Chapter Text
Perhaps he had said too much. In fact he knows that he said too much.
Between his anger at the witch and the fact that with each word uttered he felt lighter, he had gone farther than he anticipated. He hadn’t expected that with each anger fueled confession he would feel…relieved? To have finally said it was one less burden, perhaps. Unburdening himself whilst burdening her. It seems as though he has not changed as much as he had hoped.
He feels quite regretful.
Mine?
What a bloody idiot.
It had just slipped out and there was no way to truly take it back. He was occluding and he hadn’t cared much of what the repercussions of his words might mean. Apathy in its most deadly form.
It seems he cannot outrun the possessive nature that plagues his family. Or perhaps it is just him. Perhaps, after losing so much he feels inclined to latch onto anything he wishes to hold close.
He cringes as he remembers her panic stricken face. She had been so flushed, all of her skin red and irritated. But her face had lost all that color and her eyes had widened. His words and her reaction has played nonstop within his head. He cannot stop the waves of embarrassment and self loathing.
He had played it off as well as he could have.
He hates how his comparisons to Blaise, Pansy, and Theo made her shoulders slump in relief. How color returned to her cheeks on his admission. How by diminishing his own affections he had given her peace.
It seems so easy for her to maintain this chasm of distance even when they act so intimate. He is now faced with the very real possibility that she will hurt him. He had not thought it possible, but it seems she is quite capable of turning away. He thought himself to be the cold and distant part of their equation but he isn’t so sure now.
He quickly shutters those thoughts away, however. Any hurt feelings on his part are unimportant. He had been honest in his intentions. He did not tell her anything of his feelings to begin a relationship, but to make her understand the depths to which he cares about her wellbeing. He hopes his words were understood. He hopes that she may make this easier for everyone involved. Perhaps once she recuperates she will help them rather than fight them.
Previously he hadn’t divulged his rather pesky feelings about her because he did not want to lose what they already shared together. He cares little for that anymore. Let her cast him aside. At least she will be bloody alive. That is all he wants. His anger at her lying resurfaces with his flippant attitude. He is so very angry with her.
“Draco dear, will you please pass the sugar” His mother’s voice intones across from him, effectively breaking him out of his thoughts about pesky witches.
He slides the container over to her side of the table and watches her dip a spoonful of sugar into her tea. He cannot remember her ever taking her tea with sugar, seems odd to change after a lifetime of bitterness. He doesn’t have it in him to ask after the oddity.
It is a Tuesday night. Two days since Granger’s near death. He had spent any of his time not in classes at Theo’s home, reading any medical text Theo had not already poured over. That is where he should be right now, but he has since found that he needs his mother. A relatively unsettling revelation.
She looks beautiful as always. Her back is straight and her manners pristine. Her hair tied into a neat knot at the base of her skull, donning powder blue robes that make her eyes all the more striking. He slumps in his chair. Where she is poised he is resigned.
“You seem tired, my dragon. Is everything alright?” She asks him, her eyes dragging over his face.
“Quite, revising for NEWTs is all.” He takes a sip of his tea and does his best to withhold his grimace of disgust at the taste. Bloody Granger and her tea.
His mother nods her head and a wistful smile crosses her face.
“Yes, I do remember the stress of that final year quite well.” She takes a small sip of her tea before continuing. “Your father would visit on the weekends to help me, but I must confess we did not get much studying done. Young love is quite distracting at times.” She laughs softly. A demure kind of laugh that all pureblood women must practice in abundance in their young years.
Draco has to once again restrain a grimace. His father is a number of years older than his mother and he has to wonder what a twenty-six year old had in common with a seventeen year old. Apparently enough to visit her weekly and actually play the part of doting betrothed. Draco shivers slightly.
“Mother, I am not sure how many sons like to hear about how distracting their parents found each other,” he replies stiffly and she laughs again.
“I apologize dear, I have become sentimental in recent months. So much to look back on as my years grow.”
He observes her from his place across from her. She seems to be in an odd mood, though he does not have much of a baseline for her normal. With the war and then her later withdrawal, he finds he’s not sure what his mother’s true personality looks like. At least not without the rose colored glasses of childhood innocence making him see things that were probably never there.
“Where is father?”
His father is notably absent, though the aurors remain within the house. Without his father’s presence however, the men have left them to convene alone. Their conversation is, hopefully, private.
She sighs, even that is a mannerism that exceeds the bounds of etiquette. She must be heavily burdened.
“He has retired for the night, today was a trying day.” He raises his eyebrows but she does not explain any further.
“Not that I do not love the company, but why did you want to see me?”
She is rarely so blunt. Usually she dances around an issue, taking what she can through charm and delicate cleverness. No one would see her intentions for what they are. It is what makes his mother so dangerous in society. Though that matters little these days.
He sighs heavily and he knows that the action nudges her rules of manners. If she is thinking such thoughts she keeps them to herself.
“I have a few questions. I fear they may be indelicate and you will be quite reticent to answer.”
“If you believe this to be true, why come here to begin with?” She smiles warmly at him, as though she finds his approach endearing. It makes his skin itch.
“I should like to gain a better understanding of your sister. What Bella was like when she was young. What motivated a mind as mad as hers. You are perhaps the only one living with such knowledge.” He says the words evenly, not betraying the inner turmoil he feels.
He knows what bringing up her sister will mean for his mother. Pain, likely. Suspicion, even more likely.
Her face goes rigid, cold. She employs glass in her use of occlumency. An unusual visualization but effective nonetheless. She allows her thoughts to be reflected within walls of clear glass, granting her the ability to manipulate what is shown. It gives her the illusion of transparency, but in actuality she is quite possibly the strongest occlumens living in this time. She spins fantasies and crafts lies. Mirrors reflecting images in disarray that befuddle the mind of anyone that dares enter. Even weaving false realities that look as though they belong within the chaos.
He imagines that it is an uncomfortable place to live within, lying even to herself. Black madness is not so easily avoided it seems.
“Why would you ever desire such a thing? The dead belong in the earth, Draco.” Her tone is as scathing as she will ever allow it.
Barely touching the line of shrill. He finds he prefers more blatant expressions of passion. Granger’s ire is always known, easy to read. Even more easily understood. His mother’s is shrouded in restraint. It irks him.
“I do not disagree with you but speaking about the witch will surely not resurrect her.” He says with a wry grin.
He knows how deeply she despises being thought of as foolish, though she uses that exact expectation to fool those around her.
“Words breathe life into things that belong better left unsaid.” She replies simply, her poise returning.
“Please, mother.”
The last time he said those words were in an alcove outside of the manor drawing room. Awaiting him inside was the Dark Lord and a mark that he would never be rid of. He can tell she remembers the words by the blood leaving her face. Pain entering her eyes regardless of the glass she is made from. He knows it is unfair but he muscles forwards, giving her a relentless stare.
Her nostrils flare minutely but her eyes soften the more she looks at him. Her resignation follows as she looks deeply into her cup of tea.
“Most people do not remember this about Bella but she was terribly funny. A slightly twisted sense of humor that was never really encouraged by our parents, but funny nonetheless. Our father would go to her purposefully when he needed to smile. She made it look so easy, witty and clever. Sometimes a little mean as it was often at the expense of others. I can barely remember it. It feels as though it's been a lifetime since those unburdened times.” She smiles distantly and Draco frowns.
“She was an odd child. I know little of her younger years as I was too young myself, but I know that she did not connect with my parents as a child might. She was independent. She rarely cried. She lived mostly in her own world.” She says quickly, though her articulation remains immaculate. Always perfect.
“Our teenage years were actually quite fun. She was somewhat of a rebel. Drinking and staying out all night with her friends from school. I believe this rebelliousness is what brought her and Andromeda so close. They enjoyed going against our parents and their expectations. Andromeda just went farther than Bella ever thought was appropriate.”
He nods his head slightly in understanding, hanging onto her words with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm. He tilts his head for her to continue as she takes another delicate sip of tea.
“Bella was a notorious bully in school. Her classmates feared her and any retribution she thought warranted. Still, what I remember most was her humor. She was confident and incredibly powerful. Strong willed in ways that our father could never truly look past. But by gods, he loved her the most. Her marriage arrangement to Lestrange broke that relationship, probably the only heartbreak in her life she ever felt. Barring the one of her unreturned affections for the Dark Lord and perhaps when Dromeda married Edward as well.”
Draco is surprised by her easy mention of the muggle born man. For some reason he thought that she would never speak the name. Perhaps referring to him as a mudblood.
“Bella was not unloved. She was not a lonely child. She was just a powerful witch who wished for people to see that. The Dark Lord did that and more.”
“Are you giving the woman excuses?”
“No.” She cuts out, sending him a piercing look. “You wish to know her motivations, I am giving them to you.”
He nods his head and gestures for her to continue.
“Prior to her sentence in Azkaban-”
“You mean prior to her torturing two parents into insanity.”
“Draco.”
“Go on.”
“Prior to this she showed up to the manor. She wanted to meet you. She was always so busy doing gods knows what with her Lord that she hadn’t seen you yet. There was nothing there. No love. No affection. That is when I lost her or at least when I realized I had. She lost any tether to familial understanding or compassion or empathy. Drenched in dark magic and promises that she would be able to prove herself. Prove to the world that she was so much more than just a pureblood wife. When she returned from Azkaban her mind was gone, just the single minded focus of pleasing her lord. That was all that was left in her.”
They descend into silence and he is disappointed to learn that his interrogation did not enlighten him any further as to what his aunt could have possibly done to Granger. He knew he was grasping for invisible straws but Granger had once talked about muggle investigators whose sole purpose was to outline a phycological profile for people suspected of vicious crimes. The way she spoke of it alluded to how much help it lends in investigations.
He wants to understand Bella. Allowing him insight in the harm she caused Granger. It now just feels like a long shot. Bella was unhinged. A sad woman who allowed her insecurities and desires for power to rule over her mind. Who allowed dark magic to adle her far past recognition.
“She never wanted a family like me or Andromeda. I’m sure she thought herself above such baser human instinct. But I always thought she cared for the family she had. I don’t think she ever did.” His mother looks distantly at a speck of sugar maring the pristine white tablecloth covering the table. He feels slight guilt making her revisit what is likely a heart wrenching realization.
“So she wanted power. That was all?”
“She truly was a powerful witch. Clever and she always had the ability to lead. When my father deigned to marry her off I think she realized just how hard she was going to have to work for people to see that instead of the pureblood wife she had become. She wanted attention and notoriety. She was always a bit vain. She garnered admiration from her looks and her name and once she left school she wanted more. She wanted to be known for her magic and cleverness. For her ability to stand over the rest of our society. To be the best. She never got it, followed by twelve long years with her worst memories and she became bitter and violent. She craved people's pain. I fear it was because of her own pain.”
“You think she hurt people to reflect her own pain? To make others feel what she felt?”
“I would not be surprised.”
Silence smothers the room and Draco gets lost in his thoughts. What pain would Bellatrix inflict on a lowly muggleborn that would reflect her own pain?
The two had mostly drained their tea before Draco deigned to speak again.
“The blade. The one she would carry with her. Do you know it's properties? The intent behind its curse?”
She gives him a long observing look, her eyes narrowing just slightly.
“The Granger girl.”
His muscles grow rigid with her words and he feels resignation settle deeply in his bones. He should have known he was being too obvious in his questions. Little got past his mother, and this was no exception. He is surprised she even knows her name but at least she didn’t call her a mudblood.
“The blade?”
“Its goblin wrought steel, impregnated with a curse to stop healing. A Black relic intended for the wounds inflicted to scar. That is all. My father gifted it to her upon her engagement. A wish for goodwill and forgiveness.” She replies easily, though she is watching him carefully for his reaction.
“Nothing else? No other curses within it to increase pain or longevity of sensation?” Her eyes narrow further.
“Not longevity, although the blade is meant to increase pain to the wound at the time of infliction. Ms. Granger was likely in a great deal of pain at the time, but it should not be ailing her now.”
He sighs and feels that recurrent hopelessness resurface.
“This is about the girl.” It is not a question.
He does not respond, only pours the two of them more tea.
“I think of her often.” She says, leaning forward and taking the cup in her hands. She does not add sugar. Draco looks at her suspiciously, a question in his brows.
“She was just a girl and it lent to my more motherly instincts. I had meant to provide comfort for her, I figured she had a mother out there who would have done the same for you, if the situation were reversed. I had tried to give her some comfort in what I thought were her last moments. Legilimency meant to shield her, at least marginally, from the pain.”
He frowns then as he looks upon his mother. She is far away, looking towards the table, her words removed and toneless.
“What I found was curious. Her occlumency held strong, even amidst the worst of the torment. It shouldn’t have been possible. No one can hold that structural fortification while suffering everything she suffered. But the longer I spent within her mind the more I realized that it wasn’t her inherent magic protecting her mind, but the magic of everything and everyone around her. Even the ancestral magic of the Malfoy estate lent itself. As though it had a mind of its own. I know the signature of that magic after so long in the manor, sifting through its secrets.”
“Mother, wh-” He cuts himself off, not knowing what he would like to say. To hear that she had a modicum of empathy, enough to at least try to help Granger gives him immense relief.
“It was probable that at that moment I finally and truly understood how fallacious our pureblood beliefs are. How could a muggleborn witch command magic as she was doing, without being cognizant to even realize she was doing it? For magic to wrap itself around someone in an embrace of protection? Our ancestral magic did not resist her manipulations. I have never felt so inferior, even when presented to the Dark Lord.”
“She has mentioned you. Said you were there when you were supposed to be here, with me.” He still doesn’t quite believe that his mother could have snuck away and back to the manor. He had been so paranoid, so fearful that the Dark Lord would show up at their door. With Theodore Nott Senior and Bellatrix Lestrange. He had fortified the existing wards of the estate with more protective magic, obsessively checking them and rechecking them.
“I am surprised she remembers. She was not very lucid.”
He frowns at his mother, annoyed that she was so very flippant with her own life. Even more so that she hid it from him.
“I-”
“I tried to heal her. I could do very little for the arm, as you know, or the scarring on her face. But I healed everything else. I do not think I will ever be able to forget how ruthless and cruel Bella had become in that last year. That girl barely looked alive.”
Draco closes his eyes and fights against the image of a bruised and battered Granger, his stomach churning viciously.
“Draco, why are you asking me these things?”
“Morbid curiosity.” He replies tonelessly, he feels so very tired.
“Is the girl alright?”
“Yes, perfectly fine. And her name is Hermione, in case you would ever wish to learn the name of the girl you watched get tortured.” He spits out vindictively.
She assesses him over in silence and purses her lips.
“Is she-”
“No, she is just a friend.” He cuts her off and she sputters at the disrespect. Malfoy children do not speak out of turn. She recollects herself rather quickly, and he is surprised when he does not receive any chastisement.
“I feel as though a parent should know when their child is lying. It shows how much I have failed for I truly have little idea if you are hiding the true nature of this relationship.” She says quietly and he feels guilt settle in his stomach.
He does not mean to make her feel inadequate, he just does not want to talk about Hermione bloody Granger with his mother of all people. She takes up enough space in his thoughts as it is, he does not need to explain all the complications as well. Narcissa Malfoy does not need to know because there is very little to know.
“I lied that last time we spoke. I have not met anyone at all. I just wanted to make you angry. Some belated rebellion if you will.”
She chuckles lightly. “I would not care either way. Although, she is in the papers often and her perchance to be painted as a woman after the hearts of the famous and rich is slightly disconcerting.”
“Skeeter is a vile woman and Granger seems to have garnered a certain amount of vengefulness from the witch.”
“I see and she has been able to look past your role in the war? Her time spent in the manor?”
He nods his head slightly, “She is perhaps too forgiving, however it certainly works in my favor. She is a caring friend.”
“It takes a great deal of caring and strength to show that amount of understanding.” He narrows his eyes at his mother’s statement. He is suspicious of the kind words.
“Do not look so surprised dear. I am not entirely heartless to see how others suffered in the war. I do not believe myself capable of that kind of forgiveness but I can appreciate when others show such strength of character.”
He is intrigued by her words. So many oddities.
Sugar in tea and forgiveness in war.
He nods his head in understanding and gives her a small smile.
“Speaking of forgiveness and my sisters, I have spoken with Andromeda in the last month. Even met little Edward, though Andy loathes how I call him that. Dear Teddy is quite an extraordinary boy.”
“You reconnected with Andromeda?” He repeats in disbelief. The two sisters have not spoken since Andromeda married Ted. Draco had thought they would never speak again, and suddenly the changes he notes in his mother make a little bit more sense.
She seems happier and looser. More understanding and receptive to his words.
“Yes, while it is among the more impulsive things I have done in quite a while, I find I do not regret it in the least. I have missed her, it seems. I did not realize it until I saw her just last week.”
“And you two are civil?” He asks unsurely.
“Yes, it will take time but I believe that I may have regained a sister that I thought I had pushed beyond reconciliation. She is among those that can forgive. She is receptive to building a relationship once again.”
“Well, then I am glad for you.” He says softly and he means it. With all the family she has lost, he is glad that perhaps she will be able to hold onto this last remaining piece.
A look of fierce determination flashes across his mothers face at that moment. Resolve and assuredness strengthening her posture just slightly. Unease settles over him.
“I want to make you a promise.” He raises an eyebrow at her proclamation but remains silent. A chance for her to explain herself.
“I will not disappear as I did. Ever again. I have done my grieving. Now I will be a mother.”
He huffs a humorless laugh but restrains himself from snorting. Her sentiment is unexpected and wholly unwanted.
“I have no need for your promises.” He responds shortly in the hopes of ending the conversation before it begins. He truly has no need for such assurances.
Perhaps he is being cruel in his disregard but there is a large amount of resentment he harbors for his mother and her behavior. Even if he does know that a certain amount of that resentment is concealing his guilt at the suffering she withstood during the war, it doesn’t stop him from voicing it.
“You may not need it but you deserve it. I am sorry for how I retreated. I left you and I am sorry. I am sorry that I am only now realizing the error in my behavior. I was selfish and was truly only thinking of myself. What I had lost. It felt easier at the time. To not face the reality of what we went through. Of being overcome with losing your fath-”
“Mother, I cannot listen to this. I do not want to listen to this.” He cuts her off but he had to stop her earnest apology. He cannot listen to her professing her guilt when a part of him does not want to forgive her.
“Andromeda lost her child and her husband. Looking upon her grief has given me perspective. An understanding that while I may be without my husband I still have you. I am deeply embarrassed that her grief is what made me realize this, but I intend to rectify my foolishness.”
Perspective. He could laugh. Pansy would feel quite disgusted at finding out that his mother has taken to preaching her mantra.
“And this means what exactly?”
She dips another spoonful of sugar into her tea, stirring it delicately. The sound of metal hitting porcelain ringing in his ears.
“It means that I apologize for my absence. I am your mother and I failed you in a disturbing number of ways. But I wish to prove to you now that I want to be in your life. I want to hear your thoughts and ideas. I want to know you, my son.”
His eyes widen slightly as he takes in her relatively unhinged monologue. She speaks fast and without her usual diction. Her articulation is not as crisp.
His mother’s tongue has always been cunning and quiet. Only speaking when her words would cut. Never has she rambled. Disturbingly, he thinks she is pleading.
“Mother? Are you alright?”
“Quite. My relationship with my sister is strained at best, but in the few times we’ve corresponded I’ve realized how much I have missed in my life. I resent her for everything she had that I never did.”
Draco allows silence to reign after her statement, hoping she would continue on.
“I was not particularly happy with my union with your father. Forgive me for voicing these thoughts. I am not ungrateful by any means for this marriage gave me you, and innumerable days of happiness and luxury. That does not, however, negate the fact that marriage was the eldest’s responsibility and Dromeda passed it on to me. I hated the idea and yet it became my responsibility. Still, Dromeda favored Bella, even with my sacrifice. Even when Bella threw her aside after she married Ted.”
“Bella killed her daughter and son-in-law. I do believe you may have gained some favor when you did not choose to murder her family.” Draco responds flippantly.
All he can muster is flippancy when her words burrow deep into his chest. He feels pity and pain. The resentment is not far behind.
He knows these things through whispers, but to hear her actual thoughts is sobering in a way. As though he is seeing the person instead of the vision. Perhaps he could actually know his mother, just as she wishes to know him. He supposes late is better than never.
“I am talking about before, Draco. Before Bella truly lost her head, they loved each other. As sisters do, and I was alone. And still, all the family burdens were afforded to me. Because they did not care for me as they should have. I was the do good child. Their assumptions were always that I would follow through with anything they were impartial to. Perhaps I allowed my resentment to that fact shape my family as well. I did not give you siblings because I never wanted you to know that same exclusion. But in doing so, I laid every burden of the Black’s and Malfoy’s at your feet.”
This is news to Draco. He always assumed that his mother chose to have one child purely because she had fulfilled her duty. She had done what was expected and that was all.
“Why are you telling me this?” He finally asks. Perhaps she hopes to explain away her inadequacies by telling him of her own childhood traumas.
She sighs and gives him a sad smile.
“Andromeda talks about her family with so much love. So much compassion. Before they were so cruelly ripped away from her they shared understanding and joy. Freely they lived. It made me realize that I have never given you that. That I don’t know my son at all. She tells me there is still time.” He is surprised to see Narcissa’s eyes grow glassy.
It is a humanizing image. He so rarely sees the woman display emotions so blatantly. It tugs something deep in his chest.
“Mother,” he reaches across the table and lays his hand atop hers. Still trembling with years of suffering the cruciatus. He tries not to think of those times as he looks her in the eye.
“You know me, you’ve known me since I was in nappies.”
“I do not.” Her tone is cutting with determination. “But I wish to. I hope that if I share more of myself, you will feel more comfortable doing the same.”
He chuckles to himself in sardonic amusement and when she looks at him questioningly he decides to enlighten her.
“Granger tells me that all Slytherins are the same. To only give when motivation calls for it. To only give when we want something in return. Double dealings. She tells me it's a rather unbecoming trait.”
His mother searches his features before a small smile graces her lips. “Miss. Granger seems quite astute in her observations.”
He raises an eyebrow in surprise but nods his head in agreement.
“And you are sure nothing is happening between the two o-”
“Once again, no. Perhaps I just want to show you how serious I am about renouncing prejudice. It is utter foolishness to think that that witch is less than most because of something out of her control. Even you yourself believe her to be singular in her use of magic.”
“I do not disagree with you, Draco. Truthfully I do not think I ever did. I just allowed for the people in my life to rule my mind and tongue. Strength of character is not something I possessed until recently, it seems.”
She changes the subject quickly, obviously in no mood to interpret his disgruntled expression at her honesty. He cannot control his resentment at how late in life she has managed to make these realizations. She was the parent. She was supposed to teach him right from wrong.
“Andromeda should like to meet you. Teddy is quite the fascinating child. Did you know he is a metamorphmagus? He is most amusing.”
“She would allow a death eater in her home? With her grandchild?”
“You are not a death eater.” Her tone is clipped.
“This would beg to differ.” He says rolling the sleeve of his oxford up to his elbow. She stares at the exposed flesh. The black mark stark against his skin. She does not look away.
“Andromeda is far more practiced in nuance than she was as a teenager. She knows not everything is as it seems. She will not be prejudiced.”
“She has a right to be, no? With everything she has lost. No one would blame her.”
“She desires companionship after everything she has lost. She has the capacity for forgiveness. You deserve forgiveness more than most.”
He chuckles darkly at that but the more he thinks on the issue he understands that perhaps he desires that relationship. He never had much family to begin with. If she is open to such advances, who is he to refuse? And to refuse as punishment to himself will not help anyone.
He has learned a lot from watching Granger’s self imposed punishment. He now knows how pointless it is to hurt himself purely to hurt himself. If people are offering him understanding, who is he to say no?
He nods his head slightly in acquiescence and Narcissa smiles.
“I shall set up a meeting. I will owl you the details.”
They descend into an amicable silence, neither wishing to break up this newfound common ground. He feels relief in him as he watches her sip her tea purposefully. For so long he bore the weight of her unhappiness. Wishing he could do more to help her. Obviously she found a healing strategy in the place of familial reconnection. It makes him grateful that he no longer had to worry that she would one day wander into the darkest parts of her mind. She was trying and that is all he ever wanted.
He wonders how his father has taken such action. Surely he is unhappy to be associated with what he deems blood traitors.
“How is father?” He decides to muddle the waters. Curiosity at its detriment.
She closes her eyes, and takes a deep breath.
“Mad.” It is so very unlike her to speak poorly of the man she married and it is in that moment that Draco understands how far gone his father truly is.
“And our dear minister still thinks it prudent to have released him?” Draco is still very resentful of the minister. He took advantage of Granger. A war heroine who was lost and vulnerable. Essentially threatening imprisonment for support. He would happily end the man's career.
“Seems so.”
“Mother.”
“Do not worry yourself dear. I have it well in hand.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have decided to divorce him.”
Draco feels the earth shift beneath his feet. His eyes widen and he looks upon the women in front of him with a new lens. She stares back steadfast and a small smirk crosses her features.
“My dear, I have played my part long enough. It is time for the world to see the true claws of a Black witch.”
“Mother.”
“You will call me mom from here on out. I demand it actually.”
Confusion settles over him at her abrupt change in topic. He ignores it.
“How?”
“As it happens, It is quite easy to divorce an incarcerated wizard. I will officially be a Black once more in a few months time. I will take control of all his assets that weren’t already entrusted to you. Speaking of which, I should like to have control of yours as well. You have done an admirable job of overlooking things in the last few weeks but it was never a responsibility you wanted so soon. Let me take care of things while you are in school.”
“You do not have to do that. I am happy to oversee-”
“I want it, Draco. I have some plans I should like to endeavor with.”
“Oh?”
“I have decided to cleanse the Malfoy and Black names. It is time to progress. It is time to shed that darkness of the past.”
“What will happen to father?”
“I will continue to take care of him. I made a promise when I married him and I do not plan to break that oath. However, I no longer wish for his name.”
“Are you safe here?”
“As long as the aurors stay, yes.”
“And if they were to leave?”
“Then I will take him to St Mungos.”
She says it so easily. Long past any stage of pain or grief. He’s glad for it.
“Does he know?”
“He is aware, and certainly resentful. The man may very well hate me but in his lucid moments, he understands. He has only ever wished me happiness.”
Draco doesn’t quite know what to say to her statement. Mostly because he does not believe her, but if what she says is true then perhaps he had no idea the inner workings of his parents' marriage.
“He has started to look into the marriage market for you dear. He has found several suitable young women.” She says it quietly and looks down at the tea cake on her plate.
“Is that a threat or a warning?”
A deep breath follows. “A warning.”
“I don’t understand why you are so worried. He cannot draft such agreements. Why should I care.”
“Because I know the weight of a parent's expectation. Just know that I will not be holding you to any of his plans. He is very insistent, but mad all the same.”
“Why marriage? What does he care?”
“He fears that he has lost control. I no longer answer to him, and neither do you. I think that he wishes for an heir to transcribe his beliefs onto once again. He wishes for an heir that he can set into the ministers seat, so that Malfoy’s may once again have power. He has not learned. He lost his Lord, so he wishes for his progeny to enforce the prestigious name of Malfoy. He speaks of a world where wizards reign, where muggles fall, and where muggleborns serve. Where the name Malfoy stands above it all. Madness but I fear that he has always held this dream, now he just does not have the ability to quiet his thoughts.”
She sounds tired and a smirk crosses her lips.
“How can he still think like this?” Draco asks in exasperation. After everything the Dark Lord put them through in the name of this very dream.
“It is my belief that Azkaban and the dementors whittled away at everything except this singleminded focus. Like Bella. Not only that but he says that he could speak with his neighbors. They all say the same things. We have just pressed a whole sector of our society into the walls of a prison, to brood over their plans. Then allowed them to leave. Shacklebolt is, truthfully, blind to what may be brewing. Discontent amongst these families, while I do not agree with the power we hold, can only mean another war. Whether it be now, or another eleven years.”
“The Death Eaters still free. They left. Fled. They would never be able to amass a following when they are still so fearful.”
“Don’t be so sure they left for good. Wounded men have done sillier things. Pride is an ailment that may just be the downfall for the Wizarding World. All it would take is another mad man with the magical ability to rival Voldemorts and we will descend back into a fight for power.”
Draco could scream with the stupidity of his own sex. It is all just better left alone. Why does nobody want to live happily in blissful unawareness?
He is suddenly ripped from his thoughts and transported to another place entirely. A small cottage. On top of a mountain. Warm sun and green grass. Brown eyes and curly hair.
He knows now. The future he wants. He wants to live blissfully unaware with the witch who deserves that more than anyone he knows. He wants to run. To hide from any of these future problems. Oh how desperately he wants this, and not only for himself. But to give her that peace as well.
He can almost feel the sun on his skin. That is how viscerally he desires such a thing. He can picture how she would look in a bright sundress, her skin darkened by the sun's relentless embrace. Freckles standing in dark contrast. He would trace them. All of them. Count and recount.
Damn her and fantasies that will never come to pass.
He finishes his tea and bids his mother farewell on that ominous note. He believes her. Of course he does. But he cares little for the ambitions of small minded men who wish to rule the world.
It is not common for him to submit to violent thoughts. But he feels pleasure from envisioning killing every last one. Using his hands to keep them all from breathing the same air as Hermione Granger.
Never again will she have to bear the weight of fighting for what is right. She will not have to because he will do it for her.
He will be her sword against the evil that plagues them all. And he will enjoy it.
—
“So you have nothing?”
“Essentially.” Draco says in resigned frustration. Bellatrix Lestrange is still a mystery and he should have known better than to try to unearth the secrets of a dead witch.
He allows his eyes to trace the rise and fall of Granger's chest as she sleeps. It is late. She has been sleeping on and off for days now. Theo says it is to be expected.
Draco despises it.
Theo is currently trying new diagnostic charms, varying shades of light throwing the room into blues and reds. Her arm being the sole focus of his research and experimentation. An open book on the bed next to her.
Theo groans and throws his wand to the side, the room falling into darkness around them. Draco takes pity on the man and lights candles throughout the room with a nonverbal flick of his wrist.
“Not one diagnostic shows anything abnormal.” Theo says, rubbing his hands over his face.
He looks exhausted. Purple shadows under red and watery eyes.
“Go to sleep, Theo. You’re no good tired.”
“Hypocritical, wouldn’t you say?” Theo responds dryly, giving him a pointed look.
Draco shrugs his shoulders but does not respond.
“How’s Cissa?” Theo questions in lieu of changing the subject from both of their lack of sleep.
“Better, much better.” He says shortly, Theo nods.
The man will likely never admit it but Narcissa Malfoy is the closest thing he has to a mother. She is not warm or overly affectionate, but she was still a consistent feminine presence in his life that was otherwise lacking. Draco knows he cares about her.
He nods his head in acknowledgment and flicks the page of his book, eyes scanning quickly.
“And your father?” He questions absentmindedly.
“Getting divorced.”
This gets Theo’s attention as his head jerks up, a look of surprise in his features.
“Truthfully?”
“Quite.” A sneer crosses Theo’s face and Draco cannot help but return the sentiment.
“I will have to congratulate Narcissa myself. Perhaps, a gift basket. She always did like Treacle.”
Draco scoffs at the idea but nods his head anyways.
Granger jerks slightly in her sleep and both men's attentions return to her. Her nose is scrunched, creating lines in her forehead. Draco would think it adorable if he didn’t know that she was having yet another nightmare.
A recurring trend in the few days since her entire ordeal. Her sleep was continually interrupted by what, he does not know, but Theo insists that it is impeding her healing. Slowing it down.
He feels the room around him plummet in temperature.
“Bloody hell,” he groans before summoning a calming draught and placing it at her lips. He tilts it back and he has to restrain a shiver as he remembers doing this very action just under different circumstances.
Or maybe similar circumstances.
Her features relax, and her lips part as she falls back into a heavy undisturbed sleep.
“She is highly resistant to falling asleep, I’ve noticed.” Theo says and Draco has to agree.
Any time she does wake she fights against falling back asleep. Even when her eyelids droop and breathing slows.
“Well obviously it is not very restful.” Draco says resentfully.
“I asked her what she dreams about and she said she can’t remember. She just remembers the feeling of being trapped.”
“And you believe her?” Draco responds in disbelief.
He finds that he is very distrustful of anything she says recently, though she insists she is being truthful. Theo shrugs his shoulders.
“How’s daddy dearest?” Theo changes the subject.
“Planning a government takeover with my child as the forefront.”
Theo huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “You have to admire the consistency.”
“Mother seems to believe that he is not the only one. We have a prison full of people intent on the same thing that our Minister has deemed beneficial to release. As well as people who were never caught, just waiting for an opportunity.”
“Considering the discontent I fear that it is not entirely unlikely.”
“Mother agrees with you.”
“Who would have thought that if it were to happen again, we would be on the right side this time.” Theo says thoughtfully.
“We are going to have to trail behind these bloody heroes and make sure they do not kill themselves.”
“Not a small feat at all.”
Draco picks up the book on the bed and flips a few pages finding a diagnostic charm specific for the health of the kidney’s. He follows the wand movements and a bright yellow light infuses the space. He had gotten quite a bit better at the nuanced movements required of healing magic.
The diagnostic was reading fine. Healthy even. Just as every one before had as well. He is disgusted with himself as of late because with every diagnostic that they cast he is hoping to see something. Anything.
He is actively wishing for a reading to come back negative in some way as if he is wishing her illness. It feels wrong but he cannot help it. This in between space of not knowing what is wrong while still knowing something is wrong is uncomfortable at best.
He flicks his wand and summons a plush chair beside Granger’s bed as Theo was in the one he usually resides in.
“Go to bed, Theo. There is nothing left to do tonight.”
“Hopefully she will be strong enough tomorrow for classes. If not I may feel it beneficial to take her to Poppy.”
“You’re not worried about the ministry?”
“Why would I need to be worried? Mi just fell in the lake and hasn’t quite recovered yet. We are all just very worried.” Theo says easily and Draco scoffs.
“Yes of course, how could I have forgotten.”
Theo stands to his feet and collects a few books laying at his feet.
“Goodnight mate, try to get some sleep.” Theo whispers and disappears from the room.
As soon as the door popped shut Dotty appeared beside him. No words were said at the elf climbed onto the bed and settled next to Granger, taking her hand and placing it in both of her small hands.
A normal event the past few nights. The elf wouldn’t leave the girl alone. When she was awake Dotty would bring her every kind of food she could ever want, and never ending cups of tea. When she was asleep and Theo wasn’t working, she would stay next to her in bed.
Draco and an elf sitting vigil through the long hours of the night.
Pathetic.