What's my name?

Prologue.

"Draco!"

A raspy, familiar voice, the voice of one who like him had just woken up.

"Good morning to you too, Blaise."

Sarcasm? Absolutely, even in the early morning sarcasm coursed through his veins more overpowering than ever.Slowly he pointed his arms just behind his back, then raised his torso off the bed, pulling his head back solely to remove from his face those few strands of hair that continued undaunted to fall.He looked around bewildered, then pointed his eyes towards those of his friend, up and ready for breakfast.

"I don't want your good morning, I want you to wake up. I'm not going to make you lower your potion average for lateness."

Those words were indeed sincere, if blunt.After the war, that subject had lost its meaning. He was the best, sure, but without Snape he wouldn't have to push himself beyond the limits, the bare minimum was enough, even in the advanced course. He barely swallowed and, without a word, bellowed something indefinite, something that didn't reach the boy's ears anyway. A last sigh full of frustration and then, finally, the final decision: get out of bed and head directly to the dormitory bathroom.After the war, few had decided to resume their studies, especially of their cursed lineage, too often associated with the dark lord. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't forget everything, but he could face the past with the courage he hadn't had until now. Proudly he looked at himself in the mirror, putting on that mask full of everything he had always been: proud, elegant, almost mean.His sole purpose had always been to save his family, by any means necessary. That was what Slytherins did, that was what he did. He lowered his face once more, looking at the white ceramic of the sink he was resting both hands on. He gathered all the dignity he had and rinsed his face, then fixed his perhaps overgrown hair. A tuft of blond hair fell in front of his face, another, however, went to settle on the opposite side, behind the ear. He tried to give it a well-defined shape, remaining as elegant as ever. Nothing would change that trait of his character. He swallowed saliva, then stretched his hands to put on his shirt, clear, immaculate. Inevitably his eyes fell where he would have preferred not to, the black mark.It was there, dark as ever, present and imprinted almost in focus. Shivers of terror ran through him completely, but he tried to recover his dignity once again, looking away and covering those dark features with the sleeve of his shirt, albeit with poor results. A simple white shirt could never have covered that disfigurement. Finished with the shirt he moved on to the tie, then to the pants, finally to the shoes. The uniform was complete.He walked out of the bathroom and glanced at his friend, approaching him to head straight for the dormitory exit. Once down the stairs Pansy joined him, dark in the face as always, with a beautiful black lipstick that stood out perfectly on that pale skin.Dignity, courage and pride. That was all that could be seen on their faces. They felt the stares on them, Draco more than the others. It didn't matter which house they belonged to, they all watched that inseparable trio despite adversity. Heading to the potions classroom, they could already smell the scent of what they would be reviewing that year from the hallway. Amortentia. And each of them had a tight grip on their stomach. Some smelled of mowed lawns, others an acrid odor of St. Mungo's and others pure testosterone, which is particular to men's Quidditch teams.

"I refuse."

It was the girl who spoke first, completely averse to the idea of smelling that scent again and determined to turn back. She was stopped only by the blond man's hand, which suddenly pulled her towards him.

"Parkinson, here the one upset at the idea of entering should be me. Now stop all this and come in."

No one knew what scent Draco smelled, and no one had asked the boy whose scent it was since the latter had nearly destroyed the dormitory as a result of the question. He was never going to say whose perfume it was.

"Are you bullying her now, too?"

That voice pierced his eardrums, like an arrow shot directly into his side. The mark burned on his skin, his heart had caught fire, and his stomach was intertwined with his gut. Stuck on that spot in the hallway he shifted his gaze to the boy who had spoken. He could have set the whole school on fire, but not him. He replied with bullying.

"Harry, knock it off."

The boy's favorite friend intervened, with her hair now tidied up, her teeth fixed and the pride of someone who had helped save the magical world. The dark-haired boy seemed to ignore her, shaking off her arm, which had pinned him down. They were back, Potter and Malfoy, they hadn't changed even after the war.They were still rivals, with the urge to destroy each other. And there was that scent. Was it him or was it the Amortentia? He didn't know. Malfoy let go of the girl's arm, almost growling at the boy in front of him. He moved a few steps closer, finding himself inches from that scar. He growled again.

"Oh, there's St. Potter saving the day. Evaporate, this is not the day."

It was a gritted cry that the blond man gave him, receiving in response an emerald gaze that, if he could have, would have killed him instantly. Harry gave him a push. The war had destroyed him completely, but it had also given him a chance to feel all the anger he had cruelly stored up over those years. Malfoy was never going to let that provocation pass him by.Without thinking, he answered the thrust with a second thrust. A moment before that lion jumped at his neck, both were stopped by their respective friends. They gave each other a look of pure hatred and then, in silence, shrugged off what was stopping them. One step forward and Malfoy was near the classroom door, then a word that, spoken by Harry, froze him.

"Death Eater."When he was about to turn around, he heard a grunt of pain. He turned around. Harry was on the ground with a bloody nose, Blaise on the other hand was standing in front of him, black with rage in his face, his hand clenched into a fist. Blaise had raised his hands to him for the first time ever. No one spoke, not even Ron or Hermione.They were in the wrong, they couldn't defend the indefensible.Harry had been wrong, he had said a horrible word. They could understand his anger, sure, but why would the Slytherins? Blaise walked past Draco, grabbed the door handle and pushed it hard, shoving the blond inside, followed by the girl.That morning couldn't have started any worse. None of them had had the courage to turn to the Gryffindors, none of the Slytherins present at class did. It was a slap in the face to the dignity of the entire house. Surely they would all have their revenge.