Chapter Text
The air in the Hogwarts dungeons was no longer thin and frigid, it was thick with the warm, earthy scent of stewing ingredients and the clean tang of peppermint.
Steam curled from cauldrons in lazy plumes, catching the light of enchanted orbs that floated near the vaulted ceiling. This was Draco Malfoy’s kingdom, and he ruled with knowledge, dry wit and acceptance.
“Miss Clearwater,” Draco said, his voice cutting smoothly through the concentrated silence of his NEWT level class. “A commendable attempt at the Shrinking Solution. However, if you stir counter-clockwise after adding the daisy roots, you’re concocting a particularly aggressive weed killer, if that is not the intention go clockwise. Always clockwise.”
Penelope Clearwater’s daughter blushed and hastily reversed her stirring rod. A ripple of nervous laughter went through the class. Draco allowed a faint smile. “Better. Five points to Ravenclaw for almost brewing a new strain of weed killer.”
He moved through the rows, a tall, elegant figure in deep charcoal robes, offering a comment here, a nod of approval there. He was about to demonstrate the proper way to dice caterpillar fur when a small shadow fell across the doorway. A first year Hufflepuff, a girl named Eliza, stood trembling, her eyes wide with terror.
“P-Professor Malfoy? Madam Pomfrey said I was to come for my… my remedial calming draught?” she squeaked.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The NEWT students watched, intrigued. Draco’s posture, which had been one of sharp authority, softened. He knelt, bringing himself to her eye level, his voice dropping to a gentle, conspiratorial tone.
“Ah, yes. The Dreaded Draft." he whispered with a flair of drama. "It tastes like a troll’s foot, doesn’t it? But a necessary evil, I’m afraid. Come, let’s see if we can’t make it a little less dreadful.” He led her to a smaller, cleaner workstation at the front. “The secret is a single sprig of fresh mint, crushed after the potion has cooled. It doesn’t change the potency, but it does wonders for the palate. Watch.”
As he guided her small hands through the simple steps, his transformation was seamless. The intimidating master was gone, replaced by a patient mentor. Eliza by the end of it was smiling ear to ear. This was the fairness he was known for, every student, from the most gifted seventh year to the most terrified first year, received the version of him they needed.
Later, in his private quarters, the warmth was more personal. The rooms were a reflection of his new life: tasteful, comfortable, lined with books, but with a distinct lived in charm. A large, colourful sketch of a dragon, clearly drawn by a child, was pinned proudly to the wall.
“...and then he said if I can’t tell the difference between a powdered bicorn horn and a crushed unicorn hoof, I might as well try out for the Quidditch team as a bludger!” James Potter announced, flopping dramatically onto a velvet sofa. He was a whirlwind of untidy black hair and infectious energy, a carbon copy of his father in everything but the startling green eyes he’d inherited from his mother.
Scorpius Malfoy, seated neatly at a desk finishing his star charts, rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “He didn’t say that, James. You weren’t paying attention. Again.”
“Was too!”
Draco emerged from the small adjoining kitchen, carrying three mugs of hot chocolate. “ Children! settle down, James why don't you use the picture version of the ingredients identifying book and Scorpius, see to it that this boy who said these nasty things to our witty James knows his place when he next time challenges his intelligence?” He handed a mug to each boy. “Teamwork.”
James beamed, taking the mug. “See? Teamwork! Slytherin and Ravenclaw, unbeatable!” The sorting had been the shock of the century, but the friendship between the Malfoy and Potter heirs was the talk of the school. They complemented each other perfectly: Scorpius’s calm intellect grounding James’s fiery enthusiasm.
As James launched into a detailed explanation of a new Quidditch move, Draco sat beside Scorpius, looking over his star chart. “Your Arcturus is in the wrong quadrant, little prince.”
Scorpius sighed. “Professor Thomas said my calculations were off.” He looked up at his father, a familiar, affectionate glint in his grey eyes. “À tout à l'heure, Papa.”
It was their ritual. A piece of Astoria, a touch of the world she’d loved. Draco finished it softly, “Je t'aimerai toujours.” He kissed his son’s forehead.
James watched, curious. “What’s that mean?”
Scorpius smiled. “It’s just something we say. It means… ‘see you soon, I’ll love you always’.”
“Oh, cool!” James said, committing it to memory. “À tout à l'heure, Papa!” he said, butchering the pronunciation horribly.
Draco chuckled, a genuine, warm sound. “Practice, Mini Potter. Now, off to bed, both of you. Scorpius, you have that Arithmancy test tomorrow. James, try to tear him away from his books after the test please.”
After they left, the quiet of the room settled around him. His gaze drifted to the mantelpiece, to a small, tasteful portrait of Astoria. She wasn’t moving; it was a captured moment, her smile gentle and knowing. The pain was a quiet, familiar ache, a part of him as intrinsic as his own heartbeat.
“He’s happy, Tori,” Draco murmured, approaching the portrait. “He has a true friend. A loud, messy, wonderfully loyal friend. You’d like James. He’s just the sort of chaos our Scorpius needs.” He traced the edge of the frame. “I miss you. Every day.”