Work Text:
Breaking Chains
1 September, 1991
“Draco, come. Time is getting on.”
The order came from the hallway; Draco recognised his father’s voice easily. It wasn’t a shout — Lucius didn’t shout unless he was angry, which was rare. It was that tone that sounded like effortless speech but carried across the marble tiles with gravitas.
Draco fixed his robes in the mirror with a nervous huff of breath before scurrying downstairs. He grinned when he saw his father. Lucius frowned.
“Your first day of Hogwarts has arrived, Draco. Do you know what that means?” Lucius asked his son.
Draco shook his head.
“It means you’re stepping out into Wizarding society alone, Draco. You are a representative of the Malfoy family now. You may think it an opportunity to frolic and cavort with other young children. It is not.”
Draco frowned, his chest tight as he looked up at Lucius. “Of course not, father. It’s school. It’s about learning and being the best.”
“It is,” Lucius conceded with a tilt of his head. “But you are also there to forge alliances, Draco. The friends you’ll make in Slytherin house will be your friends for decades to come. Choose them wisely.”
Draco toyed with a loose thread on the end of his cuff. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “But what if the Sorting Hat doesn’t choose Slytherin?”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Draco. And remember… Harry Potter will be there, and he’ll be alone. And he would make a… strong ally.”
“Yes, Father,” Draco said with an emphatic nod.
1 September, 1996
Draco went through his trunk one last time. He knew what was in there. He’d barely unpacked it all summer, and he’d checked it three times in the last twenty-four hours. He checked it again anyway. The notebook his father had bought him last summer lay on top, untouched. Draco’s stomach turned at the sight. He’d not been able to write in it. Not since his father had been gone.
He wondered, briefly, what his father was doing right now. It was nine o’clock, so that meant breakfast was likely over. He was probably just sitting in that cold, stone cell. Draco had never seen it; he could only imagine. In his mind, it was black, with a cold draft and rusting metal bars, silver moonlight painting a harsh contrast on the damp, mossy stones.
A shiver ran up his spine.
He was nervous this year. It was unusual for him. Every year, on the morning of September 1st, Lucius had been here to give Draco direction, advice and guidance. Draco had started to think of it as an annoyance. Now that it wasn’t here, he was unsure what was expected of him.
Anxieties by the dozen bartered for attention inside his mind. Who were his best allies this year? He didn’t know. He didn’t know the political landscape of the Slytherin families anymore. Who should he be cautious of? He didn’t know that anymore. What should he do about Potter? Ignore him? Provoke him? Something else entirely?
Instead, he only knew one thing: the special order direct from Voldemort.
Dumbledore.
If his father were here, he would have advice. He would have instructions. He would scold Draco for hesitations. And Draco would believe his father’s conviction.
But Lucius wasn’t here.
Draco had written to him a week ago. He hadn’t been able to say anything directly, of course, with the mail going through the Ministry. But he’d said enough, he’d thought, for his father to have words of wisdom for him.
There had been no reply.
Draco dragged a hand down his face as he sighed, before standing and fastening his trunk. He checked his dress robes in the mirror one last time, combing down his hair, before heading down the stairs.
“Oh, there you are, Draco. Come on, dear,” Narcissa said with a warm, maternal smile.
Draco forced a smile onto his face. “I’m ready. We’re on time, Mother. Don’t fret.”
1 September 1997
“Stay in line this year, Draco. That is an order.”
Lucius’s voice was harder, sterner than it used to be. Draco looked up at him with a nod, noticing how much older his father looked. Azkaban had not been kind to the man. He was thinner, with bags under his eyes that hadn’t been there before and new lines on his forehead.
“Of course, father. Never doubt it.”
Lucius nodded briskly. “This is the year, Draco. New headmaster, new Professors… Hogwarts will not be as you remember it. The school is being remade in the image it should have had all along. Our Lord’s servants are fixing it. Children like you will no longer be treated as one of the crowd. And the mudbloods will learn their place. Are you listening?”
Draco held back a sigh. “Of course. Understood. The Malfoy heir must act like the Malfoy heir, and if he does, he’ll be treated as such. Anything less will result in harsher punishments than Hogwarts traditionally imparts.”
“Precisely. So, make it count this year, Draco. Your NEWTS are important, and you have Malfoy intellect. Let it show.”
Draco nodded, straightening his cuff. “Shall we go?”
Lucius turned curtly. “Say your farewells to your mother.”
1 September 2017
“Scorpius, are you ready?” Draco shouted up the stairs to his son, checking the time on the grandfather clock.
“Yes, Father!” came a shouted response before Scorpius appeared at the top of the stairs, hauling his trunk with a grin on his face. “It’s so exciting!”
Draco couldn’t help the soft smile that appeared on his face. “It is, son. You’re leaving home now. Out there on your own. Are you nervous?”
“No!” Scorpius protested before grimacing. “A little bit.”
Draco laughed and knelt down in the hallway to look his son in the face. “That’s okay. Nervousness is normal. You’ve never been away from school for this long. But you’ll make friends quickly. You’re a Malfoy, after all!” Draco grinned, but it fell from his face with a sigh. “Find people you like, people who treat you well. Don’t choose friends just because they’re popular.”
Scorpius nodded. “Nice people. Choose nice people.” He frowned and looked down at the floor. “Dad… what if the Sorting Hat doesn’t choose Slytherin?”
Draco paused. A frown passed his face for a long moment before he shook his head. “That’s okay. The Sorting Hat knows, Scorpius. It will put you where you need to be. You’re still a Malfoy. Nothing will change at home. That’s a promise.”
Scorpius grinned, nodding. “Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome, Son. Always. Now, come on. We’re going to be late.”