco felt the first stirring pangs of conscience. Severus' descent was far too easy to understand…

It was almost alarming how clearly Draco could see himself following the same path. He thought back to the day he'd called Granger a Mudblood early last year, an event that Severus had harped on about for the last month. After the story of Severus and his friend, the word Mudblood felt more weighty in his mouth. A simple word that represented so much more, a whole slew of prejudices and persecution that Draco had never truly comprehended the horror of until this moment.

Severus deftly rolled his sleeves down, hiding the Dark Mark from view once more. His eyes were lowered and full of pain. "After the things I've done, overheating is the least I deserve."

Draco was lost for words. 

Much like Severus considered the day he called his Muggleborn friend a Mudblood a fork in the road of his life, Draco considered that talk a defining moment in his. That conversation had opened the door in his mind to doubt in his father and the prejudices he promoted, and had led Draco from hating Muggleborns to…well, whatever he felt towards them now.

He couldn't put into words how much he appreciated Severus' candour about the war, especially in comparison to Draco's mother and father. The vast majority of the time when he asked, Draco’s parents would give him brief answers and change the subject whenever he asked about the tattoo on Father’s arm, or the Dark Lord that Mr Crabbe had been passionately praising after one too many glasses of wine. Draco vaguely remembered a brief conversation with Mother when he was too young to understand the nuance of it all. She’d explained that a man had used a Curse to force Father to do things he wouldn’t do normally, and that he must never, ever ask Father about it. 

Draco had believed her, of course. Why wouldn’t he?

As he’d aged, the Curse had been named as the Imperius Curse, and the man had been named as the Dark Lord. The ban on asking questions had remained, though. As Draco had matured, he'd made the realisation that perhaps some things about the past were just too difficult to discuss. His father had only given Draco a response once when he'd dared to go against Mother and ask about the Dark Lord.

"He was a great man. Terrible, but great. One of the most powerful wizards of our time, with the right idea about Purebloods and Muggleborns. Perhaps if his methods had differed…who knows how the world would look today."

Somehow, that had not set off any alarm bells in Draco's mind. Neither had any of the hushed conversations overheard through closed doors and on darkened landings, late at night. He would hear Father and his friends arguing about the Dark Lord, questioning if he was still alive, or if they should seek him out. Mother and Father would engage in regular, scathing rants about incompetent Muggleborn Ministry employees who weren't worthy of wands. Snippets, names, arguments - fragments that never came together. Draco had never examined all of the highly suspicious conversations and thought past the lie his parents had told him. Father had been forced by the Dark Lord to do unspeakable things, an opinion that Draco had vehemently defended without a shadow of a doubt.

Until now.

Draco sighed again, and lifted his aching eyes from the papers. It had been hours in here again, but it wasn’t like he had anything better to do than ruminate over his father’s various murders. Draco couldn't stop until he understood it, because right now, everything he was reading defied comprehension. Even though every last detail was laid out before him, Draco still just couldn’t reconcile this murdering bigot with the man that used to pick Draco up and carry him on his shoulders to show him the Abraxans, the man who would fly and race Draco around the grounds whenever he asked, the man who had taught Draco his first spell. How could a person who would pull four-year-old Draco onto his lap and cast beautiful shows of lights and fireworks above his head to make him laugh also go out and murder Muggle and Muggleborn children who were no older than Draco had been? How could someone who looked at his wife like she hung the moon then take his wand and leave another witch or wizard widowed?

Draco knew Father wasn’t always a kind man, of course. Even with Draco, Lucius could be cold, and cutting, and he held impossibly high standards that Draco feared he would never meet. He had just never expected that these less desirable traits of Father's would translate to torture and murder…

Not until his father had burned the house down with Draco inside, with no way of knowing if Mother would be able to get to Draco in time. He’d been willing to risk all of their lives to save the family reputation. 

Draco hunched his shoulders. He felt completely and utterly miserable. As an only child, Draco had thought he was used to loneliness. He had been wrong, of course. Draco couldn’t have possibly imagined what it was like to be truly and wholly alone in the world. Worse still, hated.

And why wouldn’t everyone hate him? The spawn of a Malfoy - what was there to like? The Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws despised him on principle, while the Slytherins hated Draco in a more insidious and personal way. Draco knew that Father had tried to wriggle his way out of trouble by reporting on other Death Eaters in his circle who had walked free. It was probably good that he was in Azkaban - Merlin knew what sort of awful things the likes of Macnair and Nott wanted to do to Father for the things he’d accused them of…

“...hope Lucius Malfoy gets the Dementor’s Kiss, it’s what Death Eater scum like him deserve…”

“...should be locked up right alongside them…”

Everyone hated Draco. He was another slimy Malfoy, destined to follow in his family's footsteps and end up dead or imprisoned. He could disappear from the face of the earth and there would not be a single person who cared -

Well, Severus probably would. Maybe even Harry, but Draco didn’t want to fool himself. Everyone adored perfect Potter, and Draco was barely on his radar. He couldn't understand why Harry had even bothered coming down to the dungeons for visits since they'd made up two weeks ago. Why would he ever want anything to do with the son of a Death Eater? Draco's father had worked for the man who had murdered Harry’s parents! He ought to despise Draco!

But Harry didn't hate him - far from it, apparently. Draco still remembered the day the papers had been delivered, when his world had fallen apart yet again. Harry had hunted Draco down and hugged him when he'd felt like he was falling forever into a bottomless pit of anguish, he had told Draco how sorry he was and how he wanted to be friends again, and he had made such a difference on a day that Draco truly thought would be the death of him. 

Still, the conversation the other day had only served to show Draco how much further he needed to go. He had been doing his best to listen to Severus when it came to prejudice, and to prevent himself from following in his father's footsteps, but it was all so hard, and Draco knew he had a long way to go. Not only that, but all of Draco’s previous behaviour when it came to Muggleborns was clearly still weighing on Harry, which he wasn't quite sure what to do about…

And that was when Draco spotted Granger.

She was always in here, to Draco’s displeasure. He supposed that it was another fitting punishment to endure alongside the constant reading of his father’s crimes, since Granger served as a reminder of everything wrong with Draco, and every reason why Harry would never like him as a best friend, and would only tolerate him at best… he’d hurt Granger very frequently over the last two years. Nasty know-it-all Granger…

Draco really should not hate Granger, since all of the animosity between them had been generally initiated by Draco. Severus, in one of his many scathing lectures, had made it perfectly clear to Draco how appalling his behaviour had been. The Mudblood incident at the beginning of his second year had featured quite heavily in Severus’ rants about equality and bigotry. As much as Draco didn’t want to, he felt horribly guilty about that now. Severus had made sure of that.

Severus had also rather heavily suggested that he apologise. At first, Draco had refused on principle - apologies were a sign of weakness, everybody knew that! Still, as time passed, Draco had started to see the potential benefits of embarrassing himself in such a way. Mainly because it might make Harry happier…

And he probably owed Granger an apology, Draco reminded himself. Still, he hated saying sorry. Unfortunately, Draco knew how important Granger and Weasley were to Harry. He’d made that perfectly clear the other weekend. If Draco was going to be friends with a Gryffindor, he supposed he had to suck it up and adapt to their nauseating apologetic habits.

Draco knew that if he didn’t do it now, it was never going to happen. He got to his feet, carefully smoothed down his hair and checked his appearance in the reflection of the library windows, and slowly walked over to the table Granger had placed herself at. She had taken over the entire surface with a frankly ridiculous amount of books and parchment, all covered in neat, tiny handwriting. As he approached, Granger didn’t even look up. Draco stood to one side of her, feeling intensely conspicuous, and waited for a very long time to clear his throat and announce his presence. 

Granger’s head shot up, bushy hair bouncing all around her, and her expression morphed into one of shock and suspicion. “Malfoy?”

“I just wanted a quick word.”

Granger scowled at him and crossed her arms. "Get on with it, then."

Rude. Draco really didn’t see why he should have to lower himself to associating with ill-mannered Gryffindors like this -

Well, Harry was one of them, and Draco could tolerate his brash tendencies the majority of his time. He just had to grit his teeth and get through this. He exhaled loudly through his nose and clenched his fists.

“‘M sorry,” he muttered. 

Granger’s brow creased. “What?”

“I’m sorry, okay?” he snapped, feeling very irritated all of a sudden. “About last year. When I called you a…well.”

“A Mudblood?” Granger said icily.

Draco winced. “Yes - that. It was… it was certainly not appropriate of me. Sev - er, Professor Snape and Harry have helped me see the error of my ways.”

Granger’s scowl deepened. “Did Harry put you up to this or something?”

“What? No!” Draco said indignantly. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the pricklings of temper. “I just - well, I wanted to extend my apologies. I don’t believe any of that anymore -”

“Well, bully for you,” Granger snapped. “What’s the point of all this, Malfoy?”

“I just thought you should know,” Draco said, taking a step back. “Because I am. Sorry, I mean. I’ve been a right prat when it comes to you, and I - well, I regret it.”

Unable to bear her haughty, disbelieving face for another minute, Draco spun on his heel and fled the library. He ignored Madam Pince’s shouted admonishments for running and continued to tear through the halls. He needed to get out - he needed air. Circe, that had somehow been worse than Draco had anticipated. What was even the point of apologising if no one believed you? How was Draco supposed to convincingly prove to Granger that he didn’t hate Muggleborns anymore? It all was impossible!

He sprinted until he reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest, lungs burning from the exertion. Draco sank down against a tree trunk, hugged his knees close to his chest, and tried very hard to pretend that the water in his eyes was from the harsh Scottish wind. He hated how close to tears he always was, especially these days. His father had always been particularly condemning of such displays of emotions, but Draco couldn't ever help it. He felt things so deeply, and it was impossible to keep it all inside.

He missed Father so much today.

Draco didn’t know what to do with that. He missed Mother constantly, of course, so much so that he still cried himself to sleep some nights hoping she was okay in Azkaban, even though he knew deep down that she wasn't. Draco’s feelings towards his Father were so horribly tangled and complex in comparison. He hated Father with a passion that made his blood boil for everything he’d done to both Draco and to the victims of his crimes, but at the same time, he missed Father with an aching intensity. For thirteen years of Draco's life, Lucius Malfoy had been the most important, intelligent and capable man Draco knew. He was the ideal role model in every way!

Father had been Draco's compass, his map, his navigator. Now Lucius was gone, locked away, and Draco was left lost and stranded. 

Draco couldn't even pretend there weren't tears streaming down his face anymore.

Moments before he could wipe them away, something rough and wet swiped across his cheeks. Draco yelped and shoved out his hands, which smacked into something brawny and fluffy. He gave a hefty push, to no avail. The creature remained undeterred and continued to lick him. Draco opened his eyes and realised that a large, black dog was currently attacking his face with its tongue. 

"Get off me!" he shouted, shoving the beast away with renewed determination. It was matted, skinny, and probably riddled with fleas! Draco was going to have to burn his robes after this! 

Just as he was about to cast Flipendo at the creature, it at last retreated and settled at Draco's feet, head tilted slightly to the side. As he was very unfamiliar with dogs, Draco couldn't work out what the thing could possibly want. The only experience he had with the animals were the bloodhounds Father sometimes used for hunting, but the house-elves normally cared for those without much input. 

"Are you… hungry?" Draco asked hesitantly. "I don't have anything you could eat. You'd have better luck with that oaf of a Gamekeeper."

Draco scowled in the direction of Hagrid's lopsided shack. What had that idiotic fool of a Headmaster been thinking, hiring an incompetent buffoon like that to teach Care of Magical Creatures? He'd nearly killed Draco with that bloody Hippogriff on his first day! This dog was probably one of his horrid mutts….

But Draco stopped himself from getting up and leaving it at the last moment. He felt like he knew this dog from somewhere, oddly. He couldn't quite place where he’d seen it before, though.

The dog curled into Draco's side, but mercifully didn't jump up onto him again. Draco tentatively reached out a hand to rub its head and the dog leaned into the touch, tail wagging happily. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, even if Draco wasn't much of a dog person. After all, he was remarkably lonely right now.

"Everything is hard," Draco said abruptly. The dog lifted its head to stare at Draco with odd, grey eyes. It almost looked like it was listening… 

Well, it wasn't like Draco had anyone else to talk to.

"I just want things to go back to normal," he whispered, leaning his head back against the tree. "Merlin, I miss Pansy. I even miss Vince and Greg! They're more like ornaments than people most of the time, I didn't know I could miss them!" 

The dog let out an affirmative sort of bark, and Draco ploughed on. "It's not like I can even make new friends, apparently. I didn't even want to apologise to bloody Granger, but I did it anyway, and she didn't even accept it! She's probably going to go back to Harry, complain about how awful I am for daring to so much as look at her, and he's going to go back to hating me again because Potter likes her so much more than me..."

The dog's head jerked up at the name Potter, and Draco scowled. Of course, even a damn dog would be overly interested in the fabulous Boy-Who-Lived… 

Draco cut off that train of thought before it could gain any traction. If he started thinking resentful thoughts about fame, it meant he said resentful things to Harry, which he shouldn’t do. Draco knew logically that Harry hated being a celebrity, even if he sometimes struggled against base inclinations towards the glamour and glory that fame brought.

It was so hard, fighting back all the horrid thoughts in his head before they became nasty words and actions. Draco hoped it would get easier someday, because he wasn't sure how much more of this constant mental chastisement he could take. 

He sighed and awkwardly ran a hand over the dog's back. Draco wasn't quite sure what dogs liked but it didn't seem to mind what he was doing, and Draco found the repetitive motion surprisingly soothing. 

"I did sort of want to apologise to Granger, you know, " Draco told him. "Even if she is an insufferable, bushy-haired show-off. I know I've been foul to her for no good reason. Severus has made that pretty bloody clear… "

The dog abruptly made a low growling noise in the back of its throat, and Draco pulled his hand away, as if burned. Had he hurt it? Was it going to attack? 

The dog noticed his flinch and quickly went quiet. It made a whimpering noise, nosing against Draco's palm. After a few moments of hesitation, Draco gingerly patted him on the head and the dog's tail began to wag again. How odd…

"I don't like who I was before," Draco admitted. "I… I don't want to be like Father anymore. If believing the things he believes gets you locked up in Azkaban for following an evil Dark Lord, I probably shouldn't believe them, right?"

"Woof," the dog said agreeably.

"And I don't like that the stuff I did makes Harry angry," Draco admitted softly. "He's the only person who's been decent to me during all of this, you know. All my so-called friends turned on me in a heartbeat, but he stayed there."

That meant more to Draco than he could ever say. Even after everything he'd done, Harry had still treated Draco decently. He'd gone above and beyond, really, with somebody who he owed absolutely nothing to. That sort of thing earned Draco's hard-won loyalty. 

"I wish he was friends with me in the same way he was friends with Granger and Weasley," Draco said sadly. "I don't know what they have that I don't! And if Granger and Weasley don't like me, I don't think Harry will, either, but there's nothing I can do to make them!" He huffed loudly. "Granger thought Harry put me up to that apology! As if I could ever be forced into anything! Can you believe that?"

"Woof," the dog said, and Draco swore he actually nodded. 

"It's all a bloody mess," Draco said with a sigh. "I have no friends, and the only friend I do have has about five billion other friends when I only have him, and everyone in Slytherin hates me so much I had to move out of the common room, and my parents are in prison, and there's absolutely nothing I can do to make any of my problems better!"

He slumped backwards into the tree trunk, feeling thoroughly sorry for himself. If there was one thing Draco hated it was being powerless, and he was nothing if not powerless in his own life right now. He wasn't able to get his old friends back, or get the older Slytherins to leave him alone, he certainly wasn't able to do anything about his parents' legal issues, and he couldn't even apologise to Granger without her assuming that Draco was plotting something.

Well. Granger hadn't been entirely wrong. Draco was technically plotting, since he wouldn't have bothered apologising to Granger if he hadn't wanted to make things right with Harry. That didn't mean Draco wasn't remorseful for the things he'd done, though, it just meant he didn't want to admit to it! 

Malfoys do not apologise, Lucius said haughtily in his mind. You twist their words until the aggrieved apologise to you, Draco. Admitting fault is a weakness. 

Severus was the opposite. He was always insisting that Harry and Draco apologise to each other when they did something wrong, and to Draco's shock, it actually ended up solving a lot more problems than pretending like nothing had happened or trying to pin fault on the other party. Who'd have thought?

Of course, Draco never liked being wrong, so apologising didn't come that naturally to him. Potter ought to realise that, and appreciate the effort he made in apologising to the bushy-haired Mu-

Muggleborn.

Draco stared at the ground, feeling very sad all of a sudden. The dog rested its head on Draco's lap, sensing the continued dip of his mood. Draco never would have said dogs could be smart, but was quickly learning otherwise. 

“You’re not so bad,” Draco declared. “Say, why don’t I sneak some drumsticks out of the Great Hall for you? Would you like that?”

The dog began barking loudly and jumped up on Draco again, knocking him over from the force of impact. It began enthusiastically licking his face.

“Get off!” Draco shrieked, although he found that didn’t mind it as much as the first time. “If you don’t let up, I can’t get you any food, you know! Stop!”

After a few final licks, the dog released him and ran in a circle around Draco, tail wagging enthusiastically. 

“I’ll see you shortly,” Draco promised, heading back into the castle. He felt a little bit better, having let all of that out in the open, even if it was to a dog.

He’d go and find Severus later, Draco decided. He had a way of explaining things in a way that made Draco feel a little less awful about himself and his family. Maybe he’d even have some sort of advice for how to make things right with Granger, for Harry’s sake. 

Even though Draco didn’t have Father anymore, he was more grateful than he ever could have imagined to have Severus in his life. One decent person to model himself after, in a world where Draco's entire biological family were lunatics… Draco didn't know what would have happened to him after the arrest without Severus, the one person in his corner.

Severus and now Harry. 

For his whole life, Draco’s family had consisted of Mother, Father and himself, and when they’d been arrested, he’d assumed any concept of family had been stripped from him forever. Now, though? Maybe a new family was forming around him, as misshapen and odd as it might be. 

His old world might have burned to ashes, but Draco was starting to like the new one he was building.