DREAMS OF GREY
By Mizuki
Prologue
The once beautiful gardens surrounding Malfoy Manor now looked gloomy and unkept. Draco watched them from his room, thinking that it was perhaps the saddest view he had ever seen. Or, at least, dangerously close to Dumbledore's broken body as he plead for his death, which was still definitely at the top of the list.
He closed his eyes, trying to fight the wave of unpleasant memories that always accosted him when he remembered some detail from the last two years. The two years that would be forever marked as Draco's brutal introduction into some sort of sick version of adulthood. Now that it was over and the Dark Mark on his arm had faded to a white, disgusting scar, he could finally breathe a sigh of relief.
The feeling was, unfortunately, short-lived. In a post-war wizarding world the Ministry of Magic, finally stripped of its bigotry, wasn't going to be fooled by money or connections and the Malfoys were to receive their punishment.
Draco turned back from the window and surveyed the room he'd occupied for all of his life. It was the last night he would spend here, as he would be moving to Hogwarts for the next couple of months. It was also the last night he would see his father for the next five years.
Surprisingly, it had been Potter – the golden boy of wizarding Britain – who had put his two Knuts into the Malfoy trials, ensuring that they would be fairly judged and providing inside information that cleared their names at least a little bit. Thanks to Scarhead his family would survive – scarred, yes, but whole all the same.
Lucius' lifelong Azkaban sentence had been reduced to five years, which he had received without any emotion and a silent acceptance. Narcissa, who had been terrified of the possibility of exile into the Muggle world, had almost wept with relief when her punishment was changed to a five-year-long house arrest. And, finally, Draco's ten years worth of imprisonment had surprisingly turned into an obligatory contribution to restoring whatever had been destroyed during the war. He was starting the next day with Hogwarts, which had lost some of its impressiveness after the last battle.
The Malfoy family also had to pay a horrendous fine which, according to the Daily Prophet, took half of their fortune. It was of course utter rubbish, as most of the Malfoy inheritance was carefully hidden from any records and probably exeeded many a person's imagination, but it was still a considerable sum.
Unsurprisingly, they hadn't complained.
The second Voldemort war had changed the goings inside of Malfoy Manor. Before, the three of them had lived in separate wings of the house, meeting occassionally and mostly only at meals. Yes, they had loved each other, but in that aristocratic, off-hand kind of way. The last two weeks, on the other hand, his parents slept in one of the rooms next to his, not once complaining about its inaccuracy when compared to the master bedroom. They had also spent most of those two weeks together in the drawing room, alternatively talking, reading or just sitting, enjoying each other's presence.
It was kind of tragic, in a sense, Draco supposed. This was the last time they would spend together for the next half of a decade. While he could visit or live with his mother without any problems, visits to Azkaban were generally restricted and the prisoners could only have one visitor at a time.
There was a sudden crack and a house elf Apparated in front of him.
'Master Lucius is wanting Master Draco at the dining parlor' it informed him, bowing so low that its nose touched the floor. Draco pushed himself away from the windowsill and wordlessly went to the door, ignoring the Disapparating elf. As he walked, his eyes roamed the poorly lit hallways, not stopping to look at his ancestors, glaring at him from their frames.
He'd always been immensely proud of his home. It was a magnificent, old and extremely rich building, almost screaming of the Malfoy pureblood heritage and old money. And now? What had it been reduced to? A symbol of evil, the Headquarters of the Dark Lord, nothing more than an icon of his tyranny and terror. Every room was in some way tainted by his presence, every corridor held a sign of the Malfoys' ultimate humiliation.
Draco, with considerable difficulty, suppressed the rage that swelled inside of him. It was not the time to be thinking about it, really. He had all the time in the world to be furious with his life, but now was not the right moment.
He entered the dining room, the very same that had been used by the Dark Lord as a meeting place. It took all of his will-power not to glance upwards, at the ceiling that had been countlessly used as a hanger for victims. It had been Aunt Bellatrix' idea – a particularly amusing one, according to the Dark Lord, although Draco could never quite see its hidden beauty.
His parents were seated at the table, engaged in conversation. Upon his entrance they looked up and smiled at him. Draco suspected that he would never grow accustomed to the change it brought to his father's face. He looked not imposing and intimidating, but pleasant and handsome and it made Draco's chest clench at the thought that as of tomorrow he would be confined to that dreadful island.
'Sit down, Draco' his mother said warmly. 'We waited for you to begin.'
He obeyed and the house elves immediatelly provided them with a fancy dinner. They ate in silence, enjoying the wonderful meal. It was during second course when the quiet was disturbed by Narcissa's sudden cry.
Draco's eyes snapped to his mother and, to his horror, he saw that she had dropped her fork and was now holding back sobs. Her beautiful face was marred by a grimace of grief and tears were streaming down her cheeks.
'Cissy?' his father asked tentatively.
His wife's sobs became louder and she put her hands over her mouth in a desperate try to appear more dignified. Draco watched as she slowly fell apart, hiccoughing and hyperventilating into her husband's shoulder, who had moved from his chair and pulled her into an embrace.
His eyes were stinging and he felt as if he shouldn't be witnessing this intimate scene between his parents, but he couldn't look away. He clenched his hands around the silver fork and knife, holding onto them in a vain attempt to keep from being a wimp. Despite his best efforts, though, a couple of tears escaped and fell. He didn't even bother wiping them away as he stared at his parents and thought that it would never be the same again.
The next morning, when the Aurors came to collect his father, none of the Malfoys showed any signs of emotion.
A/N: Hello there:D This is my first attempt at a HermioneDraco story, so please be gentle with me. I would really appreciate some constructive criticism and if you see any mistakes please inform me. I am Polish, therefore English is not my first language and I'm prone to linguistic imperfections xD
Edit: As of September 13th I have a beta - the wonderfully fast and efficient Kazfeist :)