The story of the constellation Draco is more straightforward than the rest. The dragon Ladon protected Hera's golden apple tree, but died in the hands of Heracles. The hero used poisoned arrows, and took the apples to fulfill his quest. Saddened by the dragon's death, Hera placed him in the sky among the constellations.
Draco has heard this story often when he was a child; it was bedtime story told under his mother's breath every night. She taught all him there was to know about the constellations in the sky, and the traditions of House Black. To honor our family, she had said, I named you after the dragon that protected the tree, as you would soon protect our family when you grow big and strong.
The fascination with the sky and its secrets didn't end with the bedtime stories she was no longer allowed to tell as he grew older. As with all things his father deemed useless or mindless, Draco was careful not to toe the line between academic interest and passionate obsession. Lucius tolerated it, for his wife's sake, and our of respect for the family she was born of — but not one of them held the notion that he'd someday make sure of this knowledge. He was a Death Eater's son, after all.
The five years after the war have been unfathomable in ways that Draco did not expect. To avoid incarceration and live out the rest of his life in peace albeit ostracized by society — it's been baffling, though the circumstances remain manageable. Somehow, he's discovered his own resilience and has kept himself alive through it all. The next thing that comes his way is what grinds everything to a halt: freedom.
Freedom, from his father's domineering presence, his parents' endless expectations, the burdens of his birthright. Freedom, from a madman that would've thrown them all in Fiendfyre if that's what it takes to rule the world. Freedom, from a lifetime to wrongs pounded into his head, prejudices and shortcomings that he could reorganize and dismantle before his very eyes. Freedom, to look at the sky above and see the glittering stars overhead, always shining and beckoning to be noticed.
When he spoke with McGonagall during his interview, they played a good game of avoiding talking about the war. It was questions about the stars charts and lunar phases, a passing note regarding his test scores (no N.E.W.T. due to his "extenuating circumstances", but his 'O' O.W.L. for Astronomy said more than most), and a few questions regarding his apprenticeship under a famed Astronomy professor at a distant wizarding school. The most she'd insinuated was, The Astronomy tower may look different now from when you last set foot up there, Mr Malfoy, but I'm certain we all prefer it that way. Draco has taken that as a win, anyway.
The next challenge is... much more complicated, in a way. The Astronomy tower may have changed (and he will see soon enough) but Hogwarts as a whole has not. It has welcomed him, as it always did every time he stepped foot within its walls. The Great Hall certainly hasn't, though he knows its occupants would alter every year, between bright young kids entering it for the first time and young adults saying their last goodbyes. The teachers remain constant, only changing as necessity requires it. McGonagall has given him their names and the subject they teach, though nothing could really prepare him for the sight of Hermione Granger standing in the Great Hall, a once specter of his past, manifested so vividly before his very eyes.
"Granger," he coughs out, after a distinct pause. "It's... good afternoon," he trails off awkwardly. It's good to see you, is most likely not the preferred greeting, in this scenario.
i... have feelings about this i guess.
Draco has heard this story often when he was a child; it was bedtime story told under his mother's breath every night. She taught all him there was to know about the constellations in the sky, and the traditions of House Black. To honor our family, she had said, I named you after the dragon that protected the tree, as you would soon protect our family when you grow big and strong.
The fascination with the sky and its secrets didn't end with the bedtime stories she was no longer allowed to tell as he grew older. As with all things his father deemed useless or mindless, Draco was careful not to toe the line between academic interest and passionate obsession. Lucius tolerated it, for his wife's sake, and our of respect for the family she was born of — but not one of them held the notion that he'd someday make sure of this knowledge. He was a Death Eater's son, after all.
The five years after the war have been unfathomable in ways that Draco did not expect. To avoid incarceration and live out the rest of his life in peace albeit ostracized by society — it's been baffling, though the circumstances remain manageable. Somehow, he's discovered his own resilience and has kept himself alive through it all. The next thing that comes his way is what grinds everything to a halt: freedom.
Freedom, from his father's domineering presence, his parents' endless expectations, the burdens of his birthright. Freedom, from a madman that would've thrown them all in Fiendfyre if that's what it takes to rule the world. Freedom, from a lifetime to wrongs pounded into his head, prejudices and shortcomings that he could reorganize and dismantle before his very eyes. Freedom, to look at the sky above and see the glittering stars overhead, always shining and beckoning to be noticed.
When he spoke with McGonagall during his interview, they played a good game of avoiding talking about the war. It was questions about the stars charts and lunar phases, a passing note regarding his test scores (no N.E.W.T. due to his "extenuating circumstances", but his 'O' O.W.L. for Astronomy said more than most), and a few questions regarding his apprenticeship under a famed Astronomy professor at a distant wizarding school. The most she'd insinuated was, The Astronomy tower may look different now from when you last set foot up there, Mr Malfoy, but I'm certain we all prefer it that way. Draco has taken that as a win, anyway.
The next challenge is... much more complicated, in a way. The Astronomy tower may have changed (and he will see soon enough) but Hogwarts as a whole has not. It has welcomed him, as it always did every time he stepped foot within its walls. The Great Hall certainly hasn't, though he knows its occupants would alter every year, between bright young kids entering it for the first time and young adults saying their last goodbyes. The teachers remain constant, only changing as necessity requires it. McGonagall has given him their names and the subject they teach, though nothing could really prepare him for the sight of Hermione Granger standing in the Great Hall, a once specter of his past, manifested so vividly before his very eyes.
"Granger," he coughs out, after a distinct pause. "It's... good afternoon," he trails off awkwardly. It's good to see you, is most likely not the preferred greeting, in this scenario.