Draco Malfoy and the Mirror of Ecidyrue

Part 2: Draco Malfoy and the Heir of Slytherin

Summary:

Draco Malfoy never asked for a second chance, nor did he particularly want one. But he found himself in his old body at eleven, and after a year at Hogwarts, he has a plan for the year before him: keep to himself, find Dobby, improve relations with fellow Slytherins to cordial but distant, get over this stupid obsession with Harry Potter, and no more jokes about controlling a Malfoy mountain troll. No one else thinks they're funny. And no more cursing people- well, only as many people as necessary...

Draco Malfoy has never been very good at following plans.

: Learned Helplessness

Chapter Text

It took an entire hall worth of stuffy blond paintings screaming Filthy Mudblood before Hermione would accept that Malfoy Manor had no paintings of Salazar Slytherin. "But in your father's Howler," she kept saying, and Abraxas Malfoy kept trying to interrupt and counter Draco's arguments as Draco explained it was an affectation of Father's, nothing more.

"I have a lot of ancient blood," Draco told her, "But none of the founder of Slytherin."

"The founding of Hogwarts is so fascinating," Hermione said brightly, only for Abraxas Malfoy to insert himself again.

"You should never have been allowed to set foot in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, you disgraceful mutt," he snarled at Hermione.

"Shut it, Grandpa," said Draco.

He led Hermione out of the portrait hall, and back outside to where two brooms awaited them: Draco's old Comet 260 for Hermione, and his new Nimbus 2001 for himself. Hermione had laughed herself silly imagining Ron's jealousy when he saw it, only for Draco to tell her how he'd had to talk Father out of buying the entire Slytherin team the same. The Nimbus did roar rather more quickly into the sky than the school brooms, like the contrast between his own unicorn wand and the talon wand in his pocket now. It reassured him that he would be able to satisfy Father by making it onto the Slytherin team through tryouts like everyone else.

And he would have a better broom than Potter this year, not that it would make a difference. Potter would get his Firebolt in third-year anyway, and he'd be a better flier than him with or without it. Draco kept dreaming about Harry Potter flying. Sometimes it was in Quidditch matches, with Hogwarts and its bright streaming banners a wash of color behind him in the sunlight. And sometimes it was night, gliding more sedately through masses of shadow, brilliant green eyes turned guilelessly to whoever it was had won the right to be by his side...

Yes, it would only be Draco's broom upgraded this time around. He wouldn't have had any compunctions letting Father buy his way onto the team again, but the amount it would upset Hermione made it not worth the nagging. Not to mention the additional animosity that would fuel towards him in Potter, which Draco justified fearing on the grounds he was above squabbling with children. And so Father had agreed to let him play Quidditch his way, and withdrawn his offers of assistance with an exasperated but accepting scowl.

That had been part of their deal: tolerance of his one Muggleborn friend, countenancing post and visits, in exchange for obeying Father and playing for Slytherin that year, despite being set against it. They'd gone back and forth for weeks before coming to a compromise, aided by Draco's determination not to allow Father in a five-foot radius of him, and raising his wand whenever Father seemed likely to try and lay hands on him.

He kept Severus's words about using Langlock in mind, but only had to use it once. After the arrival of a third letter from Hermione, Father had tried to drag him to the cellars like he used to. Draco had cast Langlock hard enough to send Father clattering down the stairs. He had expected the beating of his life, but he had managed instead to extract some guarantees in exchange for lifting the curse. Apparently Father did value the use of his tongue. If Draco had invented some alleged atrophying consequences in the event of no swift reversal, well, that was Father's own poor sense falling for it.