Draco Malfoy and The Twisted Times

A Very Bulgarian Summer

The hills on the way home seemed bigger than usual as the ministry car sped down the country road towards the manor at the end of the valley. It seemed happier. Not as dark as Draco remembered, but maybe it was because he hadn't been home in two months. Lucius had made them all leave the house the day after Draco had his breakdown in the doorway, and since then, Draco hadn't even set foot in the kitchen.

Draco had spent the summer reading, hanging out with some Durmstrang students, and studying for his new classes. He had made a few new friends, but his favorite was Viktor Krum. Krum was a quidditch star, and Draco envied him completely. They hung out all summer, playing quidditch and discussing their favorite memories from school. Draco thought they got along perfectly even though sometimes he could hardly understand Vicktor.

After the first month of staying in Bulgaria, Draco thought back to his first year where his father told him he was meant to go to school there. He wished he did at times. The people here were so much nicer, and there was no Harry Potter who regularly made things worse.

Draco had also stopped slicking his hair back and started wearing the rings his mother bought him. He felt better, more powerful. Vicktor seemed to agree and would give tips on how to act more like a Bulgarian man. That also seemed to work as the girls of Durmstrung seemed to acknowledge Draco more and more.

He liked the attention, a little too much. Draco often wondered if this is how Harry always felt. For random people to stop whatever they were doing to say hello, or find any way to touch your hand and say a quick thanks for bringing down the Dark Lord.

When it was time to say goodbye, Vicktor promised he would see Draco soon and offered to get him tickets to any Bulgarian quidditch match he wanted. Just thinking about it made Draco miss his incoherent friend even more.

The car came to a stop outside the manor, which shook Draco awake from his daze. His blond hair covered his eyes just enough that he saw the towering dark outline of the estate. He needed to trim his hair, but at the same time, he didn't want to.

He opened the car door allowing the cool Wiltshire air to hit him right in the face moving the blond strands out of his eye. Draco didn't want to be here. He wished he could have stayed in Bulgaria forever, with Krum and the other Durmstrung kids. He stood up and shut the door and felt his mother stand beside him.

"It feels good to be home," Narcissa said quietly, just loud enough for Draco to hear. They had come back a week before Draco had to be sent off to Hogwarts again. It felt redundant, having to pack up once again to be sent away, but he rather that than anything else.

Lucius walked past Draco and his mother, flicking his wand to open the doors to the manor, and disappeared into its dark structure. Draco turned to look back at the cars they had just been in a couple of minutes ago, but they had already disappeared. Narcissa grabbed Draco's shoulder and gave him a small smile, as she led him up the steps, through the doorway, and into the manor they called home.

Walking up the stairs to his room, he thought about the coming year. He was thirteen now, no longer a child, which made him more headstrong than anything. When he was with Vicktor, who was four years older than him, he was treated like an equal. Vicktor didn't seem to care that Draco was younger, which made him feel great.

When Draco opened the door to his room, his eyes popped out of his head. The room was still the same, bare walls, no decorations, just black and green everywhere; Except sitting on his bed was a bundle of envelopes placed neatly in the center of his bed.

He had barely written to his friends because of the embarrassment he had felt after being pulled out that day. He had thought about it many times but whenever he began to write it ended up with him throwing a fit and ripping up the parchment. Draco quickly ran and pulled the twine that held all the letters together to reveal five, each with his name on the front. He ripped them open one by one, carefully reading every letter.