Second Chances

Half truths

His parents left him pretty much alone after the St. Mungo's incident. His mother just made sure he ate and Draco was glad she was there.

His father never spoke with him about his new teacher as intended, apparently having forgotten all about it in the chaos. Apart from that, Draco only had gotten a lecture on his suggestion to get a therapist and therefore embarrassing his father in front of the healers. Draco already knew what Lucius had to say about Umbridge anyway. His father wanted him to stay on good terms with her. Meaning, follow her rules, do her biddings and terrorise the other children to stay in her good graces. Draco dreaded the mere idea. When Draco thought of meeting her in the great hall, he felt sick. He HATED this woman. Back then, he had admired her. Now, she reminded him of Bellatrix in some abstract, twisted way.

It was going to be Draco's fifth year. He had made prefect and Quidditch captain. Which he had completely forgotten about until his mother put the pins on his school uniform. A uniform that was suddenly a little big on him. Losing 8 pounds in two weeks was a lot. In every reality. Be it muggle or wizarding world.

Then the day approached when he was sent off by his parents on the Hogwarts train. His mother had made a bigger fuss than usual, for obvious reasons and reminded him to talk to Severus whenever he felt sick again. In fact, she wanted him to talk to him as soon as they arrived. She claimed to have sent him an owl, with a no doubt in depth description of his affliction. Draco had let her, too stunned by the idea that he would see Severus again.

Severus Snape was alive. Not a poisoned, dead body with tear stains on his cheeks, lying forgotten in a dark corner of the battlefield. That was a thought that had surprisingly not been at the forefront of his mind, although it was now very hard to escape it.

Additionally, Draco hadn't intended to avoid his old (also supposed to be dead or insane) friends in the train, but since he was now prefect, along with Pansy Parkinson, he found himself holed up with all the other prefects anyway.

Granger and Weasley were among them, of course. Last time, Draco had been furious to see them and then made fun of Potter to cope with that fact. Potter was usually the one Dumbledore favoured among the students. And Draco had revelled in the knowledge that Dumbledore had trusted Draco with a responsibility he had for once not bestowed on Potter. This once at least.

Dumbledore, right. That man was alive, too. Another face Draco dreaded to see. Probably more even than Snape or Vincent. No wonder, considering the circumstances on how they'd last met.

Draco sat there and didn't listen to the prefect instructions. He didn't care. He had known his duties last and still not followed them. It had had zero repercussions.
Pansy tried to talk to him, but he ignored her, too. Instead, he closed his eyes and found the steady rhythm of the train soothing him to sleep. That in itself was a surprise. But he could guess why he felt safe here. Hogwarts may have been the place where the war had been, but it was also the place where it had ended. And the trains, save for a mild interruption by Dementors in their third year, had always been safe for him.

In his hollow dreams he saw Potter in the arms of the gameskeeper. Hagrid was his name? He often dreamed of that moment. Of his own soul leaving his body as he saw the corpse of the chosen one in the crying arms of a man Draco used to make fun off. But Hagrid had been by Potter's side when he'd died. Draco hadn't. And Draco had only been alive because of Harry that he could see that moment. Ours apart, their certain deaths had been and still, neither of them had truly been dead. Draco had been told about the prophecy, of course. A vague version of it. And because of it, because only one could live and Voldemort had still been standing, at that moment, all hope had been lost.