“Such a disappointment you are, Mr. Malfoy,” Umbridge said, her tone so fake Draco had to fight not to gag. “So much like your father, aren't you, and not in any of the positive ways."

Draco wanted to snap and rage and curse, wanted to argue that he was nothing like Lucius and that there were absolutely no positive traits to be said about the man. Instead, he bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood and kept his head down, continuing his torturous writing. He glanced at his clenched left hand as he finished the phrase for the forty-eighth time, glaring at the inscribed words that seemed completely resistant to fading now after just four detentions.

I am just like my father.

“I hope you will change your mind and give me what I want, Mr. Malfoy,” Umbridge continued. “I can offer you glorious standings in the Ministry despite the blackness of the Malfoy name due to your father.”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Draco ground out, glancing at the small puddles of blood on the desk under his cut hand as he wrote yet another line.

“Not even freedom for your father?” Umbridge almost purred behind him, sending a shiver up his spine. “Freedom for yourself?”

“I’ve done nothing to warrant such a need and I don’t give a damn about my father,” Draco said.

“Such selfishness,” Umbridge said, clicking her tongue. “I can ruin you, Mr. Malfoy, or you can help me and I can assure you a life after Hogwarts.”

Draco said nothing, just wrote his one hundredth line and held back a hiss at the pain it caused. Umbridge sighed obnoxiously loud and moved to his left side, picking up his inscribed and bloody hand. Draco kept his eyes on his parchment, unsure he’d be able to control his temper or magic if he looked at her. He clenched his hand into a fist again when she dropped it and waited.

“You are dismissed,” she said. “Do keep my offer in mind and I suggest you keep away from Harry Potter if you do not wish for more trouble.”

He took a chance and gave her a quick snarl as he snatched up his bag and dashed from the room, not stopping until he was an entire floor away. He ducked into a small alcove and stood silently, tremours wracking his body as his rage and magic fought to explode. He looked down at his hands, cursing at the silver-white threads twisting through his fingers and around his hands. They were slightly sharper than usual, effected by his anger and long separation from Snape’s grounding magic. Every day, he realized just how much Snape’s magic and presence had done for him during the summer, and every day, the loss hurt more and more.

There was one other source of relief, though it was not the same as Snape. He took a few deep breaths, willing his magic to calm just enough that it would no longer dance in his hands. Once the tendrils faded away, he left the alcove and headed for the library. He immediately made his way to the second level and to their usual, tucked away corner, secretly thrilled that Potter was still there. He sat heavily across from the Gryffindor, dropping his bag to the floor with a solid thud.

“I’m starting to think I’d rather deal with my father,” he grumbled, glaring at his still stinging and weeping hand.

Potter snorted. “I know. Even Voldemort doesn’t seem so bad.”

Draco hummed and muttered a ‘thank you’ when Potter handed him a roll of bandages, not bothering to question where they came from. As he wrapped his hand, he reached out with his magic to touch Potter’s, relaxing somewhat as his magic stopped pulsing. It wasn’t the calm Snape could give, but it was sufficient. His and Potter’s magic loved to interact anyway and it was another form of calmness when they were able to.

He glanced at Potter as he finished wrapping his hand, absently wishing there was more that they could do, spotting Potter’s own wrapped hand. He wondered if they should tell someone about what Umbridge was doing. He knew the quills they were being forced to use—Blood Quills—were highly illegal, but could they justify involving any of the staff or Leif or Alexei, not knowing what Umbridge could be capable of doing to the adults for helping them? He sighed quietly and watched Potter while slowly wrapping his hand. The Gryffindor was working on what seemed to be Potions, making Draco absently remember the essay due on Friday. He couldn’t help but notice that whatever had started at Prince Manor between them, they had managed to hold onto it and even make it grow. They met up for studying and chess fairly often, always on Sundays at the very least, and they had settled into some stable friendliness. He couldn’t be sure if they were friends, he’d never really had one to know for sure, but, in his head, he liked to think they were. It helped him not feel quite so alone.

He finished bandaging and gave the roll back, watching Potter shove them in his bag.

“Has Alexei figured it out yet?” Draco asked, pointing at Potter’s hand when the Gryffindor looked up at him.

“No, not yet, but he’s definitely suspicious,” Potter said. “I’ve honestly no idea how I’ve managed to keep it from him. Bloody vampire.”

Draco chuckled quietly. “Homework today?”

Potter scribbled something and threw his quill down, flipping his text closed. “Absolutely not. Chess.”

Draco laughed again and pulled the set from his bag, having been the one to take it after their last meet-up. He gave Potter the white pieces again and they set up in companionable silence. They were a few moves in before conversation was broached again.

“She’s trying to get me to help her,” Draco said as he waited for Potter to decide his next move. “No idea with what.”

“Because making you mutilate yourself is a terrific way to inspire your loyalty,” Potter said with a snort, moving a rook.

“Probably because of the Death-Eater-for-a-father thing,” Draco said, studying the board. “She thinks I’m just like him.”

“You’re not.”

Draco’s eyes flickered to the Gryffindor before moving his queen. “Aren’t I?”

“You don’t want me dead,” Potter said. “It’s a pretty good start.”

Draco smirked across the board. “I don’t think I’ve said yet if I want you dead or not.”

Potter snorted. “You’ve had plenty of opportunity. I feel pretty safe in my assumption by this point.”

Draco hummed and moved a knight, his smirk falling away. “I don’t know if I care what’s happening to him and, besides feeling guilty, I don’t think I care that she’s dead.”

“It’s not your fault,” Potter said. “Who knows what would have happened if you went back. You certainly wouldn’t be here right now.”

“No, but she would be,” Draco said.

“Would you really be willing to trade your life for hers?” Potter said, moving a bishop and taking Draco’s rook.

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “I don’t think so. Doesn’t that make me like him? Not caring if people are being hurt or killed? Not willing to help them?” He moved his queen, taking a white knight.

“No, and for two reasons,” Potter said and Draco looked at him curiously. “First, you’re sitting here playing chess with me. Second, if you were like him, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Draco frowned slightly, watching Potter move a pawn as he tried to follow Potter’s logic.

“You do care,” Potter said, “but you don’t have to care about getting away from the people that tortured you all your life and ignored your existence the rest of the time. You don't want to hurt people or control them, not like he does. What happened to your mother and what's happening to him, it’s not your fault.”

Draco moved a knight and took Potter’s remaining rook. “Sounds like that could be applied to you and the Muggles.”

He raised an eyebrow when Potter’s head popped up and met his eyes, the green ones narrowing. After a few seconds, Potter looked back at the game and moved his own queen.

“I bloody hate Slytherins,” Potter muttered and Draco laughed, taking a white pawn.

They fell quiet again as their game continued. Draco considered what the Gryffindor had said, glancing at his wrapped hand. He was torn over how he felt about his parents and how he should feel. He hated them and a part of him was glad his father was being hurt and his mother killed. They had given him nothing but pain and loathing and darkness. Yet, there was another part that was drowning in the guilt and shame of what he had brought upon them by running away like a coward. He often felt he was more like Lucius than he realized, and the idea terrified him.

“Harry?”

Draco looked up at the unexpected voice, Potter doing the same. In the nearly four weeks they’d been meeting up and hanging out in the library, they’d never been interrupted. Weasley looked like he was barely containing disgust and anger, while Granger was very clearly confused and concerned. He tensed at their presence and glanced at Potter, wondering what the Gryffindor would do now his friends had showed up.

“What are you doing?” Granger asked, her eyes flicking to Draco uncomfortably.

Potter looked away from them and back at the board, moving a bishop. “Playing chess.”

Draco moved his queen and smirked. “Losing chess, you mean. Check.”

Potter cursed, brow furrowed as he studied the board to keep himself in play.

“You’re playing with him?” Weasley said, spitting the word ‘him’ and glaring at Draco who returned it with his own.

“That a problem?” Potter said, finally moving a bishop again with a look of satisfaction.

“As a matter of fact—” Weasley started before Granger cut him off.

“Harry, we’re just—”

“Concerned, I know, but I’ve also told you not to be,” Potter said, sounding annoyed as though he had repeated the sentiment several times.

“I think we have a right to be,” Weasley said loudly. “You’re spending time with a Death Eater.”

Draco glowered at Weasley, ignoring the sting in his chest at the accusation. He turned back to the board as Potter lifted his head with his own glare.

“How many times do I have to tell you that he’s not a Death Eater and you don’t know what you’re talking about?” Potter said, surprising Draco with his continuous defense.

“Like father, like son,” Weasley sneered.

“We’re just unsure what to trust,” Granger said.

Draco was impressed at the deep glare Potter mustered up for the other Gryffindors.

“You’re supposed to trust me,” Potter said.

“Harry, it’s Malfoy!” Weasley said loudly.

“I’m aware.”

“How could you do this?” Weasley said, acting as though he'd been greatly offended.

“What have I done?” Potter said, almost as though in challenge.

“You’re betraying Gryffindor!” Weasley shouted.

Draco was startled by Potter suddenly leaping to his feet and he watched the Gryffindors with slightly wide eyes.

“Do not talk to me about betrayal,” Potter said in a dangerously low voice.

“Enough shouting,” a shrill voice snapped and they all turned to see Madam Pince scowling at them. “This is a library. Out, all of you.”

Draco gathered the chess set, annoyed their game had been interrupted, and he and Potter snatched up their bags. They were followed by Weasley and Granger as they left the library. Based on his pace and expression, Potter seemed to be angry as well.

“Harry, talk to us,” Granger said, jogging to catch up and grab Potter’s arm only to be shaken off.

Potter spun around. “I’ve told you what I can. Why can’t you be okay with that?”

“Because none of it explains this,” Weasley said, gesturing between Potter and Draco. “Why are you choosing him over us?”

“I’m not, you’re making it like that,” Potter said. “I’m not choosing him over you, but I am choosing him.”

“How could you?” Weasley said, his tone bordering on a whine.

“Because he’s my friend!” Potter yelled and there was a long moment where the four of them froze, just staring at each other. Potter was glaring at his friends while they stared back at him in confused shock. Draco himself had frozen completely as he tried to register what Potter had just said. He looked at the Gryffindor with dawning awe.

“H…how?” Granger stuttered out.

Weasley finally turned his lax jaw expression into one of disgusted rage as he turned to Draco. “The hell did you do to him, ferret?”

“I spent the summer with him, okay? He was at the house with me!” Potter shouted before Draco could even consider a response, still reeling from Potter's declaration. “Dumbledore said I couldn’t tell. No one could know. So, when I say you don’t know anything, I mean it. Things changed.”

“But—” Weasley gaped.

“Do not make me choose, Ron. Figure out your issues because I am not going to stop being his friend and I’d like if we all could hang out one day,” Potter said before turning to Draco with a sheepish look. “Sorry. See you Thursday?”

Draco just nodded, too stunned to say anything. Potter gave a small smile and turned, heading off down the corridor to get to Gryffindor Tower. Granger and Weasley gave him looks filled with mixed emotions before taking off after Potter. It took some time before Draco was able to kickstart his brain enough to function his body and head down to the dungeons.

Draco walked into the Room of Requirement, dropping his bag to the side of the door and approaching Leif. The man turned to him, smiling as he rolled up his sleeves. Draco could never get over just how casually Leif dressed, always looking like he worked with horses or the like rather than in the Ministry archives. The dress fit the man, though, complementing Leif’s more light-hearted side that, with others, was often hidden by a severe professionalism. Leif had a lot of roles and he played each flawlessly.

“How was your morning?” Leif asked, gesturing for Draco to remove his robe so he could be more comfortable for training.

“Fine,” Draco said, tossing his robe to the side as instructed. “We started the Silencing Charm in Charms.”

Leif nodded. “We are beginning something new today as well.”

“Really?” Draco said, intrigued.

“Yes. You have excellent control and your identification skills are flawless,” Leif said. “It is time to start using your magic as it is meant to be used.”

Draco looked at him curiously and with just a touch of apprehension.

“A key ability we possess as Aetherion is magical manipulation,” Leif said. “We are able to connect to another’s magic and use it for ourselves or change what they are doing to fit with what we need.”

“We can control people?” Draco said, immediately thinking about the Imperius Curse.

“Not people, their magic,” Leif said. “For example, we could tap into a signature and whatever magical strength or special skills they have, we could use. Or, if someone were casting a Cutting Curse, for instance, we could tap into their signature and change the curse to something else, like a Stunning Spell. We are meant to work with the magic around us, and this is one of the ways.”

“How does that work with me and Potter?” Draco asked, remembering how Elemental and Aether Magic were supposedly common complements to each other.

“You are able to give great strength to Harry’s Elemental Magic and he is able to share elements with you. Your magic can mix, something you can do with no other magic type. When this happens, you are both able to use each other’s magic in conjunction with your own. It becomes its own type of magic in many ways,” Leif explained.

“And Snape?”

“Additional strength and control. For example, he will be able to guide your magic one way if you are focused on another,” Leif said. “There are many other things the three of you will be capable of, and Alexei and I hope to begin exploring them in a month or two, though it will be dependent on how your bond progresses from here.”

Draco was shocked by what he, Potter, and Snape were apparently able to do. It seemed so intense and he wondered if they could ever manage the relationship and connection he imagined was needed for such magic use. He briefly flashed to the previous evening and Potter loudly claiming him as a friend.

“Ready?” Leif asked and Draco nodded. “You are going to use my magic. Not my Aether Magic, just my normal magic. You are going to connect to my core and pull my magic to you. This requires intent and focus. You don’t want to drain the magic, just use it.”

“How do I make sure I don’t drain it?” Draco asked.

“The way you connect matters. When you drain, your magic goes into a core. To use magic, you just want to connect to the outside of the core and only with a few strands. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Draco said. It sounded similar to when he’d reached out to Potter’s and Snape’s cores, and could feel their deepest emotions.

“When you’re ready then,” Leif said and he stood there, looking far too calm for being the test subject for Draco experimenting with his ridiculously powerful magic.

Pushing the thought aside, he closed his eyes and sent his magic out, going deep enough to see the magical systems so he could watch how he interacted with Leif’s core. He found it easily enough as it was the only sphere of magic in the vicinity. He looked at it, hesitating when he realized there seemed to be more Aether Magic than regular. How was he supposed to connect with just the regular magic?

“Just focus,” Leif said as though he knew what Draco was thinking.

Draco did his best to do as Leif said and pushed his magic towards the huge core. He hovered beside it, basking in the feeling of Leif’s magic around his, before focusing again. He thought of that last night at Prince Manor when he’d reached out to all the others and pictured how his magic had lightly connected to all their cores. He sent out a few of his silver-white threads, twisted them together in a loose braid, and pushed the open end towards Leif’s core. His loose rope pulsed as it got closer, excited to finally be allowed to interact with other magic, and pulled away from him just slightly. He kept control, though, and guided the strands to just touch the core, spreading slightly like a small net over that one spot.

He could instantly feel Leif’s inner emotions and struggled to see past them to focus on the man’s magic. He did his best, even trying a little of the Occlumency Snape had taught him to block the immortal’s emotions and allow him to just feel the magic. It worked after a couple of minutes and he was able to focus on the buzz that was Leif’s regular magic. Once he felt he was centered on the regular magic, he started pulling, watching as glittering gold strands began to slide along his towards him.

The power coming off Leif’s magic was insane and making it hard to not get overwhelmed. He could tell his magic wanted to just dive in and suck as much of the power from the immortal as possible. That was exactly what started to happen. His strands began to sink into Leif’s core and the gold strands began moving towards him in strong bursts and he began panicking. He went to break the connection when Leif spoke.

“Calm down, paidí,” the man said. “Refocus.”

Draco tried to listen and took a few breaths to clear the panic from his head. He focused on his magic and tugged it back, pulling it just to the core’s surface and, as he re-established the proper connection, Leif’s magic stopped flying towards him, slowing back to its previous crawl.

“Good,” Leif said. “Pull my magic into you. Let it be with yours, then you’ll be able to use it.”

Draco did as he was told, pulling Leif’s magic into his body. It was even more overwhelming as Leif’s magic swirled around his own core, the power completely overshadowing his.

“My magic should be sticking close to your Aether Magic,” Leif said and Draco noticed how Leif’s gold threads were individually wrapped around Draco’s silver-white threads, waiting to be used. “You can now use my magic as your own. Open your eyes and try a spell.”

Draco opened his eyes to see a training dummy several meters away and he focused on it. He raised his hand, palm out, and thought of the Disarming Spell. The thought had hardly formed before the magic—a mix of gold and silver-white—left his palm and struck the dummy, removing not only the fake wand, but the entire arm, while knocking the dummy clear across the room. His eyes widened in shock and he looked at Leif when he realized the man was laughing.

“The power level is different based on the magic you are using, but you will adjust,” Leif said. “Before we end the connection, I want you to try and shield from a spell.”

“I don’t know the Shielding Spell,” Draco said. “Umbridge won’t let us use any spells.”

“I know. That bloody…”

Draco raised an eyebrow and couldn’t help but grin as Leif trailed off, muttering in angry Greek.

“Just go by instinct,” Leif said, his quiet rant over. “Your magic does not need spells, just intent.”

Draco nodded and waited for Leif to stand where the dummy used to be. The immortal gave him a look, silently asking if he was ready, and he nodded again. Leif quickly waved his wand through the air and a shock of orange light tore towards him. Draco raised both hands and pushed the borrowed magic out. He quickly spread his arms apart, envisioning a wall, and was stunned when Leif’s orange light hit what seemed to be shimmery air, the gold and silver-white strands bunching together in that spot, and the orange light fizzled out.

“Excellent, paidí!” Leif said with a wide grin. “End the connection now.”

Draco instantly pulled his magic back, aware that he could feel the way it had stretched away from him to remain connected to Leif. As soon as he dropped his hands and reclaimed his magic, the power of Leif’s inside him disappeared. He watched as Leif returned to his side.

“How do you feel?” Leif asked.

“Fine, actually,” Draco said. “Hardly feels like I did anything.”

“You are building strength and endurance,” Leif said with a nod of approval. “We’ll work on this for a bit, increase your speed and adjust you to the power level, then we will move to spell manipulation.”

“Sounds good,” Draco said. “I should probably get going.”

“Of course,” Leif said, rolling his sleeves down. “Draco?”

Draco looked up as he picked up his discarded robe and started pulling it back on. “Yeah?”

“Would you care to tell me about your hand?”

Draco stuttered in his movements, thrown off by the question and casual tone. He glanced at the white bandage around his left hand.

“Uh, it’s nothing,” Draco said. “Hurt myself in Creatures class.”

He stopped himself from gulping as Leif’s green eyes seemed to pin him in place.

“Is that so?” Leif said. “Strange. Harry seems to have suffered the same injury in the same manner.”

“Um…” Draco had no idea what to say. He didn’t want anyone to know what Umbridge was doing. Like Potter, he wouldn’t let her have the satisfaction of making him get help. He refused to let her believe she had broken him. If Lucius couldn’t do it, Umbridge certainly never would. He also didn't want to put anyone at risk of retribution from Umbridge if he dragged them into his mess with her.

“Draco, if you need help—”

“No!” Draco said quickly, gaining a raised eyebrow. “It’s nothing. Just the Death Eater kids in Slytherin, but I can handle it. Promise.”

“Draco—”

“Nothing else can be done, so it’s fine. I’m fine,” Draco said, wishing he’d stuck with the previous lie. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He dashed to the door, picking up his bag and hurrying out to Ancient Runes before the immortal could stop him.