A/n: Written for Round 8 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition! Thanks to my beta lozipozivanillabean!

Optional Prompt 1: #1. Sentence: The clock on the wall seems to be ticking backwards.

Optional Prompt 2: #9. Good as gold

Draco walked down the long line of paintings, staring into the faces of his belittling ancestors. With the war finally over, he had the enormous Manor to himself. His parents were still waiting for their trials and the Death Eaters were scarce. It was a rather lonesome place to spend his time.

Considering that he currently didn't have any real friends, he spent his time wandering the Manor alone. Anyone he might actually consider a friend had either fled the country, died during the war or was still waiting for their trial. The world was rather empty for him. Even the company of his blasted, racist ancestors was better than that of living people. He preferred to wander among them, taking their cruel remarks and rough words over people in the real world, who turned their noses up at him. It was so hard for the living to forget that he fought for Voldemort, and for the dead to accept that he didn't stay with the losing side in the end.

Life wasn't so great for the young blonde anymore. He'd just become an adult and now he had to hide away in his home until the joys of defeating the Dark Lord had died down and he could try to enter into society again. He wasn't sure that he could take all the hate anymore. His confidence was low, and his determination even lower. Draco Malfoy was shrinking inside himself, losing the cocky person he'd always been known to be.

War often had that effect on people. He continued to wander down the hallway, looking straight ahead instead of at the disapproving eyes of those around him. Ancestors looked down on the young Malfoy as though he was no better than a Mudblood, dirtying the halls by being there. But deep down Draco knew why he was being shunned; he couldn't muster up the courage to kill.

In the Malfoy family, you're expected to kill. His mother's side upheld the same expectations, earning a few of her legendary family members a spot in the Manor as well. Their pictures sat around his ancestors, sorted by death dates, looking on at him with the same disapproving eyes. Even in his own home he couldn't find comfort.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," drawled one voice as he passed by. Draco halted, glancing at the portrait that bothered to utter a word his way. And it wasn't a profanity either.

"I see you're finally looking around you instead of at the dismal path ahead," she continued, giving the boy a stern look. "Isn't there a saying that Malfoy men are supposed to always be cocky and arrogant?"

"No," Draco snapped, glancing at the name on the portrait. He usually didn't bother looking at his mother's ancestors.

Cassiopeia Black. Ah yes, the maiden who had a soft spot for his disowned, distant cousin Sirius. Occasionally his mother would utter her name, back before Voldemort came back into the picture.

"I see that you don't take too much care learning about your relatives," she chirped, noticing when he glanced down at her name. "I might not have known your mother very well or for very long, but I at least expected you to be a bit more up-to-date on your heritage. I am part of the noble house of Black after all."

"Your picture only moved into the Manor a few years after I was born. Don't hold yourself up so high, when you used to reside in that crumbling little building where your ancestral tree now lies. You were moved here out of respect to my mother. Show me some as well."

"Touchy," Cassiopeia said, arching an eyebrow. "To think that I actually thought you would be a distinguished young man at your age. My mistake."

"Yes, your mistake."

"Remember young Draco, I have not been dead that long. This painting arrived before my death, which I thereafter took up as my final resting place. I was here during the war, just like all the others living on this wall, watching how you shamed your family."

"Oh yes I know," he snapped bitterly, balling up his hands. "You see me as a failure, a coward, a fraud and a blemish to the Malfoy name because I couldn't kill the old man! And I wouldn't kill Granger, or Potter, or Weasley or even identify them when they were sitting right here in this very building. I've heard it all before, so just save it!"

"My, you do like to jump to rash decisions, don't you? Remember my dear boy; I am not of the same vile blood as your Aunt Bellatrix. I am more like Andromeda than you will ever understand."

"What does that matter? She's dead, and she'll never receive the honour of hanging in this hall!"

"But is this an honour Draco Malfoy, or a curse? No one ever asked me if I wished to hang for eternity in a home where so much blood was spilt."

"You're soft," he snapped.

"My heart isn't as black as my name," she replied airily, looking him in the eyes. "You would do well to remember that in the coming weeks as your parents face trial."

He set his jaw, turning away at that. Maybe it was better to speak to no one in the hallway and carry on all alone, being ignored by his true ancestors and ignoring those who tried to lecture him. Why would the dead ever have the right to lecture the living, especially when they led such empty lives?

Draco would not speak to that woman again.

"He's getting the kiss," she said, relaxing in her frame. "You should've seen it coming."

"Would you shut up!?"

"I always try speaking to you when you come down this hall. If you don't want to be bothered, you should just avoid this place. Yet you keep coming back, knowing that I'm going to speak."

"I don't have time to listen to your gibberish today," Draco snapped, pausing in front of her frame. "I'm going to pick up my mother soon."

"Yes, the woman who was let off from a trip to Azkaban prison for a kind heart in the end. Your father will never return from that place."

"I'm aware," he spat bitterly. "I figured that out this morning when I saw it on the front of the paper."

"It's such a shame that you have to receive such devastating information from a public source," Cassiopeia said knowingly. "One would think that the so-called Ministry would be a bit more considerate than that."

"Are you all knowing or something?"

She shook her head. "Nay, just insightful. I know what the others on this wall know. And I know how you feel based off of your expressions."

"Well, stop that," he snapped, moving to pass by. "I don't need any more advice from you."

"If you only offered the woman forgiveness, perhaps you wouldn't be such an outcast now."

"Shut up!"

His responses were lame and boring, something she never believed that man to be. But Cassiopeia knew that he wasn't adjusting to life as he should. The admiration that he was used to had disappeared, because of his social stature, and his favoritism in the public eye only continued to decline because he spat venomous words at a young woman who was able to forgive him in the end, a young woman that might just hate him more than anyone.

And from her place on the wall she'd seen the day's events wear him down more and more as hours passed. For her relative Draco, the clock on the wall seemed to be ticking backwards. All the time he needed couldn't be obtained, and he kept mistaking the days. She suspected that it was all due to his lack of adventuring into the outside world, but the man would never listen to reason. He received his father's less than favorable stubbornness.

And as a Black, not a Malfoy, she had very low opinions on Lucius. He was a blemish to the Black line, foul-play from the moment Narcissa married him. In her opinion they couldn't be any less suited for one another, and she told the woman that time and time again before her death. There was nothing favourable about marrying Lucius Malfoy with a war brewing. Those men were known to tangle themselves up in dangerous matters, looking for power above common sense. Maybe if the bull-headed Lucius had listened to her warnings before she died, he wouldn't be in such a predicament now. But he wouldn't listen, and in the end she knew it would cost him.

Now it cost his son too. The youngest Malfoy-Black child would be left to reconstruct a business, keep a fortune alive, and somehow keep the infamous Malfoy Manor from falling into utter disrepair. From the looks of that lonesome hall she could tell that he had a lot of work ahead of him. And if the rumours were true, Narcissa had taken a turn for the worse while in prison. Ill, but not insane, the blonde would likely end up spending every ounce of free-time he had trying to keep her going.

She blamed Lucius for Narcissa's condition too. He seemed to drag everyone down with him from his tumble from fame.

And of course, Draco was avoiding listening to anything practical. She hadn't seen him bring a friend in since, well, she was placed there, and he didn't seem to be getting better as the days went on. He was moody, grouchy, and snapping at prodigies like Hermione Granger who tried to say that she forgave him. It would leave yet another blemish on his already damaged image. Until he decided to pick himself up she didn't see things getting any better.

If these walls could talk, they would have a lot to say. And Cassiopeia just wanted to help him out, despite what he thought underneath it all. With so many snappy remarks and people out to get him, he didn't have much trust in the world anymore.

But these walls can talk, and they had something to say. Hopefully, before he hit rock bottom, he would listen to what she had to say.

"I did it," he said lamely, unhappily several weeks later. "I agreed with her."

"You mean you apologised to her for not helping her out," the woman said knowingly, remembering a talk they had some weeks ago. "And the Granger girl forgave you."

"Yes."

"And the public saw it?"

"Yes."

"And you're starting to receive orders for your products and stock?"

"Yes."

"I told you things would get better," Cassiopeia said, shaking her head. "You just need to believe it."

"You're quite possibly the cheekiest Black I've ever spoken with," he muttered, shaking his head at the portrait. "My mother wasn't ever this cheery or uplifting, and well Bella-"

"Bellatrix is a bad example of the Black family line," the portrait snapped, shaking her head. "Andromeda, Sirius, they are good examples of the black family."

"Sirius Black was convicted of murder and sentenced to Azkaban you know."

She only shook her head. "You didn't know him like I did, Draco. He was a very different man in his youth, and didn't have the makings of a hard-edged killer. Misinterpretation can ruin any good man's image. Just like people have belittled yours."

The blonde cringed at her words. "No one suspected anything less of me. I'm a coward who hid from the world, moped, and I nearly lost my mother in the process."

"But she's at St. Mungo's now, getting the help she needs. You wouldn't let her slip through the cracks."

"Yes, but now she's constantly on potions and I rarely get to see her. They keep going on and on about how her condition needs to get better."

"Isn't that what you want?"

"Yes, but I also want to be able to see her."

"You will," Cassiopeia said knowingly. "Overtime she'll get better. What you need to do now is stop holing yourself up in this place and start actually trying to interact with people again. I have a feeling your friend Blaise must miss you."

"I owl him occasionally. He knows that I'm still alive."

"That's not what I mean," she said, shaking her head. "So you've started to straighten out your life now that your father is gone, that's all very good. What you need to worry about doing next is actually stepping back into real life and trying to be a normal adult."

"I'm quite content here. There are plenty of things that need to be attended to."

"And there are things outside of the Manor that can be worked on as well." She shook her head again, leaning back in her frame. "You're as good as gold now Draco; you've straightened your life out and you have the finances to do pretty much whatever you want to. Your mother will get better with time. You're not subjected to leading such a dismal life forever."

"I'm aware."

"Then why do you?"

He shrugged. "Safety comes with not pushing your limits. I'll get there one step at a time."

"Where? To returning to your former self, or gravitating to another lifestyle where you don't spend the majority of your time hiding?"

The blonde shrugged. "Cassiopeia, I don't know. I'm still getting used to my life."

"More and more each day?"

"Yes."

She smiled, nodding her head towards him just a hair. "Then there is hope for you yet. Perhaps you're not the lost cause you're father became."

"I'm nothing like my father," he retorted, eyes drawing together. "I'd be grateful if you didn't associate me with him either."

"It's hard to not associate a father and son in some way, shape, or form."

"Then try," he said, though his tone wasn't harsh for once. There was a lightness to it, one she'd never truly seen before. With a quick wink he turned and left, the portrait having nothing to say in his wake.

So the walls of Malfoy Manor could talk, and Draco Malfoy was finally heading their advice. Cassiopeia smiled, settling back in her frame. Maybe he could be just the thing to pull the Black and Malfoy lines out of the dirt. There's hope for him yet.

A/n: So, this story is okay but not my best. We'll see how it's taken. I couldn't wrap my head around Cassiopeia either because I didn't care too much about the character or because I've never heard of her until now. Hopefully the story did her a bit of justice. If you have anything to say on the story feel free to leave a review :) They help.