A few days after Harry's name came out of the Goblet of Fire, Draco finally understood what Sirius had meant.
Resentment was pouring in on Harry from all directions — which meant he needed his friends more than ever.
"Don't be so boring, Draco." Pansy Parkinson held up an enormous badge and waved it at him. "A Slytherin and Hufflepuff collaboration — for Hogwarts unity!"
Draco looked at it without reaching out. The badge read, in bright red letters, SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY — THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION. When Pansy pressed the centre, it flashed green: POTTER STINKS.
He knew this badge. He had worn it enthusiastically in his previous life.
He had thought it was just good fun — a bit of pointed rivalry, perfectly reasonable. He had believed Harry's entry into the Triwizard Tournament was a transparent bid for attention, another instance of rules bending conveniently for Gryffindor's favourite. Exemption from the age line, a chance to compete alongside legends like Krum — what wasn't there to envy?
He hadn't understood, then, what it meant to be a Triwizard champion. He hadn't known yet that those students went in for glory and some of them didn't come back.
"I won't wear it," Draco said, returning to his newspaper. "And I'd suggest you reconsider as well."
Pansy's expression darkened. "What does that mean? Are you supporting Potter — who used underhand tactics to embarrass Hogwarts — over Cedric, who was chosen fairly by the Goblet?"
"Think it through before you parrot someone else's argument." He set the paper down. "Both of them were chosen by the Goblet of Fire. That makes them both Hogwarts champions. Are we really going to spend this tournament fighting amongst ourselves while Durmstrang and Beauxbatons watch? Do you think Krum doesn't notice?"
Pansy opened her mouth and closed it.
"They're already laughing at us," said Daphne Greengrass, from behind Pansy. "Krum hasn't signed a single autograph for us this week and it's obviously because of Potter—"
"I didn't ask you." Draco didn't look at her. He kept his attention on Pansy. "Potter is the fourth champion. Whatever he does in this tournament reflects on Hogwarts. If he loses, it won't be reported as 'Potter lost'; it will be 'the Hogwarts champion lost.' Do you understand the difference?"
"We shouldn't have to carry him," Pansy said angrily. "He's a Gryffindor disgrace dragging Slytherin's reputation—"
"Pansy." He looked at her steadily. "Whether someone is from Gryffindor or Slytherin, they are part of Hogwarts first. That doesn't change because we find it inconvenient."
Pansy's lips moved, but no words came. She watched, tight-faced, as Draco picked up his rolled newspaper, stood from the armchair by the fire, and walked out of the common room.
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After the girls had left in collective displeasure, Pansy dropped into the chair across from Theodore Nott, who had been reading a Potions journal throughout the exchange.
"Are you going to do something about him?" she demanded. "He's been defending Potter openly. That's not going to go well for him in this house. He listens to you."
"He makes a fair point, actually." Theodore turned a page. "You have to be recorded in the Book of Admittance by the Quill of Acceptance before you're sorted anywhere. Which means you're a Hogwarts student first, a Slytherin second. He's not wrong."
"You too? You and Blaise are both on his side." Pansy slumped back. "Am I the villain again?"
"You're not a bad person," Theodore said mildly. "But you're always the first one to say the unpopular thing out loud. Have you ever wondered why the people whispering in your ear never volunteer to go first?"
Pansy stared at him. Theodore Nott had just said more to her in one conversation than he typically managed in a week. She frowned, picked up her things, and left. The badge sat abandoned on the seat, still flashing its alternating messages at no one.
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Draco could manage his own behaviour, and some portion of his friends'. He could not manage everyone.
The three other houses had settled into varying degrees of contempt for Harry. The Hufflepuffs were united behind Cedric and openly scornful of the boy who'd appeared uninvited in their champion's spotlight. The Slytherins had been hostile toward Gryffindors as a matter of course for years and simply increased the intensity. Even many Ravenclaws wore the badge without apparent irony.
And within Gryffindor itself — Ron Weasley, Harry's closest friend, had quarrelled with him and hadn't come back from it yet, leaving Harry more alone than he should have been.
The only things that reliably brightened Harry's expression were the owls from Sirius — Hedwig arriving every few days at the Gryffindor table with an expensive broomstick care kit, or a large box of Honeydukes' finest, or a letter that made Harry smile in a way that none of the badges and whispers could quite touch.
In the days after those deliveries, Harry visibly regrouped. He stopped watching the corridors for who was wearing what, and let Hermione direct his attention to the theory of the Impediment Jinx and the Summoning Charm in the library.
Draco had mixed feelings about this.
On one hand, Hermione's considerable energy was being redirected by Harry's tournament preparation, which meant she had less time for her campaign to recruit members to S.P.E.W.
"I gave her two Sickles just to get her to stop," Harry told Draco, walking toward the Owlery one afternoon, "and it made her more determined. She's driving the Gryffindors absolutely mad. Even Hagrid got into it with her — they argued about house-elves for over two hours and it ended badly for everyone."
"She's very committed," Draco said.
"She's very annoying," Harry said. He paused. "Don't tell her I said that."
On the other hand, Rita Skeeter had taken Hermione's visible closeness to Harry and run with it in a way that produced a full-page story in the Daily Prophet about Harry's Hogwarts romance, featuring a quote from Colin Creevey about how inseparable the two of them were, and a great deal of breathless speculation about the ambitions of a Muggle-born girl who had positioned herself so close to the famous Harry Potter.
Draco read it twice, put the paper down, and picked it up and read it again.
He was aware that this was largely Rita Skeeter's usual creative fabrication. He was also aware that Hermione had always been Harry's closest friend, in this life and in the last one. He was aware of this and it had never particularly troubled him before.
It was troubling him now.
He found Colin Creevey in the corridor that afternoon, dropped the newspaper in his path, and said, "Did you say this?"
"It's a complete misunderstanding!" Colin looked at him with wide eyes. "I already explained everything to Harry and to Hermione—"
"And that explanation will appear in the Daily Prophet when?" Draco said. "Spreading a rumour takes ten seconds. Correcting it takes considerably longer. Did it not occur to you to be more careful about what you say to reporters?"
"I wasn't — I didn't say it quite like that — they were just always studying together in the library—" Colin's eyes filled.
"Keep your observations to yourself in future," Draco said, took the newspaper, and walked away.
He knew he was being unreasonable. He didn't stop being unreasonable for some time after.
While walking, and thinking, and becoming increasingly irritated, he arrived at an uncomfortable conclusion:
Hermione and Harry were both Gryffindors. They spent hours together every day. They had been through things that created the kind of bond that didn't easily shift.
In her previous life — in their seventh year — she had left school entirely to go somewhere dangerous with Harry. He had always assumed this was loyalty to her friend. Now he considered it in a new light, and found the consideration unpleasant.
He was bothered by this. He was, if he was honest, increasingly bothered by this.
It took three days of watching them study side by side in the library before he gave up on subtlety and simply walked over, positioned himself between them, and said, "Crabbe, Goyle — go do something else. Harry, show me where you're stuck with the Summoning Charm."
"I was in the middle of—" Harry looked startled.
"The Summoning Charm, Harry. Where are you struggling?"
"I keep losing concentration," Harry said irritably, "because there's a dragon in my head—"
"Start small. Summon something across the room first. A quill, not a dictionary." He sat down, organised Harry's books into a pile, and added without looking up, "Hermione, aren't you meant to be working on S.P.E.W. recruitment? You were going to try other houses this week. The Hufflepuffs will be sympathetic, I'd think."
Hermione looked at him. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"
"Certainly not. I have the highest regard for your teaching abilities. But Harry needs hands-on practice more than theory right now, and I can handle that. You have your own projects."
She gave him a long, suspicious look. Then she gathered her books and left the library, glancing back twice.
"Why are you encouraging that?" Harry stared at Draco. "You told me just last week that S.P.E.W. is a waste of everyone's time."
"Have you made up with Ron yet?"
"No."
"Where are the other Gryffindors?"
"Most of them still think I put my own name in," Harry said flatly.
"Unfortunate." Draco hesitated, then asked, "I have a question for you."
"What?"
"What do you think of Hermione?"
Harry looked at him. His green eyes were, behind their glasses, disconcertingly perceptive. "If you're asking whether I want her as my S.P.E.W. secretary—"
"Nothing to do with S.P.E.W."
"Or whether I think she's spending too much time on theory rather than—"
"Do you like her?" Draco said, plainly.
Harry went quiet. He studied Draco for a long moment.
"You read the Prophet article."
"I did."
"Draco." Harry folded his hands on the table. "The question isn't whether I like her. The question is whether you do. Isn't it?"
Draco said nothing.
"I've known her since we were eleven," Harry said. "She's like an older sister. I mean that completely and without any ambiguity — there's nothing in it beyond that. I think she feels the same way about me." He paused. "And that's not a kind of 'sister' where someone could read something else into it if they looked hard enough. I genuinely mean it."
"Are you sure?" Draco kept his voice steady.
"Absolutely." Harry looked at him with the expression of someone older than fourteen. "She's always been generous — this year especially. She's sitting next to me while the whole school rolls its eyes at me, reading those Prophet articles, putting up with all of it, and never once looking for a way out." He paused. "I don't want her to cry because of anyone. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
"Yes," Draco said. "I understand."
"Good." Harry's expression relaxed into something approaching a proper smile — the first one Draco had seen from him today. "I'm glad we've had this conversation."
"So am I," Draco said, and meant it considerably more than his tone suggested.
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Hermione, meanwhile, had gone to the Gryffindor common room in search of Ginny Weasley to ask her opinion on Draco's recent inexplicable behaviour, and instead found Ron.
"Where's Harry?" he asked, before she could say anything.
"Still in the library. Ron, are you two finally—"
"I need you to pass a message."
"I am not an owl!" Hermione said.
"Please," Ron said. "Just once. It's urgent."
"Fine," she said, with the air of someone adding this to a long list of grievances. She marched him back to the library, interrupted Draco and Harry's session on the Summoning Charm, and pulled all three of them down to the Black Lake.
"Say what you have to say," she told Harry and Ron, in the tone she used for students who had not done their reading. "Quickly."
Draco leaned against an oak tree with Crabbe and Goyle's Defence Against the Dark Arts essays and watched, for approximately four minutes, as Harry and Ron conducted what was less a reconciliation and more an extremely slow-moving mutual sulk communicated in fragments through Hermione as an intermediary.
She darted back and forth between them like a border collie who had taken on an impossible job.
He put down the essays.
"Expelliarmus."
Two wands flew out of Harry and Ron's hands simultaneously. Both boys turned to look at him in complete bewilderment. He conjured a rope, bound them back to back, and handed their wands to Hermione.
"Crabbe. Goyle. Watch them until they've actually reconciled." He turned away.
"You can't be serious!" Harry called after him.
"You were getting on quite well just now," Draco called back, "in terms of having matching expressions. Channel that."
"How is this—" Ron, going red in the face, struggled against the rope. "How is this your business?"
"How dare you call this a solution!" Harry said. "After we were just having a perfectly good conversation—"
"Which is exactly why I know you're capable of a conversation," Draco said. He took Hermione by the sleeve, turned her away from the lake, and pulled her firmly toward the castle. "Come on. Our Arithmancy and Ancient Runes assignments aren't finished, and they're due by Friday."
"But—" She looked back over her shoulder.
"They'll be fine. Crabbe and Goyle are thrilled." He didn't let go of her sleeve. "Hermione. Friday."
"This is completely—" She stopped. "Actually, yes. Friday. You're right." She frowned, looking thoroughly confused. "Why did you just do that for them?"
"The Arithmancy problem on page twelve isn't going to solve itself."
She let him steer her into the castle, half bewildered, half thinking about page twelve.
By dinner, Harry and Ron had their arms around each other and came to collect their wands with appropriately sheepish expressions.
Draco accepted this outcome with the private satisfaction of someone who had implemented an inelegant but effective solution. He and Hermione returned to their study corner, and no one disturbed them, not even Viktor Krum — who was a regular presence in the library this year and who attracted a rotating orbit of whispering girls behind the bookshelves.
"He's not even—" Hermione slammed her quill onto her parchment of Arithmancy workings. "They don't actually care about him. It's entirely because he's famous. If he hadn't performed that Wronski Feint—"
Draco pressed his lips together very firmly.
"—they wouldn't spare him a second glance. It's completely superficial and—" She stopped. "Why are you smiling like that?"
"Hot tea," he said, picking up the small silver spoon to add sugar to her cup. "Arithmancy requires concentration. Take a break, and we'll come back to it."
She looked at him, still suspicious, then looked down at her tea, and went back to work.
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On the Saturday before the first task, Hogsmeade was open to third-years and above. Draco had been looking forward to meeting Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' new advisor — the one Fred and George had been so opaque about.
He'd assumed it would be some gifted older student. A Ravenclaw with a talent for product development, perhaps.
He climbed the stairs to the small back room above the shop and found Remus Lupin sitting across the table.
Still thin. Still wearing the same worn robes — or robes indistinguishable from the same worn robes. The same quiet, attentive expression. A flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw Draco's platinum hair at the top of the stairs.
"We brought in the best professor we ever had," George said. "Officially."
"Unlike our current one," Fred added, "who is genuinely unhinged."
Draco recovered. "I imagine you fit right in," he said to Lupin.
Lupin gave a wry smile. "I might say the same to you."
He looked between Draco and the twins, then around at the shop. A Malfoy investing in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was, by any reasonable measure, a business arrangement that defied explanation.
"People need things to laugh at," Draco said. "Joy is worth investing in." He nodded toward the twins, then looked back at Lupin. "My concern is whether they're aware of the particular complications your involvement might introduce, and whether there's a plan for managing them."
"We know," Fred said easily. "He told us upfront. We think it's brilliant, honestly."
"There are precautions that can be taken," George added. "We've thought it through."
Of course they had. Draco rubbed his temples. These were two people who had cheerfully gone into business with a Malfoy. Of course a werewolf consultant didn't faze them.
"The Shrieking Shack isn't an adequate long-term solution," Draco said to Lupin. "I want to be straightforward about that."
"I understand." Lupin met his eyes steadily. His expression was composed, but there was something underneath it — an acceptance of disappointment that he was trying to be gracious about. "After everything that happened — it's only natural you'd want distance. I respect that completely." He stood, extending his hand. "Thank you for your time."
Draco looked at the outstretched hand.
He thought about a cold afternoon in the snow outside the Shrieking Shack, and a girl standing her ground, shivering, asking him whether effort and intelligence and character meant anything, or whether one fact about a person was sufficient reason to write them off entirely.
He thought about that question for a moment.
Then he said, "Sit down. I haven't finished."
Lupin sat slowly, watching him.
"I know the improved Wolfsbane Potion formula," Draco said. "I worked with Professor Snape on it during the school year — I was involved in brewing the batch you received. The standard formula has weaknesses that the improved version addresses." He kept his voice level. "My condition for this arrangement is that you take the Wolfsbane Potion without fail, every month. What happened at Hogwarts cannot happen again."
The composure Lupin had been holding onto very carefully came apart.
"If you agree to that," Draco continued, "most of your salary goes toward the potion ingredients. I'll brew it monthly and have Fred or George deliver it. In exchange, you get the position, a room in the staff accommodation above the shop, a daily food allowance, and the requirement that you sign a magical contract prohibiting disclosure of my involvement and the shop's proprietary methods — to anyone. Including Sirius Black."
Lupin stared at him for a long moment.
"Do you have any objections to those terms?"
"No," Lupin said. He sounded slightly dazed.
"Then I don't see any obstacle." Draco settled back. "You saved us on the Hogwarts Express at the start of last year, from the Dementors. I hadn't forgotten."
Lupin looked at him with an expression that was hard to read, and said nothing.
"Remus Lupin," Draco said, "I'm offering you the position. Don't make me ask again before I reconsider." His mouth curved slightly. "Agree before I regain my senses."
Lupin nodded — a small, mechanical movement, as though he wasn't quite sure this was real.
"Good." Draco turned to the twins. "Allow me to reintroduce him properly: Remus Lupin, your new technical advisor, and one of the original creators of the Marauder's Map."
It was, to Draco's considerable private satisfaction, the only time he had ever seen both Weasley twins go genuinely, speechlessly shocked at the same moment.