The Potions Mouse

Chapter 2

11 Years Later...

Draco Malfoy's feet struck a steady cadence against the uneven ground, just as measured and controlled as his breath. Jogging around Hogwarts was like running through his life, passing milestones that measured more than physical distance. He started on Hogwarts' south side, where a forgotten corridor off the Slytherin Common Room opened to the Great Lake. The view had been a constant since age eleven. Regardless of the turns his life had taken, the glint of sunshine off the still water, the size and shade of the willow tree on its banks, and the indescribable smell of the shore were the same. Shifting with the seasons, but always in a way he recognized, even when he didn't know himself.

He turned west, towards the castle's entrance. The Astronomy Tower cast a long shadow, but the commemorative plaque with his old Headmaster's name on it shone like a beacon. He'd ignored it sixth year, and he passed it now without slowing, turning to the Forbidden Forest. The heart of darkness, where Voldemort and his core Death Eaters had waited and Draco had lingered too long. He ended his run at the courtyard, where the first battle had been lost and delay turned to decision for him and his family.

Nothing had been the same after Potter's death. He'd been the Chosen One and the one to make the choices. The Order was adrift without him, mired in confusion and lethargic with lost hope. Granger's disappearance, and the sudden knowledge void it caused, compounded the loss.

But even the leaderless collective was better than remaining with Voldemort's army. Each member of Draco's family had earned the Dark Lord's displeasure in one way or another, and defecting to the Order was their best chance for survival. For Draco, it felt like the last chance. One final attempt to salvage what remained of his conscience and turn his life into something worthwhile.

It took time. Weeks passed before necessity pulled Ron Weasley from his grief long enough to suggest a leadership council. Months before the council became more than a collection of frightened and angry individuals. For a season, they could do no more than react to the Death Eaters' random acts of terrorism, but then, they caught a break. A win. An unwilling conscript who, in exchange for whatever protection the Order could provide, was willing to help.

From there, the war became a matter of information management. To Draco's great surprise, Weasley knew just how to play it: coded messages and targeted misinformation campaigns; recruitment and subterfuge; top-secret missions; strategic losses for eventual gains.

A year after the lost Battle of Hogwarts, the Order destroyed the final Horcrux, Nagini. Six months after that, it ended for good. They fought deep within the Department of Mysteries, the Order standing firm between the Dark Lord and one of the few remaining Time-Turners.

The memories still haunted him. Even a decade later, he would wake in a cold sweat, the Dark Mark on his arm—permanently inked upon Voldemort's demise—burning like a summons, the remembered pain a sharp reminder of the past he'd escaped.

It was a small price to pay for the future he now enjoyed.

Draco braced himself against a toppled column to stretch. The spring sunrise was delicate, barely breaking through the clouds, and the castle stood like an island in an ocean of shifting, silver mist. Behind him, faint voices, the familiar back-and-forth of students quizzing each other over an early outdoor breakfast. Beyond them, a castle waking, candles flickering to life at windows and the smell of sausages wafting from the nearby kitchen vents.

This was his home. Hogwarts was the life he had chosen, and he had earned his position within it.

"I am the Potions Master, and I deserve this," he whispered. His daily affirmation. Recently, he'd even started to believe it.