Dark Hogwarts

POV of Draco Malfoy.

December 24th.

Bliss. Draco could hear his mother waking him up, but it seemed only part of his amazing dream.

The first thing the boy experienced upon awakening, even before opening his eyes, was an amazing softness on all sides and a slightly itchy back from unaccustomed use.

He was at home. In his own bed: with a silky blanket and an airy deep pillow. He did not dream of bliss, nor did his mother's voice - it was all real, but Draco liked his own state so much that he did not want to interrupt it for a second, writing everything off to his dreams.

Rays of light filtered through the curtained window, illuminating his room with pleasant shades, and fresh winter air could be felt from the slightly open window.

Since childhood, he liked to feel cool when he woke up, and this was perhaps the only plus of his six-month stay in the dungeons of Hogwarts.

Draco yawned deeply and long, stretching his arms in a semi-sitting position. The remnants of sleep left his mind, and the boy hurried joyfully to change into his pajamas to go downstairs.

He didn't have to stretch his cramped limbs, hastily tidy himself up in the communal washbasins and hurry to another breakfast and subsequent lessons. Everything about this change of scenery from gloomy dungeons to homely comfort was a joy, and Draco could not find a single flaw in these changes.

If he had his way, he wouldn't have returned to Hogwarts at all. But no one was going to give him such a will, no matter how much he begged.

— Dear, our dormouse has finally woken up, - with these words, his mother met him downstairs, who was sitting by the window and looking for the withered leaves of their large ficus, subsequently cutting them off.

—Martha, set my son's breakfast," the father ordered their family maid.

"Just a minute, sir," the elderly Muggle bowed, and continued to jam something stupefyingly delicious at the stove.

— Well, how does it feel? Draco's father asked, distracted from reading the Daily Prophet, "did you sleep well?"

— This. Simply. Something. — with these words, the boy poured himself milk, after which he sat down at the table with his father, — Really, I've been sleeping on this heavenly bed all my life...

— You really begin to appreciate something only after you lose it, — my father said a clever thought, sipping coffee from his own cup and returning to reading.

How Draco loved that he could just be himself at the moment. Don't pretend to be unsociable, don't pull yourself together every time you're going to show at least some activity or strike up a conversation with a freshman. Do not wear this mask of indifference, do not follow your own every action...

He just wanted ordinary communication, especially in such a terrible place as Hogwarts School turned out to be. But Draco remembered his father's instructions well. And even if he did not tell him the true reasons for the need for such behavior, they did not become less valuable from this.

While Draco was eating a delicious breakfast, his parents were chatting with each other.

— What do they write there? Mom asked her father, without distracting herself from her own occupation.

Draco loved listening to him talk about the news. If the solid text of journalists was perceived by the boy as a dry uninteresting squeeze of facts and assumptions, then the father talked about them in his unique manner, leaving his own opinion behind each event. It turned out to be true several times, confirmed by the following newspaper editorials, and Draco even felt proud that his dad was so perceptive.

— Different things. Riots in Lyutny, again the shadow business is butting heads with the Ministry... The disappearance of Eric Benson, though, I think he's just... He ran away, yes. Because of his words in the Quibble. I must think - to announce to the whole country that he helps homeless Muggles with his grant! He would have fed the rats in the alleys, honestly... So, this is more interesting. Meeting of the Prime Ministers of Great Britain and Germany with a representative of the conclave of magicians of the Russian Empire... It was held in the Winter Palace, the parties agreed to update the concluded agreements, and there were discussions of mutual practice between the divisions of wizards... Dumbledore and Grindelwald are clearly approaching the Russians more and more diplomatically. Just look, the "Magic Seven" will become the "Eight", then expect trouble...

— And why the troubles, Dad? Draco asked, after he had chewed another portion of food, "it's good if we have more allies."

— But because with them we will become too strong. If Russia joins, the remaining countries will be surrounded by our alliance from all sides. And if they fall, and Eurasia becomes united, then all the militant views from the Old World will rush to America…

"Is that a bad thing?"

"It's going to cause a war, son. Terrible, bloody, between magicians and Muggles. The war never ends well, remember this, — the father put down the newspaper and looked at Draco with a stern expressive look.

— I get it... Draco even looked a little haggard under the weight of his father's gaze. He always looked like that when he wanted to show the seriousness of his words.

— Okay, enough about politics. You're always thinking into the distance with your pessimism," Mom added her word to the conversation.

"It's called a healthy calculation of probabilities, dear,— my father chuckled.

— I don't want to hear anything about your probabilities. Draco, come on, finish your meal and get ready.

— Are we going somewhere? Draco asked excitedly.

— Of course! My son came for Christmas, today we will have fun with you all day. We plan to go to that cafe where you liked the ribs so much, look into a couple of shops for your gift - I remember that you like to choose it for yourself, and then we will have a movie at the cinema.

— Dad, will you come with us? Draco asked timidly.

However, he only grimaced in response, and his mother answered for him:

— No, your dad was kind enough to stay at home and do his "forecasts" all day.

— You know perfectly well how I feel about all this... He turned his head, pointing at the door, "Muggle entertainment." It's like you're forgetting that we're wizards.

— Ah, we would love to visit the same Diagon Alley or the Magic Park, but you know perfectly well that this is not within our capabilities.

— That's why I'm not saying anything. If you, Draco, want to have fun and go with your mom on her Muggle program, then I'm not against it. But just without me, okay? He continued reading the newspaper and began tapping his foot under the table.

Dad always did that when he wasn't in the mood. Draco was glad at least that his parents' dispute had not developed and they had not quarreled even more, as it had happened several times in his memory.

As the boy understood from his parents' early quarrels, his family used to be very rich and influential in the magical world. Something had happened, and now they had to live in the Muggle world, in a house built by simpletons - with electricity, but without enchanted walls and other magical objects that would eventually destroy wiring and electrical appliances.

Whatever the reason for their misery, magic coins were infrequently found in the family throughout the boy's adult life. He even got used to Muggle pounds much more, like some Muggle-born, and only his father's frequent explanations constantly reminded him that he was a wizard, not related to Muggles in any way, and their living conditions were only "temporary difficulties" that the Malfoy family would definitely cope with.

But even though Draco's family was experiencing financial difficulties in the society of wizards, however, this did not affect a completely comfortable life in the Muggle world in any way.

They had a fairly large, beautiful house, a car with its own driver and several servants from among the simpletons, and the family had enough money for a completely comfortable life with satisfaction of all their needs.

These were the advantages of being a family of wizards. As his mother had once told him, the Ministry of Magic provided monthly cash payments in pounds to all willing wizards, which allowed even the poorest Muggle-borns to live "on a grand scale" in the Muggle world, even if Draco did not quite understand the meaning of this phrase at the time.

But in order to get galleons, sickles and knuts, which were necessary in the world of wizards, you had to work either in the Ministry of Magic, or participate in some kind of magic business, or have your own fortune in the Gringotts bank.

Draco remembered how, during one of the parental disputes, his father spat at the need to work for wizards, and his mother unsuccessfully tried to convince him otherwise. The boy did not understand then why his father so zealously did not want to get a job in the Ministry, or work at some enterprise.

And ask directly... Let's just say that Draco understood well enough those topics for conversations that, in order to avoid trouble with his father, it is better not to start.

***

The day with my mother was just wonderful. Draco sincerely did not understand his father's fastidiousness and admired the leisure of Muggles no less than that of wizards. Probably even more, since they were much more diverse.

"I'll go to Aunt Kristin and Uncle Regulus," Mom told the boy when they drove up to their house after all the entertainment and shopping was over, "I'll finally make arrangements for tomorrow's holiday. Your father should be at home, show him your new products.

— Maybe I'll go with you? Draco said ingratiatingly, "I'd like to play with Chalk while you're chatting."

"You'll meet tomorrow anyway,— she replied, stroking his head. Draco liked touching his hair, and my mother knew it perfectly well, especially since I was literally with them for ten minutes.

— Okay, Mom.

Draco got out of the car and headed into the house, followed noiselessly by one of the maids, who carried shopping bags in two hands, which were pulled out of the trunk.

The day passed surprisingly quickly. It seemed that he had just woken up, and it was already beginning to get dark outside, and the dim sun was already moving over the horizon with might and main. Of course, because, unaccustomed to it, Draco slept until lunch.

"Draco, we need to talk. Let's go to my office," his father told him from the doorway.

The boy was a little afraid of this tone.

"What does my father want from me? Have I done something wrong?" he thought, following his father into a room he rarely visited.

My father's office was almost entirely made of dark wood. There was a wide worktable in the center, bookcases and paintings lined the walls. Draco vaguely remembered how these paintings moved and talked, but now the spell on them was suspended.

— Come on, have a seat, — the father sat down at his chair, motioning him to sit opposite, and then poured himself a whiskey.

"The bottle is half empty. What kind of glass is this?" thought Draco. He didn't like it when his father was drunk - it constantly led to some kind of problems or showdowns.

— So, — he emptied the contents in one gulp, after which he began to examine his son with a careful look, — tell me more about Hogwarts. Yesterday you got off with a short story, and in your letters you didn't talk much about your own feelings. How was your first six months?

— Yes, it's good... — Draco began to think carefully about what exactly to answer his father, — according to estimates, I am in the top three of the Slytherins, I did as you said - I did not make friends with anyone, I stayed away from conflicts.

— It's not that important and it's not exactly what I want to know. Tell me about the points. Who told you about them?

— Yes, everyone knows that... Golden from Gryffindor guessed and told the others back in September.

— Golden, then... Okay... Tell me, have you learned anything else, for example, what you can expect at the end of the year? With that, he started pouring himself a drink again.

Draco swallowed:

— There were some rumors after Halloween. About the fact that the director himself is preparing some kind of test for some of the freshmen... But I do not know whether to believe them or not.

— And where did they come from? These rumors.

— The head of the Gryffindors told Golden and Granger from the same faculty, and the boy already told the others, after Granger told all the teachers and the headman was punished for disclosing information...

— It's unbelievable. Some Muggle-born guesses to what the best students of other years have been coming to for months... Wasn't he the one who stopped the Halloween ordeal where you almost got your head bitten off? — the father shook his head disapprovingly, — an interesting student, this Golden of yours. But this is not about him. I hope that now you understand why your mother and I couldn't tell you everything that awaits you at Hogwarts? In that case, we would have taken the place of this headman. Make no doubt, there have already been cases - Dumbledore jealously protects his secrets and made it clear to all parents what happens to wizards who warn their children. There were examples, and it's better not to remember them...

That's about what Draco thought. All his father's instructions before school were limited only to a more acceptable version of his behavior with classmates, but the boy had to figure out everything else on his own, like all the other students.

My father drained the second glass, after which he thought for a few seconds, and eventually took out another one from the service nearby, exactly the same. After pouring alcohol into both glasses, he told him in a commanding tone:

— Have a drink with me. You're old enough to try this drink.

Draco took the glass and began to tilt it in different directions in a circle, watching the movement of the brown liquid. He sniffed, and the burning smell of alcohol, mixed with a rather pleasant aroma of cinnamon, hit his nose.

"Be brave, just don't swallow it all at once," his father encouraged him.

Draco took a sip of whiskey, and his throat immediately closed up.

— It's always like that at first. Then you get used to it, and you start to like it," he grinned, and sipped from the glass after his son.

Draco's head began to spin and throb a little, but then he felt warm and comfortable enough that the boy even allowed himself to relax a little. This condition was also facilitated by the fact that his father was only interested in his school affairs, and, apparently, was not going to punish or shame him for anything.

And so it took about half an hour. Draco talked about classes, about teachers, about how he had accumulated points for access to the owlet house and was able to send his first letter home. He also shared what he thinks about his classmates.

"You told me not to get too close to the Slytherins of my class. That's what I did. But can I find out why I can't be friends with them? Draco decided to try his luck and asked the question that tormented him all the time at school.

The father smiled bitterly, and once again poured himself a drink:

- yes... I guess I need to tell you the whole story... The time has come... You know who the Death Eaters are, right?

About a year ago, Draco first heard this phrase. Uncle Regulus then mentioned them, and told them in secret about the civil war, about the opposition of part of the magical community to Dumbledore and the Ministry controlled by him, and about the formidable wizard Voldemort, who was their leader, but eventually died from his own spell aimed at killing Harry Potter - his age from Gryffindor, who That's why he became famous.

That's when he found out that both Uncle Regulus and his father were followers of this famous wizard.

- yes... I've heard about them," he said excitedly, trying not to reveal his uncle, who had told this secret.

— And you know that I was one of them... — my father said affirmatively, having come to some conclusion of his own, - well, let it be known to you that we were friends with almost all the parents of your Slytherin classmates... yes... Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson, Nott, Bulstrode, Bletchley... We were all connected by a very strong friendship even during our studies...

"I didn't know that," Draco replied in surprise.

— What, did you think that your father didn't have any friends when he was young? Hehe... We were so friendly that we all decided to follow the Dark Lord together. We are so friendly that we agreed to have children in the same year, so that our generation would grow up together and have a reliable support at school... My father was silent for a while, looking at the whiskey in his glass and reliving his old memories.

"But then what happened?" Draco asked as the silence began to drag on.

My father blinked his eyes back to reality.

— Later... Then the Dark Lord lost. And Dumbledore did not show leniency to his supporters. Someone with the blood of members of the Order of the Phoenix or Ministry employees on their hands went to Azkaban or was killed. We are the same... We have not done anything irreparable during our short service. We didn't mess with Dumbledore and his supporters too much - we had the wrong tasks. Therefore, when we were all captured, our company had the opportunity to avoid the fate of other eaters. Disown the Dark Lord, whitewash your reputation in front of the victors.

"You did that, didn't you?"

— There was nothing else for us to do. Those were troubled times, and the families of the death eaters were sometimes treated very cruelly... Yes, I was able to bargain for my life and freedom, and for you and your mother's safety. And he lost everything he had. Everything the Malfoys have been earning for centuries. His business, his influence, his account at Gringotts, his estate... Yes, even the brownies, and that had to be handed over to the winning side. I was left with nothing, but I managed to survive when the probability of this was low...

"What happened to the others?" With the parents of other students, your friends?

His father gripped his glass tightly, and Draco thought it was going to crack right in his hand.

— They are... They weren't as rich as the Malfoys. Crabbe and Goyle actually worked for me, as they came from quite poor families. And none of them had enough to escape death or imprisonment like me... And then, they gave the last thing they could offer Dumbledore. Myself, and my children...

— How is that? Draco rolled his eyes, not quite understanding what his father meant.

— They agreed to serve Dumbledore, and when their children grow up, they will continue the commitment made by their parents... Yes, you heard right, all my friends voluntarily became servants of the one they opposed. Now they are ready to fulfill any order of their master. And they doomed their offspring to this fate... To some extent, I can understand them, because I could have been in their place myself. Between a life for myself and my loved ones, even one like theirs, and death or Azkaban, I would also choose life. Probably... But now, our paths have parted with them. I began to eke out an existence in the Muggle world, subsisting on handouts from the Ministry, and they became hostages of their own obligations. Well, pride, this damn pride does not allow me to go and work for those who took everything from me," he slammed the table with force, and tears appeared in his father's eyes, which he immediately wiped away, "so you should not have made friends with their children. Despite all the hardships, you," his father pointed a finger at Draco, "are still a free wizard, able to choose your own fate on your own. And they were deprived of this from an early age. I feel sorry for them, really, but if you get close to them, make friends, then... One word from Dumbledore, and your friends will stick a knife in your back. Zabini's in your class, right? You can make friends with him. Or find a company in other faculties, or in other courses when you get a little older. But I warn you: do not get close to those whose names I have listed to you.

— good... I get you.

Draco had never seen anything like it before. For him, his father was always gloomy and attentive, but in no way an emotional person capable of crying. The boy did not know what was appropriate to say in this case, so he only remained humbly silent, waiting for his father to calm down and come back to normal.

For Draco, the fact that a good half of his first-year faculty has such serious obligations turned out to be an amazing discovery. No one at school has ever talked about it. At least not in front of him.

"Dumbledore cannot be defeated," his father told him a few minutes later, "there is too much personal power, too much influence and connections in other countries. We may have been close to this, but in the end we were defeated, only strengthening his position as a result. There's nothing left for us, son, but to play by his rules. Do you understand me?

"I think so, I understand," Draco replied hesitantly.

— You told me about the welcome speech, where he hinted, according to this Golden, at a test. Do you remember exactly what Dumbledore said?

— Em... He said that one of the corridors on the third floor is closed to everyone except freshmen.

— For all the freshmen? — my father clarified.

— Well, it seems to be, he did not mention names or any special faculties. So, for everyone? Draco replied questioningly.

— Tell Draco. Are you used to Hogwarts? Has the father's tone changed to a more caring one, to his peculiarities and dangers? Are you sure you can handle this kind of pace of learning?

"Why is he asking about this?"

— Yes, Father. It's not that difficult if you think with your head and don't do rash things. It was much more difficult in the first months, but now I have more or less settled into the castle. And what? You want something for me... Tell me?

— I'm glad to hear that, really. Yes, you're right... You see, it just so happens that since you already know about Dumbledore's upcoming idea, and it should be available to all first-year students, then this opens a window of opportunity for our family. I managed to find out from someone that this time the director decided to leave the reward for the one who passes his test... A reward so valuable that it can give us a chance at a new life. For the return of status, money, influence... Don't think about it, your life is much more precious to me than any money in the world, but... If you are confident in your abilities, then I want to ask you: if there is an opportunity to take part in all this, you must agree. And, to reach the end. Win. To prove to the whole magical world that the Malfoy family is still capable of something, that it's too early to write us off... With each word, his father's expression took on an increasingly domineering form, and Draco became infected with these emotions of a parent.

"I... Can Handle It." And I will do it, Father. I promise I won't let you down," he said with confidence, having finally found some kind of visible purpose for himself.

"But you have to be very careful. I don't think Dumbledore's plans are designed for you to win. Since he has put such a valuable item on the line, he has his own motives, and you should not go against them in any case. Play by his rules, and try to win. It's going to be very difficult, I know from my experience, but you can handle it, I believe in you, son. Where other students get scared, you'll go ahead. Where the freshmen get confused, you'll be ready. And if you reach the end, then Dumbledore will have no choice but to give the reward to you. He may be a tyrant who has come up with his own numerous rules that smack of paranoia and sadism, but the director himself also observes them.

So, two tipsy Malfoys embarked on a risky adventure that could change their lives. For one, it was an opportunity to regain what was lost. For the other, to get recognition.

January 8th.

"I agree to help pass Dumbledore's test,— Draco looked closely at Golden, while inside rejoicing at his spectacular performance. No wonder he rehearsed his exit in front of the mirror.

Kyle Golden, albeit with a hitch, performed his part of the performance, and took Draco's wand by the outstretched base, starting to examine it.

— Why didn't you tell me right away? Didn't want your friends to see? Golden asked him, handing the wand back.

"They're not my friends," snorted Draco, "and just because you asked their companies doesn't mean I'm of the same opinion." So, are you accepting me into your volunteer ranks, or what? Draco crossed his arms and looked defiantly at the other students.

— Yes, as well as everyone else who wants to. Just say the word, Malfoy. Why do you need it? — the Gryffindor narrowed his eyes suspiciously and frowned, — then you can't be seen or heard, and now you suddenly decide to help us... What's in it for you?

— I heard the contents of the letter. It's obvious to any fool that if you screw up, our entire course will suffer, and I don't need that. Plus, the points earned are not superfluous," Draco grinned, "I would not mind buying myself a sleeping place. They say you vultures have already arranged beds for yourself?

—Yes,— Golden confirmed, "you know I like points as much as you do." Well, if you're really ready to join our venture, then welcome," he held out his hand to Draco, and the boy shook it with a smile in return.

Draco was obviously nervous, even though he was used to all kinds of pretense. But if earlier the boy pretended to be withdrawn and invisible to others, now he needed to play a completely different role.

And he did it. The first part of his own plan was executed brilliantly. It remained for a small matter - to come up with the rest of the parts, go through all the difficulties, and, regardless of the rest of the students, at all costs get the reward for yourself. He won't let his father down. He won't upset his mother.

He's a Malfoy.

The end of the POV.