August 30th, 1991

All four of us were dressed smart in our silver and plum robes. Underneath, Father and Draco were both in black three piece suits with their hair slicked back. Mother was wearing a prim and proper multi-toned black dress with well placed ruffles shaping her body and her hair was straight and framing her face. Everything about he screamed elegance. Meanwhile, I was a mix. Rather than a dress, I had closely tailored dress pants that narrowed at the ankles and a button up blouse with bishop sleeves that had ruffles lining the chest. All in a monochrome black. The only color aside from the robes was the silver harness that circled my waist several times and then wrapped in a halter top fashion around the back of my neck and shoulders. The only reason it was visible was that rather than wear my robes with my arms through the sleeves I had pushed the silver and plum robes back like a cape. My hair was half down and waved, and half up and braided into an intricate crown -courtesy of a charm from a book Mother gave.

Madame Athenion’s A Modern Witches Guide to Style. There were an obscene amount of charms for braids alone, and several more for maintaining a hairstyle against anything that would threaten it to come undone. Unfortunately, the incantations are rhymes that make me feel like a failed witch comedian. I take solace in the fact that the whole family uses the book, including Father.

Tonight is the last Governor’s Social before the new school year begins, and all twelve members of Hogwarts’ Board of Governors will be in attendance as well as several Ministry officials. Thus the Malfoys are going all out. As I looked them over I couldn’t help but think that we made a beautiful picture. I also couldn’t help but think of the suffering they will face. Father in Azkaban. Mother relying on Snape to keep our family together. And Draco. My twin. My annoying, spoiled, bigoted gnat of a brother. Draco, my brilliant, artistic, dramatic other half. If I am ice, he is fire.

It is at that moment, thirty-six hours before boarding the train to Hogwarts, that I truly settled on a path. I had been making vague plans for years, things that will help me down the line, but they were simply preparations. I had been avoiding making the final decision. But being in this over sized hall, dressed in matching robes, affection oozing out of us in our family way, I couldn’t deny the truth.

I would take on the mantle of villain if it meant they would never suffer.

Father is set in his beliefs, as is Mother, but perhaps I can have them buy in to some of mine. Or I can bear the blame. I can take their hate and funnel it through my own. I can stop it from ever touching Draco. I will take whatever place is prepared for him. I will eat the bitter so he can enjoy the sweet. And I can bear the mantle of Betrayer rather than Father and Mother. In elsewhere I knew their fates, and now I am prepared to change them.

I have already started Dobby on a different path. Perhaps I’ve altered my family’s as well.

“Let us go.” Father’s cold voice fills the hall and Mother ushers us to the fireplace. Soon enough we’re engulfed in green flames and walking out into a banquet hall -whose, I was too in my head to catch.

The warm golden brown paneled walls are decorated with magic plants that seemed to be dancing in tune to the classical music flooding the hall. Vibes dance around one another as the traverse the high ceiling, occasionally performing a mock battle that ends with one vine blooming flowers matching one of the four house colors. Most recently, a vine trumped another and bloomed yellow trumpet flowers. The hall was filled with several dozen people, some I recognized and some I didn’t.

Fortunately, it didn’t look like Crabbe and Goyle were around. While not a part of the board or ministry their fathers often popped up, how or why was lost on me because every time they did show up Father had more issues to deal with. Father had evaded Azkaban after the war by claiming he’d been imperioused -but Crabbe and Goyle got off due to an extremely good lawyer who hounded the Ministry about every detail. Draco, much like in elsewhere, had a tenuous friendship with the two -much to my annoyance. I had hoped I would be enough to replace the two minions, not that I would follow any order Draco felt he could give me, but it seems my role is simply to fold into their merry band.

In the far end of the hall was a round faced blonde boy nervously clutching his elbow. He looked about eleven, like Draco and I. I knew several prominent families were here -the Moons and Longbottoms both should be around the hall somewhere due to their role on the Board. Amos Diggory was invited last I heard, but who knows if he’ll pop up.

My eyes held on to the boy as Father greeted some others and Draco left to do… something. I wasn’t really paying attention. The boy just looked absolutely shaken to be on his own. In my head, I tied his features to what I knew from elsewhere but I knew some things were too vague to be used to identify a stranger. So, after greeting the older man my father introduced me to, I politely made my way to the boy.

I am not a fan of most people or things. But when I was in elsewhere I was drawn to those who persevered. My own life had come with steep hurdles to overcome and I had been forced to climb each mountain. If this boy was who I thought he was, he would have to face demons at every corner -my own brother counted as one of them.

As I got closer, I noticed the boy’s wide brown eyes weren’t the most prominent feature of his round cheeks -it was arguably that he had rather full lips that, when he had them scrunched up as he did now, made him look pouty. The rest of him was a nervous wreck, and his eyes never left a spot across the hall where two elderly witches, one of whom I recognized as Enid Longbottom, were chatting.

“Hello,” I didn’t exactly smile, but I was in socialite mode just as mother taught me. My voice was soft and my expression was more positive-neutral than it would otherwise be, and I held out my hand lightly, “I’m Medea. Medea Malfoy.”

It took the boy a moment to fully process my appearance, and an extra moment to take in that I’ve held out my hand. Almost in reflex he took my hand and shook it. He still didn’t speak as we pulled our hands apart.

“Should I guess?” My voice had an amused lilt to it despite its droll tone, “Maybe a Moon? No, they only have a daughter -can’t be you, though I’ve heard she’s our age, if you’re eleven. Can’t be a Carrow or a Rosier either - Carrow’s daughters are older and Rosier has dark complexions. No. One of Slughorn’s grandchildren?”

I paused my droll chatting as the boy opened his mouth, hopefully to tell me he is who I actually think he is. Instead he had several false starts.

“We’ll, I - You see - My grandmother is-“ After his stuttering I had to hold my tongue and remind myself that insults aren’t flung at strangers. Only enemies and friends. As if he can read my mind and it has physically assaulted him, he slumps in defeat, “I’m Neville Longbottom.”

Well, it is always nice to be right.

“Is Enid Longbottom your grandmother?” Though I’ve asked, the fact is I know she is not. And it’s rather irritating to have to pretend that I don’t know loads about this boy in front of me.

“Great-aunt, actually,” His voice is small and his body screams ‘I want to go unseen’, but that won’t do.

I rather liked Neville in the books. While I hadn’t been a fan of Tibble, I hadn’t quite disliked him either -that had come with my new life. But Neville was unlike Tibble in many ways -magic had not come easy to him, he had to fight for a spot in his house, he had to watch his utterly broken parents throughout his life. In much the way Tibble was pressured and intimidated into being muggle-like, Neville was abused to make him more wizard-like. Even now, I can see Enid Longbottom giving us her batty old glare. Though it is possible that is due to my presence.

Something needs to be done about her so Father can be elevated to the head of the board by next year. Whatever half-cocked scheme he’d come up with in elsewhere had worked, but if I owl Mother while I am at school I know we can improve it. Most of his ideas involve simply throwing money around and blackmail. Neither of which build loyalty, simply dependence. And if I am to have any chance of keeping my family from the Dark Lord, we need loyalties of our own that are beyond surface level.

“Old bat is right irritating anyway, probably best she isn’t your grandmother.” I nod shortly, forcing myself back into the present, “Is this the first time you’ve come to a social for the Board?”

“Yeah, my gran brought me along. She’s close with Great-Aunt Enid,” A furious blush overcame his face, “She wanted me meet other kids before the train to Hogwarts.”

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I nodded, “Well, if you need a carriage to sit it in I’ll likely be with my brother and his friends -but,” I slid my eyes around, catching sight of Draco across the hall, and lean in to whisper, “He’s a bit of a bastard.”

Just as he was about to say something else, a stern looking witch with grey hair interrupted by grasping Neville’s shoulder and pulling him away from me. Well, that’s a statement on where the Longbottoms stand.

“Neville, be mindful of yourself.” There was no mistaking the disdain in her voice as she looked down her nose at me, and the feeling was mutual. To most of the wizarding world, Father was a philanthropist with a bad attitude. But Augusta Longbottom had lost a son to the War and, despite his acquittal, thought Father to be the wrong sort. Too dark, too greedy, too Malfoy.

“You must be Mrs. Longbottom,” Ignoring her appraising look, I maintained Mother’s mask and held out my hand. A shining smile only ever looks predatory on me, so I settle for my positive-neutral expression, “I am Medea Malfoy. I’ll be starting Hogwarts this year, as well.”

“Ah, yes, one of Lucius and Narcissa’s,” To her credit, she does take my hand and politely shake it. She even does so without changing her expression.

In her shoes, I may have opted for a hex instead. Though it’s possible she’s not one to blame the child for the parents sin, I am not above such things.

“Come on, child, your aunt is missing you.” She doesn’t spare me another glance as she disengages but I hear Neville mutter something that could have been, ‘Missing me my foot’. I could be projecting, though.

With an internal huff and an external frown, I turn towards my brother. He is grabbing a drink and chatting with another boy, his face animated. Any other day, it would have lightened my mood. Today, however, it reminds me that Draco is malleable.

It’s possible my mere existence has helped keep him buffered from developing into a mini-Father. And the same could be said for Father, that by fighting back against him I have altered how he raised us. Draco is no longer forced to accept all of Fathers expectations, nor is he alone in his hardships. These thoughts keep me up at night, the uncertainty nibbling at the back of my mind.

It strikes me as ironic that by being born I’ve given Draco a reprieve that is now denied to me. I no longer have someone who can share in all that I am. In elsewhere, I was born as half a pair as well. A twin in both worlds.

-

“One day, I swear to Merlin, I will burn that hall down.”

“You’re just upset that woman -Longbossum, was it? Dragged her son away every time you tried to chat.”

“Longbottom, and it was her grandson,” I half-groaned into my pillow as I laid face down, “And it was only twice. If I’d known she would do it the second time I wouldn’t of even tried. Between that and Father dragging us around and re-introducing us as if we’re shown ponies, I’m exhausted.”

We’d taken off out outer robes and were lounging in our dress clothes only, Draco’s tie loosened and the top button of my blouse undone. We had set up in my room in our usual spots -me splayed across my bed and him leaning back into a fluffy chair with his legs propped up at the foot of the bed. Turning over to face my pitch black ceiling, I felt the eyes of my fairytale sketches following me.

“Coco.”

My voice was emotionless, nothing forced or inserted. I wasn’t wearing a mask. My steel eyes refusing to leave the darkness hovering above us.

“Yeah?”

Draco’s white-blonde hair had loosened after hours of being slicked back, and a few stray locks were hanging down giving him a ruffled looked. He was twirling a black pencil across his knuckles.

“Do we have to go to Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

Immediately I chucked a pillow in his general direction, “Prat.”

“What the bloody hell kind of question is that, anyway?” The words would be harsh if his tone didn’t match my own droll voice.

“Father wants us to make friends with that boy - the one -ugh, even thinking it hurts.” Rather than containing my disgust, I let it seep into my very core, “The Boy Who Lived.”

I heard Draco still, “Do you not want to?”

“Honestly?” I shifted my eyes to look at my brother, when he gave a short nod I shook my head, “I’d rather be hexed.”

He was silent for a long second.

“Ok.”

I immediately popped up to face him directly, my face a mix of shock and interest, “Ok?”

“We’ve got Crabbe and Goyle -and when they inevitably foul everything up, I’ll have you.” Draco’s expression was unreadable and I couldn’t help but be overcome with affection for my brother.

“What will we tell Father?” My voice was thick as I thought through what all this would mean, taking away one of the early villains meant to act as growth for Tibble.

For now, none of the implications mattered. If needed, I could step into that role. If he would do this, for me, I’d make a list.

“We’ll have until winter hols to come up with something,” Draco shrugged, “Not much Father can do from the Manor.”

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” I gawked at him, incredulous, “This is not my Coco.”

At that, Draco smiled and tilted his head up to the ceiling -a mirror image of me earlier.

“Merlin give me strength,” His eyes met mine once again, “Dea, you are the most calculating person I’ve ever met - and that includes Mother and Father.”

At my confusion, Draco snorted, “Whatever plan you’re concocting in that head of yours, share it with me sometime, yeah?”

I reached out my hands and leaned forward towards Draco, stretching as far I could get to him, “C’mere you lovable gnat! You know I’m a sucker for compliments.”

Draco recoiled in mock-disgust farther out of my reach, “Rather not catch whatever makes you act mental, thanks.”

“Oi - watch out or I’ll hex your sketchbook.”

“I’ll hex your stupid doodles to talk in rhymes.”

The portraits of legend all seem to count that as a direct affront and protest, but I have a truly visceral reaction.

“Oh Merlin, I already have a Seussel. If I had known what a headache he would be, I never would have commissioned him!” I scowled at the wall of jeering sketches, focusing on one noticeably silent man with an obnoxious bow tie. He was basically a more annoying Rumpelstiltskin in wizard tales. And we even had stories of Rumpelstiltskin! The brothers Grimm released their book of folklore to the muggles in the early 1800s - half a century after its original publication in wizarding society. Truly, when I picked the wizard Seussel, I thought he’d help with dark charms but all he seemed to do is recite rhyming re-coloring spells.

I paused for a moment, a wave of cold washing over me as my face falls, “I can’t take them all.”

“Why not? You have plenty of space in that monstrosity of a trunk.”

“They said they wouldn’t answer my questions if I locked them in the dark -but I don’t know if my dorm mates will be happy about having several dozen sketches staring at them while they sleep.”

“Does it matter what they want?” Draco scoffed, his bored voice colored in amusement, “You’re a Malfoy. Any Slytherin worth their mettle wouldn’t dare stop you.”

A predatory grin spread across my face, “Hey.”

“No.” Instantaneous, no hesitation, my brother shot me down.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” I half-huffed.

“You want me to hang up the male portraits in my dorm,” he made a wide gesture with his pencil before standing up, “They are unsettling. I won’t have them watching me when I sleep.”

Staring at my sketches I hummed to myself, “I have to pick my top ten. I’m sure no one will object if I keep them in my area.”

“Good luck with that, Medea. I’m knackered.” Draco went to give me a wave as he passed me on his way out but I caught him by the arm, biting the inside of my cheek so roughly I tasted blood.

“We leave for Hogwarts in two days,” I started, looking up at my brother with a silent question, “And tomorrow we’ll have to handle double checking our trunks and listening to final lectures.”

Draco used his free hand to ruffle my hair, “Fine.”

-

Eleven may be too old to share a bed with someone. Or too young, if that person is not blood related to you. But it isn’t as if we did this often. Neither of us were prone to nightmares, or fear the dark, but there is something to be said to spend hours talking utter nonsense to your twin until one of you dozed off mid-banter and the other gets to jinx them.

Last night it was me, and so, as punishment for a weak will, I woke up with sunflower yellow hair.

“My vengeance will not be painless,” I hissed into the ear of my sleeping brother, who at some point had left and changed into pajamas that matched my own. The warmth that filled me with did nothing to stop me from positioning my hands against his back, “Gnat.”

With a thump and a subsequent yelp, Draco rolled off my bed and landed face first on the floor.

“Time for brekkie, brother dearest,” I smiled vindictively down at him, rolling out of bed and easily rising to my feet.

As he shouted for me, I swiftly made myself scarce -all but running down the hall. If I wasn’t so dignified, I would have slid down the stair railing. But I am a Malfoy -a pureblood witch of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. So instead, I coasted down the railing. With dignity. And it was the exercising of that dignity that let me dodge a jinx my brother flung at me as he chased me down. Chased. How common. No elegance at all.

I rounded another corner, sliding on the marble floor and using the molding on the way to keep me from slipping, and found myself thanking Merlin for good genes. Malfoys were a naturally athletic bunch, I’ve found. Slim doesn’t always equate to agility or stamina, but in this case it certainly does. As I heard my brother rounding the corner behind me, I had shifted my entire countenance. I caught his eye as I transitioned back into my Malfoy mask, giving him a smirk as I turned to face the archway in front of me. The scowl on Draco’s face was almost as satisfying as breakfast was about to be.

“Medea Malfoy, what have you done to your hair?” My smirk fell and my shoulders slumped imperceptibly at Mothers voice.

“Nothing permanent, Mother,” I all but panted-I’d truly given my all to escape my barbaric brother, “But I felt it’d be a nice change for the morning.”

As I went to take my seat, I met Fathers eyes. They were ever so slightly crinkled, but his voice remained cold as he spoke, “So long as it is not red. We can’t have a Malfoy looking like a Weasley.”

“Never,” I said, matching his monotone, and grabbing a scone and jam, “Incorrigible. Truly, could never even dream it.”

Well, not until I learned to brew a poly juice potion.