Home [Draco Malfoy x Reader]

chapter one

then

"You will have a fantastic year at Hogwarts. It's the best wizard school, as far as we can tell!" her father exclaimed.

"I know it was scary moving to London," her mother whispered, tucking a lock of her daughter's hair behind her ear. "But things will only get better."

"Promise?" the eleven year old asked.

"We promise," her mother said. "Your father and I made friends with two families that have first years just like you!"

"Make friends with whomever you can," her father said. "Find someone who likes you for you." He reached inside of his bag and pulled out a potted plant. "Here," he said, handing it to her.

"Dittany," she whispered, her eyebrows pulling together.

"Remember what I told you about Dittany?" he asked.

"Dittany is often used in the cores of wands," she said. "Like mine. And it's extremely flammable."

"And?" he asked.

"It heals wounds," she said.

"Should you ever need it," he informed her, "it will be there for you. As a reminder of home, and as a reminder of me."

"Thank you," she said, and she hugged him. The train blew its horn and they started to call for final boarders.

"Off you go, then!" Her father pulled back and kissed her head. Her mother quickly followed. "We love you, our darling. We love you so much."

"I love you, too," she said. She clutched the plant in her small hand and picked up her trunk. With her stomach filled with butterflies, she stepped on the vehicle and watched as the station rolled away, her parents waving through the smoke.

//

Hogwarts was bigger than she imagined. She had lived in London since the beginning of spring, but never had she seen the wizarding school. It stood tall and majestic on the side of a rocky mountain that rose out of a huge body of water. She chewed on her chapped lip. How would she ever find her way around inside?

But what made her even more nervous than the size of the castle was the chatter of her fellow first years as they conversated about the houses they could be placed in. They were filed inside of the Great Hall, where first years had to stand before the table of professors and head masters and wait to hear their name called.

When her name was called, she felt her heart sink to feet. She gulped and walked up to the stage. She pleaded with her mind to let the Sorting Hat see the best of her, the part she longed for everyone else to see.

"Slytherin!"

Everyone applauded. She smiled and rose out of the seat, happily walking to the table on her right. She watched as a boy shoved another away, making a spot for her just as she walked by.

"You can sit here," the eleven year old blond said. It wasn't actually a suggestion, it sounded more like a demand. She sank herself onto the bench. "My name is Draco, Draco Malfoy. And you are?"

"___ ____," she replied.

"____," he repeated her last name. "My father knows your father. He owns the herb shop in Hogsmeade, doesn't he?"

"Yes," she said. "Your father is Lucius Malfoy?"

"So you've heard of my father," he said. "Shouldn't be surprised. Everyone has."

___ nodded. "I think our fathers work together."

"Excellent. And you're a pureblood," he noted. "Good. It's very rare that wizards such as us realize exactly what type of person to get acquainted with. Some types are better than others, I believe." She just stared at him."Well, ___," Draco said, not looking at her. "I am sure we will be close friends throughout the years. Hopefully."

She smiled. "I hope so, too, Draco."

He kept close by her all through their first and second year. While she didn't see herself as his best friend, she thought of him as hers. There were often times he chose Goyle or Crabbe over her, and there were times when she would sit outside of the Great Hall instead of eat dinner just because she was embarrassed of having friendly feelings for the boy who would never care.

He always managed to drag her back. Most of the time, it was that ridiculous smirk he wore. She would try to distance herself as a personal reminder that she wasn't as special to him as he was to her. That she would do far better without periods of heartache in between sweet memories of handwritten letters passed in class and laughs during dinner.

Other times, it was just a simple sentence someone said. Draco Malfoy is such a git. I hate him. I hate his family. I hate his bloodline. Does he know everyone wants him dead? Even the Hufflepuffs, always kind and never quick to judge or ridicule, turned their heads at him. She knew he was a bully, but no one deserved that kind of spoken torment.

She would approach him. "Draco," she would say, "I am having the hardest time with the Potions lesson from this morning. Could you maybe help me study tonight? You're nearly the top in the class." Maybe it was just boosting his self esteem and making him colder to others, but she was afraid of him becoming more aware of everything people hated about him.

Draco didn't seem to realize that this was her fear; which she didn't mind, of course. She already felt pathetic enough for caring about him. But surely, she thought, surely he cares about more than just himself. He must care about her at least a little bit. Why else would he keep her around? Treat her differently from everyone else? She wasn't aware of the extent of his feelings until the end of her second year.

Two weeks before everyone would head back home to their families, while ___ was sitting beside Draco in Herbology, Professor McGonagall stepped in. Her face was hardened as she requested for you to step out of class and follow her. She did, flashing a small smile toward Draco as he watched her leave.

Professor McGonagall took her outside. She sat her down on a bench and stood in front of her. ___ realized then that something was wrong. Her professor first apologized for the upcoming bad news. Then, she said it.

"___," she spoke softly. "Last night, there was an attack at your father's herb shop. He was killed by an unknown attacker. Your mother is nowhere to be found, but it is presumed that she didn't make it out."

___ stared down at the patch of grass by her feet. She was twelve years old. She looked at the different shades of green in the thin blades. She was an orphan. Lime, olive, jade, forest - so many greens. She had no parents. Some of the green was the color of the inside of her robe. She had no one that loved her. The paperlike blades swayed in the breeze. She would be living without a mom or dad. The breeze was warm and signaled the beginning of summer. She was twelve years old, a second year, and an orphan.