Chapter Text
Life was full of sacrifices. Draco Malfoy knew this all too well.
Those sacrifices were what landed him here, were what made him known as the cold-hearted Death Eater that killed Muggleborn children in their sleep.
He supposed it was only natural for them to assume so, but he had never murdered them in their sleep. And he had always made sure it was quick and painless.
As if anybody would care.
Draco's mind was as numb as his legs. He doubted he could make it back to his cell. The heavy cuffs latched onto his wrist were cold and rough against his battered skin, shackles that were absurdly heavy to keep him from being too mobile. He hated them. Wanted them off the moment they'd clicked into place.
But even if they hadn't been forced onto him, he wouldn't have tried to escape. Draco had nothing to escape to. Not anymore. Even more so, now that his trial was over.
Probation. That was the verdict.
Draco replayed the exact moment the judge came to her decision, just mere minutes ago. She had looked him in the eye, hatred and anger in her sharp gaze as she spoke his sentence. Many in the audience looked ready to wring someone's neck, particularly his.
Part of him was truly relieved that he wouldn't waste away in Azkaban, but deep down, he knows he does not deserve a second chance. Not with what he's done. Even if ten, twenty, or even fifty years had passed, he doubted he could ever look strangers in the eye again.
Please, let me help you...
Draco, you are no assassin.
Those words had meant the world to him. Somebody saw it. Somebody had seen his pain, and they had been willing to help him save his family. But then they came. Draco had dug his own grave and allowed them to enter Hogwarts.
Then Dumbledore was gone. The one person who could have done something, was dead.
Draco knew that it was his fault. His foolish self-pity and desperation. All that went through his mind then was that he had been chosen. Him. The boy that was always the shadow of Harry Potter, the one who could never gain his father's approval, finally seen for his potential. There had been no room for error. He spent endless days and nights fixing the cabinet, thinking that, at last, he would have succeeded in something.
Mistakes. That's all anybody else ever saw. The cursed necklace, the poisoned mead, the attempt at Dumbledore's life, all of it.
There were nights when he would sneak away, while the world was deep asleep and not even the stars shone. Snow would flutter around him, a dying storm that never seemed to end, drifting about before they, too, joined the once powerful blizzard. Forgotten, bleak and raw.
Draco would stare out the tower, wondering what could have happened had he never been born, what would happen if he leaped over the railing and never looked back.
Alas, death was not and never would be an option. He could not bear the thought of his mother crying with grief, could not even think about it. However, that was not what hurt him the most.
It was the fact that nobody would care.
People would rejoice, people would cheer, people would give a toast to the death of Draco Malfoy. Perhaps there were some who would mourn, some who would grieve, but only because he was their tool. Their weapon. Their key to victory. Never had he been anything more than that.
He went from having everything, to having nothing.
Draco already had a plan. The moment Voldemort knew of his defeat, Draco would return to the beautiful cliffside his mother had taken him to once. Cut off his left arm, snap his wand, and then throw himself off.
It would have been a mercy.
Yet somehow, he was now here, in a cell, forever in debt to Harry Potter and Hermione Granger.
They had testified for him. Arrived the moment his trial began and stayed until the sentence was given. The courtroom was silent, their voices ringing clearly into the ears of all. Draco Malfoy had refused to identify them. Draco Malfoy hesitated when holding Dumbledore at wandpoint, had been about to lower his wand.
Lies. Utter nonsense spewed out of their mouths for nearly an hour. Though he doubted it was their words that saved him, more like their presence.
Draco pounded his fist on the wall of his cell, the cuff shrieking as it collided with it.
No, he definitely didn't deserve the probation. Not at all.
War and death had stripped him bare inside and out. It could do that to a person. Watching the curse you cast hit the target. Hearing them scream. Hearing the shouts of their loved ones grief cut through your own heart.
He remembered their faces, their last words, everything. All Draco could do was run, escape like a coward and continue to kill. To murder. Just so he himself would survive.
One became two, then two became three. Three became dozens, then hundreds. It was not just a precaution on Voldemort's part, but also a test to their loyalty. If he so much as hesitated or showed remorse, then he might as well be dead.
What kept him going was his family. Perhaps in the end, they would end up in Azkaban, but they would be safe. They would be together. It was the impetus that got the curses out of his mouth, the driving force that willed him not to look back.
They had been so close, so very close. The end had been near, just beyond reach. It was obvious as the days passed that Voldemort's army was dwindling, all it needed was one more blow and then he was gone... and they were free.
Then the day before it happened, Draco was called in to meet the Dark Lord.
He was forced to watch his parents' deaths as he was held down by Greyback, forced to listen to their shrieks and sobs as their life slowly ebbed away. That had been the breaking point for him, the moment his heart finally shattered. All the years at Hogwarts came flashing back, all the faces that no longer lived because of his actions.
Draco was ruined.
Such an embarrassment to Purebloods, Voldemort hissed once his mother finally succumbed to the spell.
Draco had limped out of the room, dragged his broken soul back to his chambers. His parents were gone, they were gone they were gone they were gone.
Such an embarrassment to Purebloods. Draco hated those words. Despised them to his very core.
Blood was blood. It meant nothing. As the war raged on day after day, it mattered less and less. Purebloods, Muggleborns, half-blood's, no one escaped death. On the battlefields, Draco saw Muggles fight just as hard—if not harder—against them, and occasionally, he himself was disarmed by one. What ran through his veins did not make him more powerful or more immune. He witnessed the Dark Lord murder some of the oldest Purebloods with a flick of his fingers.
Yet they still believed it. The wizards in Voldemort's ranks still spread the ridiculous notion that they were better. Draco has to dig his nails into his skin to stop from leaping at them. What had they ever done? What great accomplishment did they have? Draco was certain all they ever did was become the pariahs of the Wizarding World, and he had never felt more ashamed that he had believed that as well.
He knew Pansy, Blaise, and Theo felt the same as well, though none of them would ever admit it.
Grief and fury was not a good combination. Whatever delicate items that had been in his room were smashed, either thrown against the wall or broken with his bare hands. Despair starting take root in his heart and winding tighter and tighter until he felt as if he were suffocating.
His entire life had crumbled before his eyes in a matter of minutes. All his willpower was gone, he'd hardly even put up a fight at the last battle.
One by one, Purebloods and dark wizards fell. Spell by spell, more and more of the people besides him were disarmed. Step by step, they were forced to retreat until ultimately, they were defeated.
Draco didn't struggle when spelled cuffs were snapped onto his wrists. Not even when he was basically thrown into the cell so hard his head cracked against the wall. In the small room, he'd had endless hours to think. To conclude his scattered thoughts and come up with a conclusion.
He'd been such an idiot for so many years. Draco could hardly believe the things he'd said. But it was too late to change. Too late to prove that he was more than some spoiled, selfish brat.
Acceptance had happened the day before his trail. The day where the wizards all gathered with family with bottles of alcohol, ready to revel in his downfall. Draco knew that after today, he would spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, that the records and the books would describe him as nothing more than a Death Eater. He would go down in history as the enemy, and the Malfoy name would forever be ruined beyond repair.
It was strange. Laying in his cell and staring at the ceiling, feeling the stone settle into his stomach. It was too dark to read and too cold to sleep. All he could do was stare, and think, and regret, and stare some more. Somehow, during the endless hours of the night, Draco had accepted it. Knowing that he had no right not to.
His whole life, he doubted he had done more than ten truly good things. He deserved the sentence, and he would take it with his chin high. He would look them in the eyes as the words came out of their mouths.
But no. Draco can't even let his punishments be given to him as he wished. Potter and Granger made sure of that.
"Stupid Gryffindors," Draco snarled, his voice echoing and ricocheting off the stone walls. He sank onto his knees, not sure if he wanted to scream or cry. No, certainly not the latter. He had done quite enough of that.
His three friends had been released weeks ago, also on probation, since none of them were Death Eaters and of course, Potter and Granger had testified for them as well. He had watched as they left one by one, knowing that it could very well be the last he would ever see of them.
Draco let out a ragged sigh, his gut roiling as he waited for someone to come get him. He was to return to Hogwarts for his eighth year, and he would be under careful supervision. If he so much as stepped out of line, he would be sent straight to Azkaban. That had been made clear.
He was furious, but also... relieved. Conflicting emotions raced through him. Wishing he had been sentenced to life in prison, but also not. Wanting to have a fresh start, but also dreading it. At least his three friends would be with him at Hogwarts for the their eighth year.
It would not be a kind time for them, but then again, when had it ever?
Draco closed his eyes, trying to stop the hammering in his head. If he couldn't even stand, there would be no way he was getting out of his cell.
"Mr. Malfoy," a cold voice called.
Draco didn't open his eyes, nor did he turn toward the cell door. "Yes?"
"You are being released on probation, or have you forgotten that?" He could hear the sneer in her voice as she spat out every word.
"Apologies," Draco replied, slowly opening his eyes and peeling himself off the floor. His eyes land on the short woman, glaring at him with her lip curled.
She snorted. "Too late for any of that, Death Eater. Come, Shacklebolt wants to see you." She unlocked the cell door and stepped aside, giving Draco a wide berth as he exited. His skin prickled at her words, particularly the place on his left forearm.
She led him through the many halls and staircases, not bothering to look back to see if he was following. There was a certain stomp to her gait, and Draco had a feeling that she would hex him if he so much as glanced at her wrong, not that he cared.
If he could survive hours of being Crucio'ed, he could take a puny hex.
Draco's cold expression cracked slightly when he saw a picture of his parents on the wall. It must have been for some investigation, not that it would do them any good. Not anymore.
Though the Ministry wouldn't know that. Wouldn't know that his parents sacrificed themselves, just so their son could survive. They merely thought they had escaped along with some others, and that Draco had been abandoned. Of course, there had been doubts, but ultimately, the Ministry agreed that Lucius Malfoy would do anything for power. Even abandon his own son. Narcissa Malfoy on the other hand, had been less discussed, as most knew that she loved her husband dearly.
The woman came to an abrupt stop, then raised her small hands to knock sharply on a large wooden door. It was less of a knock and more like pounding, but a calm voice called out, "Come in."
She twisted the knob sharply and shoved her way inside, not bothering to notice that the door had nearly slammed Draco in the face as he followed.
"You wished to see him, Shacklebolt?" she said politely, though bordering on a sneer.
"Yes. Thank you, Evers, you may go," Shacklebolt replied, ignoring her tone. Evers gave a huff before storming out, and Draco had the suspicion that she forced herself not to slam the door as loudly as she could.
Once she left, Shacklebolt turned to look at Draco. His dark eyes locked onto his, and though Draco could see the usual suspicion and anger, there was no hate in his voice as he speaks.
"I must apologize for her attitude," he said, giving him a wan smile. "A few people do not agree on whether you should be in Azkaban or not. However, I do believe that you deserve a second chance, Mr. Malfoy. Which is why I agreed on letting you return to Hogwarts."
Draco wanted to curl his lip like Evers and snarl. The combination of the heat and the pity was making him irritable, but he forced himself to reply coolly, "I understand, but there is no need to sugarcoat anything."
Shacklebolt sighed, and he suddenly looked very tired. "Apologies. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, I presume you understand the consequences of your actions during the war. This could be how you are treated for the rest of your life, and I know that you know that. However, I still believe you can change, and Harry does, too." Draco's muscles tensed at his name. "You understand the rules of your probation. Every week, Auror Evers will meet with you at Hogwarts to check on you. No violence, and you must be on your best behavior."
Draco nodded dully, accepting the new wand provided to him. Ministry approved and a bit longer than his original wand, he tucked it into his belt.
"Before you go, I wish to ask you something." From Shacklebolt's tone, Draco can already guess what it is, and he braced himself for the words. "Do you have any idea where your parents could be? They left you the manor and all the inheritance, surely that means they intend to escape elsewhere. Do you have any friends or accomplices in other countries? We—"
"No," Draco cut him off coldly. "My answer is the same as that day in the court. I do not know, and I'm sure Father is much too clever to go somewhere I would have heard of. Though I doubt they went to Greyback," Shacklebolt frowned at the mention of the werewolf, one of the main members of the Dark Lord's rule who escaped. "Even if you kept me in Azkaban for eternity, I would tell you the same thing."
The Minister sighed, as if he expected that outcome. "Yes, I apologize. Come, I shall take you to Hogwarts, Minerva is waiting. And just so you know," his eyes darkened as they met Draco's, "If your parents are found, they will not be treated kindly. Believe me. I will not show them the same forgiveness I have for you. Not even your mother. You might as well do what's right, because we will find them, it's only a matter of time."
Draco didn't flinch. He had steeled himself for that answer. As he followed Kingsley to the fireplace, his mother's words run through his head again.
We love you Draco, whatever happens, promise me you'll do what's right. His mother's eyes are wet, but her voice doesn't waver as she grasps his hands tightly. I wish I had the time to tell you, but it is too late. Promise me you'll do what's best, promise me you'll live.
I... tell me what? Draco whispers, his fingers clasping hers just as tightly. Time was running out, and his mother just shook her head and stuffed two letters into his inner pocket.
We love you Draco. No matter what others say, promise me you'll do it. Draco, promise me. She begged, almost crushing his hands with her own. Desperation was written across her face, but her voice still didn't waver.
I... I promise. He said, and she nods, wiping away her tears and straightening her back, squaring her shoulders. It's time. Remember the plan.
Movement snapped him out of the flashback, and Draco swallowed, willing the lump forming in his throat to go away. Shacklebolt let him go first, and the roar of the fireplace momentarily drowned out the ache.
Seconds later, he is standing in McGonagall's office. Another loud rumble, and then he sensed the presence of the Minister of Magic.
"Minerva," Shacklebolt said in greeting a minute later, and they shared small nods.
"Headmistress," Draco bit out, forcing his walls to build and shut out any emotion, "Thank you for allowing me to stay."
McGonagall nodded, coming over to stand in front of him. Her piercing eyes are warm as she greeted him, and to his surprise, he sees no anger at all.
"Your friends have prepared everything for you. As you four are the only Eighth Year Slytherins, you will all be sharing one large room. New robes and other items are in your dorms, and class starts in a week or so."
Though McGonagall was smiling, Draco could tell something was off, and he had a feeling she wanted to speak to him alone.
Draco nodded politely, then flicked his gaze to Shacklebolt.
They locked eyes, and he could see that he wanted to say more, but simply gave him a smile. "I trust you know the rules, Minerva. If either of you have problems, contact me," he said before the roar of the Floo indicated his departure.
After he left, the air felt strangely heavy. The warmth was still there, but seriousness had settled over them both. Draco braced himself, waiting to see what McGonagall would say.
"Draco Malfoy, I am truly glad for your probation," she began, catching him off guard, "However, do excuse me for being blunt. I am the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and as my student, it is my duty to protect and guide you. Yet you, Draco Malfoy, are one student that I do not trust. Therefore—and Kingsley approves of this as well—I feel that it is appropriate to give you a form of... punishment."
Draco nodded slowly. It was expected. He knew there was no way Kingsley would let him off the hook so easily.
McGonagall nodded, a pleased smile on her lips. "Good. As you know, children here have lost their parents, and some even their lives. It is expected that many do not like the thought of any of your returns, and will therefore be met with some... rebellions. That can not be helped, but I have already spoken to the student body. Detentions will be given out if that were to happen. Your job, Draco, is to protect the other Slytherins and report back to me if there are problems."
He was stunned. Out of all the things she could have asked of him, this was what she chose? Babysitting? Draco was about to protest, but McGonagall held up her hand, silencing him.
"Let me tell you one thing, Draco Malfoy. Your upbringing is no excuse for your actions, and you will pay for them, one way or the other. I am giving you a second chance, and this is the price." Her eyes narrowed, and there was nothing but honesty in her voice as she said, "If you would rather not... then I see no point in your return."
He clamped his mouth shut.
The silence stretched, the sound of the clock ticking unnervingly loud in the hushed room. He did not like this, he did not like the sound of being a nanny. But what choice did he have?
"... I will do my best," was all he could think of to say.
"Good. You may go." She dismissed him with a careless wave of her hand, not giving him a second glance as she returned to her desk.
Draco felt all the blood rush to his neck. His skin was burning up. He would suffocate if he didn't get out of there in the next five seconds. With a muttered thanks, he barged past the doors and into the familiar halls.
They were about the same, though the portraits were a bit more subdued. They gasped or flinched when he passed, and a frail woman outright fainted. Draco paid them no heed, but he did wonder what would happen if he got close to one and smirked. Maybe one would leap right out of the portrait in fright.
Draco smirked at the thought, but his amusement was cut short when he suddenly felt a sharp pain on his back.
"Ha! Nice aim!" a voice jeered.
"Oh, no, the Death Eater looks aaangry."
"Come on, then, Serpent. Let's see what you've got!"
Draco gritted his teeth, but ignored the mocking. This would be every other day at Hogwarts, and it would only get worse once school started. Whether he liked it or not, he would have to get used to it.
Convincing himself that the fear on the students' faces didn't bother him was relatively easy, because they didn't. Not really.
"What is he doing here?"
"This is Hogwarts, not Azkaban."
"Death Eater scum. Go crawl back to your parents, oh wait—"
Draco's jaw ached, but even he was proud at how he handled himself. He didn't flinch at the spells, and he managed to act like he couldn't hear a single word they uttered. It was a silent world for him, where only he existed.
Finally, finally, he arrived the dungeons. They hadn't changed much in appearance. It was still the dark, dank place he remembered. But it was familiar, and for him, this could be the closest thing to home for him in a while.
Unless he counted that cell he'd been locked in for a month.
"Draco! You're here!"
He barely had time to turn when a body knocked into him, wrapping their arms around his neck.
"Some greeting Pans, let the man breathe," a deep voice chuckled.
"Shut up, Blaise," Pansy replied, though she released her hold on Draco and stepped back.
"Hey, mate. Glad to see you alive and well," another voice joked. Theodore Nott's grin appeared before Draco a second later, and he got a rough pat on his arm. "Missed us?"
Oh yes, terribly. "As if anybody would miss you three," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. Though when he opened his arms, they all did the same, and they stood like that for a while, relishing the fact that they were together again.
It was too hot after a few seconds, but they were too excited to notice how he quickly stepped back and put distance between them. With enthusiastic grins, they led him excitedly into the Slytherin dorms.
Along the way, Draco listened quietly to their banter and teasing. It was so familiar, and he hadn't been sure he would ever hear it again. His arm tightened around Theo's shoulders unconsciously, but he was too caught up in the argument to care.
Draco smiled.
Just like old times.
If he had to, he would take a thousand stinging hexes just to protect this. After all, it was the only thing he had left.