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Draco knew about Blood magic. His father had been very thorough in his teachings. He could read blood like tea leaves in a cup.
His mother taught him the stars and their significance to the greater world. She gave him a name that signified great power and cunning.
His aunt however, had taught him all about omens and how to interpret them.
Not a day went by where Draco was not scrutinizing the clouds, the sun, the very paths he walk upon.
When someone sneezed or spoke at the same time, he was sure to ward himself against whatever bad luck they might have conjured. Survival was essential after all, and he was the head of the great serpent.
In his first year at Hogwarts, he was astounded by how many of his classmates seemed utterly ignorant of this delicate balance of magic and fate. Did no one care if they brought on seven years bad luck? Their entire education could be at risk and they would never even know that it could have been prevented had they not broken a mirror while practicing magic.
Yet it was one fateful day early in his first term, when the Granger girl had huffed in irritation over her unruly broom not listening to her command. Well, it had been more of a request. The more she repeated ‘up!’ The more it began to sound like a plea. Broom were sacred, they had to be handled confidently- something Draco had it spades.
But when the poor girl had given up in a fit of frustration and stepped over her broom instead of finishing the lesson.
Dracos heart pounded frantically as he floated astride his own broom.
“Step backwards! Step backwards!” He mentally pleaded with her. But she never did. He should have known it was a set up. She was muggle-born. She probably did it on purpose. And that was how Harry Potter ended up getting of the Gryfindor Quidditch team a year early.
~
Their second year was rife with misfortune, but thankfully, not for Draco himself.
Between the blood, the petrifying, and the reopening of the Chamber of Secrets, it was obvious the delicate balance had been upset. And it was obvious whose fault it was.
“You’ll be next, mudbloods!” The slur fell from his lips out of habit. But he knew it was true all the same, for they didn’t know the ancient ways. They did not understand the magic they were naively tangling with.
When Hermione Granger was found petrified, Draco’s lips quirked. It came as no surprise to him.
~
The storms of the following summer were heavy and ominous. Thunder in the east. There would be much bloodshed in the coming year.
It started with the maiming of his own flesh. Then the rending of the Gryffindor painting. Rumors that there had been an attack pointed in the direction that someone had come wielding a weapon with a singular intention. To spill blood.
If it was blood they were hungry for, then Draco would give it to them.
The beast who tore at his pride and flesh would be a sacrifice and it would have to subdue the angry spirits.
But Draco had failed… and they took their payment in a gnashing of claws and teeth… and a parting of souls.
~
His aunt had warned him what it would do to interfere with the cosmos. And it was with great dismay that he found a bushy orange cat curled up, its neck and belly exposed, as he passed through the train compartments the following year. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he hadn’t seen.
“Just bad weather,” he thought to himself. But in truth, the reality had been more ominous. For the coming storm that had followed had not been one of clouds and lightning, but a tournament so deadly, it cast them all to the mercy of perilous proverbial waves.
~
As Draco took a stroll around the lake of his ancestral home, his hands buried deep in his pockets, he considered the many ways the tides had churned and changed in and against his favor, and pondered how they might continue to do so in the coming school year.
He was wary of every crack in the soil, of every jagged rock and kept a keen eye out for toad, as they might grant him fortune.
He took a break at his favorite spot, a shallow beach where the reeds gave way to land and the lily pads liked to collect in the shallows. Swans backed and flapped their wings against the water’ surface, and as mercurial grey cast along the horizon, they landed on the form of a raven, dark as night, standing tall and proud within the branches of a dogwood. Their blackened form seemingly sucking the color out of the flowers which surrounded it.
It’s proud head turned in Draco’s direction and he was stunned by it’s intelligence, before it finally took flight and abandoned him. Leaving him feeling all the hope and light go with it.
Fortune would no favor him, this he knew, no matter what choices he came to make.
Darkness was upon him.
~
Draco followed the carriages at a short distance. He did not mind missing them. Having taken care of Potter following him had been worth it. One less nosy irritant following him around.
The time alone gave him time to think. His hands were casually in his tailored jacket pockets, his hand firmly around his wand. One could never be too careful.
The summer had been dreadful and it made Draco wish he had never learned to read omens. They were nothing but blights on his subconscious now. They were errant and never-ending. The frequency at which he read the signs was beginning to make his stomach roll and his psyche was heavy with their meaning.
Not that he really needed the warnings anymore. War was upon them. The air was rank with it.
His toe absently kicked at something sticking out of the dirt road beneath his feet. He stopped in his tracks and bent at the waist to peer down in the near darkness.
He carefully withdrew his wand to light the tip to get a better look.
A ladies’ hair comb?
The design was not particularly beautiful but the tines were unbroken… and even. Symbolizing a friendship in the near future… of the female variety.
“Curious,” Draco murmured. Rustling from behind reminded him that he was walking along the road alone and he needed to get moving.
For once in many months, Draco felt a bit lighter.
~
The Dark Lord was dead.
Draco’s sight was pinned to the spot where the horrible creature who was the Dark Lord’s constant companion lay, its head separated from its body. Those hateful green eyes cloudy and lifeless.
It was still spring, and though Draco had seen the snake alive and well earlier in the year, it was the first time he’d seen it since spring had begun. And it lay lifeless at his feet.
“I shall conquer my enemies,” he murmured to himself, knowing full well that his greatest enemy was himself.
~
Many Years Later
Draco stood before the full length mirror, checking his reflection over, his eyes sweeping over the dark robes he wore scrutinizingly. He was searching for any imperfection, any detail out of place.
He found none.
There came a knock upon the door of his chambers.
“Come in,” he called, not taking his eyes from the mirror.
“We’re ready when you are, mate,” came Theo’s voice and with his proclamation, Dracos heart began to stutter in its excitement.
Yet Draco maintained his control. Nothing would ruin this day.
He nodded to himself and in part, in silent answer to his friend. The door clicked shut behind him.
The sky was clear, he’d been restful the night before, there was nary a blemish on this day and he knew better than to tempt fate.
He took a calming breath and turned on his heel, further composing himself and giving a silent prayer in thanks to the Fates. They had gotten him this far and he would not miss an opportunity to acknowledge their presence.
As Draco made his way downstairs and cross the greenery that was the grand gardens of his familial estate, everything was as it should be.
And as he stood at the archway, facing east, he felt in his bones that it was the finest of Wednesdays there ever was.
Suddenly, the crowd stood, and finally, Draco raised his gaze up, up, up, to lock with that of his lovely bride… whose smile graced him and lightened his heart like no other.
Today there were no bad omens. Not when there was so much light and goodness before him, keeping them at bay.