Chapter Text
“I personally don’t think there’s anything wrong with the title “Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater.” The sounds of the train tracks rattled their train car on the Hogwarts Express. Pansy Parkinson flipped with listless interest through the latest copy of The Daily Prophet, glancing up at Draco only briefly when she spoke to him.
“You’d be in the grand minority on that one, Parkinson,” said Theo Nott as he fiddled with one of the rings on his finger, spinning it around like a top on the table they sat around. “Although, I do think it adds a little edge to your brand.”
“At least they used a good photo of you,” she offered in consolation as she slid the newspaper towards him. It wasn’t on the front page. He at least had that going for him, though the consolation was marginal at best.
Draco shot a glare at both of them, effectively ending the conversation.
He waited until Pansy and Theo both returned to what they were doing before looking down at the image looping under the headline “Former Death Eater Walks Free” on the newspaper. It was a photo of him moments after his trial. He’d walked out an innocent man that day and the photographers managed to snap a photo of him between the glares he had been leveling reporters with. To anyone who knew him, you could see the faint traces of relief on his face. To anyone else, he just looked stoic. Unreadable at best.
To Draco, the image of himself looked like a clean slate, which is exactly what he needed.
As they walked through the familiar halls of Hogwarts– surprisingly clean of any signs of blood and debris from the war just months prior– Draco felt the cold stares of his fellow students on him. Though he hadn’t personally killed any of their classmates, he’d assumed most of the responsibility as the most accessible former Death Eater in the vicinity. He had prepared for this; to feel the brunt of their anger and sadness. That fact further drove his need to claim a fresh start during 8th Year.
He’d reached an impasse during the events of his 6th Year that forced him to reckon with the years of hatred he’d absorbed over the years. It took months of untangling in secret to figure out what he truly believed and to understand how to let go of what he’d believed to be the truth for so long. He’d also learned a great deal about occlumency and the importance of keeping his mind fortified against attacks to avoid accidentally letting his lack of allegiance be known to the wrong people. Draco had only just let those walls come down fully after the war ended. He was ready to turn over a new leaf and live his life subscribing to the ideals that he believed in instead of the ones he’d been taught to follow. The trickier part would be getting everyone else to understand that he was trying to reform his life the best he could.
In an unusual turn of events, Professor McGonagall decided to start the year with an event she was calling “Encouraged Re-Sorting” to help bolster morale. Something about “student ideals differing from their previous sortings” and “allowing young wizards to have recent experiences taken into consideration.”
Draco had started tuning out the new Headmaster’s welcome speech during the great feast in favor of figuring out his rebranding plan. Mentally, he’d crafted a list of all potential avenues he could explore to help transform him from “former Death Eater” to “just Draco” in the eyes of his peers. In the time that it had taken for McGonagall’s speech to drone on and Draco to destroy half of his food with his fork by pushing it around absentmindedly, he’d already crossed off half the options for being unfeasible.
“Nott, do you think they’ll let eighth years play quidditch?” Draco asked as he moved his fork to mash up an unattended pile of peas on his plate.
Theodore looked at his friend from the corner of his eye, attention still very much on the Headmaster as she spoke. “Possibly. Although is that really how you wish to spend your time? Fraternizing with a bunch of younger year students who likely will just want a chance to say they scored a goal on a former Death Eater?”
“Bollocks.” Draco mentally scratched out Quidditch Captain from his list.
Students all around him had started lining up in the center of The Great Hall to begin their re-sorting process. He’d already accepted his fate as a Slytherin. As had most of his housemates from the previous seven years. No use changing it with only one year left.
Near the front of the line, he spotted the profiles of several familiar students. Two mops of ginger hair, a curled mane, the telltale circular frames of the Wizarding World’s favorite boy wonder. “Surely it couldn’t be too hard to be a prefect, right?”
Pansy patted his hand affectionately. “You’d keep them in line, that’s for certain.”
Draco thought about it for a moment as he watched The Golden Trio and crew get their housing assignment. Even before being a Death Eater, he had his intimidation going for him. Maybe he could ask about getting a prefect title to help clean up his image.
“Gryffindor!”
“Gryffindor!”
“Gryffindor!”
Theo groaned as they watched each of them receive the same housing assignment they’d had for the previous seven years. “We should have made a drinking game out of this. There’s no way in hell they’re going to make us sit through more of The Order’s bravest getting the same pat on the back they’ve been getting all summer long.”
Draco scanned his mental list again and dropped his head down onto the table in frustration. He’d exhausted nearly every option and none of them felt truly viable to helping him shed the Death Eater label.
“Sssslytherin!”
The Great Hall fell silent. The faint sound of the candles flickering above them was noticeably audible as all eyes turned to The Sorting Hat. Or rather, the girl beneath the hat.
“No fucking way.” Theo’s voice sounded significantly more interested in the re-sorting process.
Draco picked his head up to see what had caused such severe reactions around the room. “Is that–”
“The Golden Girl herself is coming to Slytherin,” Pansy said to him.
Draco sat a little taller to get a better view of the contained shock on her face. Just a few feet away from her, Harry, Ron, and the others sat slackjawed at her reassignment.
Hermione cleared her throat and plastered on a fake-looking smile. “There’s nothing wrong at all with being in Slytherin. This is perfectly fine.”
“Think McGonagall gave her a script?” Theo’s attention was waning as the silence diffused into chatter around The Great Hall.
“No. I don’t think she knew she’d be re-sorted.” Draco said as he studied the way Hermione awkwardly slid off the stool and shuffled to grab her belongings before relocating to the Slytherin house table. Her words may have inspired some faux sense of house unity, but he could tell from the blank look on her face that she wanted nothing less than to now be considered a Slytherin.
Despite his journey to reformation, Draco Malfoy at his core was still an insufferably duplicitous being. He wore it like a badge of honor and often used it solely for his entertainment. As he watched Hermione settle in at the end of the Slytherin table, an idea came to mind.
He may have had other priorities during his last two years at Hogwarts, but Draco prided himself on how well he kept up with his marks in school. With Hermione gone for Year Seven, he’d managed to rise to the top of the class.
He had always enjoyed going toe-to-toe with Granger over the years. Even without his pureblood ideals motivating him, he found himself still incredibly interested in getting under her skin. Given her re-sorting to Slytherin, he had to believe some part of her had enjoyed the banter and match of wits to an extent.
Perhaps he could take out two birds with one stone: rebuild his image through academic success and subsequently, get under Hermione’s skin by proving he was smarter than her.
Theo watched as Draco’s eyes locked in on Hermione with a calculated expression. “I know that look.” He nudged Pansy’s arm to pull her attention. “Hey Pans, I think Draco may be plotting against Granger again.” He nodded his head down toward where Hermione sat and then at Draco.
“Not plotting,” Draco corrected. The smirk on his face did nothing to support his claim. “Just thinking about how to make Granger feel more at home in Slytherin.”