693Chapter 8: Friends at Last
For the second time in his life, Draco woke to sunlight after being certain he had died. Blinking owlishly at the bright light, it was only the sudden silence that alerted him to the hushed whispers before as he had returned to consciousness. After a moment, he was able to focus on the three faces hovering over his bed. Frowning, stared up at Ron, Harry, and Hermione, their nervous faces and wondered what they had done to make look that way.
"What happened?" Draco muttered, rubbing his eyes.
"You were attacked by a troll, Mr. Malfoy," Snape's imperious voice reached his ears and he jerked, not having seen the Professor where he was standing against the wall. "Miss Granger tells us you, along with Mister Potter and Mister Weasley were looking for her after she foolish ran off to tackle the troll on her own. Is this true?"
Blankly, Draco looked first at Hermione, surprised she would have said such an outright lie to a teacher. Then he looked at Ron and Harry who were silently - and hilariously - trying to convey that he needed to go along with this story without conveying the same to Snape.
"A...troll?" Draco asked, meeting Snape's piercing gaze without flinching. "Honestly, I don't remember, Professor. What [i]happened[/i]?"
The Potion Master's expression softened imperceptibly. "You took a rather bad blow from the beast before your friends," Draco didn't miss the word and smiled at his Professor, "managed to subdue it, though I am uncertain how they managed. I will leave them to tell you the rest of the story."
Turning to sweep from the room, Snape paused and looked back at the blonde, "I will tell your father you are well. He has been anxious."
The meaning behind the words crashed over Draco, relief from a weight he hadn't even realized he was carrying, and he barely managed to thank the man before he swept from the room.
"Is that a good thing?" Harry asked, looking to Hermione in his confusion.
The girl nodded, "It means his father forgave him for being sorted into Gryffindor."
"About bloody time," Ron grumbled before focusing on Draco again. "Listen, mate, we're really sorry about the other day."
"It's...it's okay," he interrupted before the redhead could go any farther. "I'm sorry, too. I was...mean."
"I'll say. You could give Crabbe a run for his money."
Madam Pomphrey heard Draco's laugh in response to this unknowingly accurate description and bustled over to make her patient drink a strange tasting purple concoction. Then she warned the three Gryffindors not to wear him out before disappearing into her office again.
"So what really happened?" Draco asked once she was gone.
Over the next few minutes, Harry and Ron regaled him with their tale. After the troll had knocked Draco across the room, Ron and Harry had charged in. Thinking quickly, they had distracted the stupid creature to keep it from finishing him and Hermione off, Ron with taunts and Harry by shoving his wand up the creatures nose (Draco was never going to touch the boy's wand again). Then in a show of genius, Ron had levitated the troll's club above his head and knocked him out.
"I can't believe we're still alive," Draco said, shaking his head in sheer amazement once they finished.
"Well," Ron said, "it was pretty amazing, but the best part was when Hermione covered for us."
Draco had guessed as much, but it was till astonishing she had actually done so. Her attitude thus far had been obnoxiously obedient to rules. Seeing his expression, Hermione blushed and tried to look nonchalant. "You all saved my life. I didn't want you to get in trouble."
"It was brilliant," Harry argued. "We got fifteen points to Gryffindor."
"Ten, if you subtract the five they took from me."
Ron shook his head, "I still say we earned more than five. More like...like fifty! We took down a troll! By ourselves!"
Laying back, Draco just smiled as he watched the three banter and argue about how many points they should or should not have earned. For the first time, things were how they were supposed to be. He imagined this would make him more of an outsider, but Draco was used to that. After being bitten and betraying his House, he had always been alone.
The next morning, Madam Pomphrey let him out of the infirmary with a stern warning to return at any sign of dizziness or headache. For some reason, she decided he couldn't be trusted because he had to assure her five or six times that he would follow her instructions to the letter. He really had to wonder what it was about him that drove everyone to believe he wouldn't seek aid if he was ill. It was absurd. When it came to his health, Draco was a baby and would be in the infirmary in an instant asking for a potion to take away his aches. Right now, he felt fine.
Better than fine, as a matter of fact, as the morning continued. At breakfast, his father's eagle owl had swooped down amongst the others to deposit not one, but two letters and a package in his lap. He knew immediately what they were; a letter from each of his parents and the first of the care packages he would receive twice a week. The trespass on his father's pride and the Malfoy name had been forgiven.
No amount of badgering could get Draco to open the letters or package at the table. For one, he didn't want to rub his family's fortune in everyone's face. Ron especially since his family wouldn't be able to afford the treats and presents, through no fault of their own. For another, he wanted privacy to savor his parents words. After their death, he had longed for their company and now he would have it again. He didn't want to share that with children who couldn't understand the pain. Harry could, of course, but it wasn't like Draco could tell his friend that he had lost his parents in another time and was happy to have them back. He would sound insane. Likely, he'd be asked to show proof of his knowledge and who knew what it would change.
Alone, Draco had returned to the boy's dormitory and curled up in his bed. Curtains shut tight and a silencing spell enclosing the bed, he had as much privacy as he could hope for. He started with his father's letter first:
Draco,
Your teacher, Severus Snape, has informed me of the incident on Halloween involving a troll. Suffice to say I am thankful that you are safe and as well as can be expected. Your mother is also grateful, though has chosen to write you herself, as I am certain you have realized by now.
While I must say I am still surprised by your sorting into House Gryffindor, Professor Snape has informed me that your grades are exceptional. More so, you have been offered tutelage by the Head Master himself. I am very proud of you, my son, but I urge you to caution. Professor Dumbledore has never been a supporter of our family and has more cunning than he allows to be known. Do not give him you trust implicitly and remember you are a Malfoy first and foremost.
I expect to hear of your achievements from you directly in the future.
Your father,
Lucius Malfoy
The letter wasn't anything like Draco had received his first week at school, but he hadn't really expected it to be. Two months later, they were finally in contact for the first time since he left home. Though the letter was short, he couldn't keep the smile from his face. The stoic words were a balm on the old pain of loss in their familiarity alone. That his father was proud, something Draco hadn't expected to see in writing so soon after the sorting, did more for the ache he had felt at throwing the family traditions in his parents' faces. Reading between the lines of the letter, he could also see the concern and love his father didn't express directly. Lucius was worried he was still ill, angry that he had been hurt at all, and relieved that his son was still alive.
Despite that, he made no mention of trying to call Dumbledore to task. Perhaps it was the offer of lessons, but Draco felt it was more likely that the Head Master was attempting to take the Malfoy heir under his wing that scarred his father. He had to wonder if this would change the lessons on the Dark Arts he had received that first summer vacation. Certainly he hoped not. Lucius had so much to teach him and Draco craved that knowledge, dark though it was. Knowledge was a power he could ill afford to waste.
Unable to answer his own questions, Draco turned to his mother's letter and tore into it just as carefully.
My Darling,
Forgive me for not writing you sooner, Draco, but your father had forbidden it. Your sorting caused him considerable anguish and, as you well known, he lashed out in his anger. Thankfully, he no longer considers your status as a Gryffindor to be a betrayal. I beg you to forgive him the opinion and think on it no more. He loves you, as do I, and merely wished the best for you. Let their be no more grief over such a trivial matter between our family.
Severus tells us you are doing remarkably well in your classes. I am very proud of you, Draco, though I miss you terribly. The Manor is simply not the same without you around. If you wish, I am certain I can talk your father and the Headmaster into sending you home for a weekend.
Please write me soon. I want to hear all about your time at Hogwarts, your friends and classes. Everything.
All my love,
Narcissa
P.S. Enjoy the package. I made sure to include your favorite chocolates.
By the time he finished the letter, tears had tracked their way down his pale cheeks. His mother's familiar, graceful script and the tender, loving words were too much for him. Draco clutched at the letter, unwilling to let it go. Over and over he read the sentences, hearing her voice in his mind. A weekend home...Yes, he would like that, though he had refused the first time around out of pride. Now he couldn't wait to give his mother a hug.
Completely ignoring the package, Draco reached for his quill and parchment, intending to write his parents immediately. Instead the curtain pulled back and he found himself blinking up into concerned, green eyes.
"Potter!" Draco hissed, wiping quickly at the tears on his cheeks and glaring up at the intruding boy. "Don't you know how to announce your self? Is privacy so hard a concept for you to grasp?"
"I did. I called and you didn't answer," Harry replied, crawling onto the bed without asking and pulling the curtains closed again. "I was worried."
The silencing charm, Draco thought, and sighed exasperatedly. He had forgotten to seal the curtains closed as well. "I'm fine. Go away."
"You're not fine. You're crying. Did he tell you off again?"
"No, he...he said he was proud of me."
"So why are you crying?"
Draco averted his gaze to the rumpled parchment in his hands as spots of color appeared high on his cheeks. "My mother wrote me, too."
"Did she tell you off?"
Mutely he shook his head and Harry gave him a perplexed look before understanding dawned. Draco wasn't sure what he thought he understood, however. "Well, I'm glad you're getting along, then." The boy paused and then abruptly changed the subject. "Why do you call me by my last name when you're mad at me?"
"What?"
"You do it to all of us. It's 'Harry' and 'Ron' when you like us, but 'Potter' and 'Weasley' when you're cross."
"Uh, I dunno. Just...a habit, I guess." When Harry didn't look convinced, Draco continued on before the questions could get more uncomfortable; he just wanted to write his letter, damn it! "It's like, you're different people when I'm cross, but after you're just Harry and Ron again."
"Oh, so you're never actually mad at us, just these other people."
"Yes. Will you go away now? I want to write my mum a letter."
"Sure, just don't forget I have quidditch practice. I want you to be there."
"What, why?" Draco stared, startled at his friend.
"Don't be daft, I've seen you fly. You have to give me pointers." For once, Harry looked nervous and uncertain. "I have my first game in just a month. Please, Draco, you have to help me."
"Okay, okay, just...let me write my bloody letter."
"Deal!"
Sighing, he watched Harry disappear outside of his curtain again and shook his head. He was fairly certain he would catch hell if anyone found out he had his broom with him. Then again, the Headmaster knew so what was the worst that could happen?
Thoughtfully, Draco returned to his letter and began to write.