Redemption - A Draco Malfoy Story

year 1 part 8

Dear Mother,

Thank you for your letter. You will be pleased to hear that I have been sorted into Slytherin House. 

Harry Potter is in my year.

I will write if anything noteworthy occurs.

Your daughter,

Lilith Waters

I briefly waved the parchment back and forth in the air, letting the ink dry before folding it into an envelope and licking it closed. As I clicked my tongue gently, a ghost-faced barn owl descended from high above the rafters. He glided slowly down in a circular path, landing on my outstretched arm and staring at me intently with glassy, black eyes. 

"Hello there, Widget," I murmured softly, reaching up and stroking his long brown wing feathers. "Are they feeding you properly?"

Widget tilted his head. I held the letter up to him; he clutched it in his small white beak.

"This is for Mother," I instructed gently. As he lifted off, his talons dug into my arm, leaving small indents in the soft, pink skin. I watched him soar effortlessly across the grounds until he was only a small brown speck sailing above the horizon. 

🖤

It was as if I had blinked and two months had flown by, taking the green leaves and summer sun with them. I had long since finished reading Magickal Properties of Common Potions Ingredients and swapped it for The Dos and Don'ts of Antidotes, then A Book of Thoughtful Draughts, followed by a brief interval in which I tried to stomach A History of Magic (before quickly swapping it for Balms of Every Type). Ever since my brief altercation concerning the first book, I had had no repeat incidents; my least-favorite blond klepto had kept his pasty hands well away. 

Instead, he had taken his daily orations regarding Potter to the farthest corner of the common room, where Pansy would join him, hanging on his every word. She had assumed the role of Malfoy's escort, trailing him, Crabbe, and Goyle everywhere, and it seemed that Malfoy had slowly gotten used to her presence; his lip no longer curled at the mere sight of her. He had swapped it for a cold look of indifference. 

The Quidditch teams had been practicing fervently. On a chilly evening in late September, I went with Ron down to the pitch to watch Harry practice one-on-one with Oliver Wood, but Wood shooed us away when he spotted us to protect his "top-secret game strategies." A sneaking tremor in my chest whispered that it was because of the green of my robes, but I didn't blame him--Slytherin was certainly not above spying. Thankfully, Ron had decided to accompany me rather than let me leave alone. We decided to visit Hagrid's hut, where I met the gigantic gamekeeper for the first time. Hagrid was jovial and friendly, but there was a slightly wary glint in his beady black eyes. Those eyes darted distractedly around as he brewed us tea, forgetting to add the leaves and instead serving us plain hot water. Ron and I looked at each other, neither of us keen on pointing out his error. 

Pansy had attempted to drag me down to the pitch to watch the Slytherin team train as well, but I had stubbornly declined, perfectly aware of who else would be in attendance. It seemed that Draco Malfoy was dead set on getting on the Quidditch team, and he had scrutinized every practice start to finish since the season had started. Or at least, that is what I had been feverishly told at breakfast by a certain black-haired bob-headed someone multiple weeks in a row. Malfoy was holed up in the common room every evening for a solid week with his face buried in Quidditch Through the Ages.