𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬- 𝐚 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Draco- 2. Mudblood

Warnings: fictional violence, mentions of war, not so angsty

House: Gryffindor

A/n: A soulmates au! Draco, Ron and Harry do attend Hogwarts after the war

_

It would somehow have been a decent day per se if she hadn't been staring at her reflection on the senile mirror. To be eighteen and gaping at her war torn figure, not to mention- with an imprint of soul rotting 'mudblood', was already dampening her spirits.

Oh, this was a joke. It ought to be.

She doubled back from the mirror and swathed her collar bone with the stray scarf of crimson and gold as the door of the dorms swung open with a clink.

Hermione, looking significantly slender than their sixth year back here, gave her a small smile before wrapping her arms around Y/n, her embrace reminding her of the obscures all four of them had been through.

"Put on those buttons," she whispered, pointing at the agape lower buttons.

And before she could react, the door was kicked open and Ron and Harry entered, looking notably much chirpy than the bushy haired girl.

Hogwarts had surely changed a lot.

Godric would run on his hands- the boys were in the girls' dorm.

"Happy birthday," Harry gave her a short side hug and groaned as she playfully skewed his famous round glasses.

She had been missing this warmth of their bubble- the satisfaction, she had to admit, was missing after the war.

And the only thing that washed relief over her was that today was a holiday, no potions with Slughorn, no DADA with the new professor (she had a hard time remembering their name) and no transfiguration with the headmistress.

"Oi, not meant to be rude," Y/n inaudibly huffed and Harry and Hermione giggled at Ron's upcoming rude remark, "the scarf doesn't suit your shirt...what color is it?"

The Gryffindor, determined to ignore this particular comment, carried on down the stairs and further out of the portrait hole without another glance at her friends.

And the red-haired Weasley was shot glares for this crime.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽

To scrutinize whether this deteriorated state of mind was a consequence of being a war survivor or a former death eater was something of a dilemma for Malfoy. Not like he cared, honestly.

The end of the Dark Lord was a blessing for the wizarding world, yet it had another unintended effect- this particular horrendous Dark mark that ghastly perched on his arm was already burning him.

Whilst most of the students back at Hogwarts, particularly the first-years, seemed totally unmindful about the impact of the war, this had been eating him away. Oh Salazar, even Potter seemed normal to him. What was wrong with him?

That was out of topic. And what was, he may ask, another scar doing on his palm?

It honestly seemed like a joke.

Mudblood.

He was ignoring it, for all he knew.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽

A nostalgic hard rock cake was something bittersweet for Y/n. Hagrid had been exceptionally close to her since the first year and the fact that the trio soon succeeded in catching up with her near the small hut by the forbidden forest, which due to the war was nothing like before.