This is for Prompt 5 for Weekly Challenge #6 for Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A year after the Battle of Hogwarts, Draco returns to Malfoy Manor for the first time since seeing the light.
—
He had tried to stay away.
Stay away from that cold, unfeeling building he called home for so many years. The place he lived in luxury, the best books, the most beautiful of musical instruments, the highest end of ivory and china sets, the most fascinating pets, etc. and yet felt he could not enjoy many of said luxuries. Oh, sure, he bragged of them plenty when he was at school. How could he not. A warm feeling always filled his chest at seeing looks of envy on others' faces.
Now he realized it was to convince himself that he was lucky to have all this.
The past year, Draco spent using a muggle thing called 'therapy'. It was Granger's idea and they ended up finding someone who was a squib and had a degree in psychology. She was booked every single hour of every single day by witches and wizards alike. People who were haunted by what they'd seen in the war and then people like Draco.
Call-me-Maria always listened and made little jokes about how easy it was for her to see all sides of the story when all of her clients knew each other. She never judged and had kind words to say, even when some scoffed at her being a squib.
Draco paused with his hand on the door. He was procrastinating his thoughts. Taking a deep breath, he pushed in the large, dark wash oak doors and looked around. Everything was covered in dust and if memory served him right there would be plenty of blood around too.
Maria said that he had been depressed starting around his fifth year. Apparently, living in a stuffy environment surrounded by parents who consistently spewed hate and pushed for upholding appearances was detrimental to a child's mental health. Paired with going to a school where three-quarters of the population was against your House well… that sort of toxic environment resulted in unchecked anger with no reliable outlet.
Draco's stomach churned as he remembered all the hateful words he spewed over the years, parroted from his father. It used to feel good seeing the envious looks on other's faces when he would flaunt his wealth but now it just left him embarrassed and repulsed. Fat load of good wealth did in the end. It didn't soothe his anxiety and the cold, uncaring environment. Show even the slightest bit of weakness would grant you a hex at the lightest.
Mother always babied him and he found out that she was the one who made Severus kill Dumbledore. If he were honest with himself (and he was learning how to be) he was grateful she did that. He didn't know what he'd do if that sort of blood was on his hands. There was enough red from all the standing by he did. Watching as people were tormented and murdered. Eaten by Nagini in front of everyone, most looking on with thinly veiled disgust and only Bellatrix and The Dark Lord looking on in delight. Nagini even ate every single one of their exotic pets. The peacock feathers were still set up in a pile. He'd have to take care of those.
Steeling his nerves, he forced himself to enter his childhood home. He had yet to decide if he would continue living here but at the very least he wanted to rid it of any memory of the Dark Lord's— Voldemort's evil deeds. Drawing his wand, Draco banished snake skins and bones, he used sparse cleaning charms on any surface and though it didn't help much, it was better than nothing.
Draco entered the dining room and gagged at the smell. Part of him wished he still had Dobby. Part of it was to apologize for using him as a punching bag.
Father used everyone as a punching bag it seemed. The elf, him, even his mother would be on the receiving end of harsh words. Mostly about who she was associating with or perhaps when she didn't look or act like the perfect wife of a pureblood aristocrat. More than once he would hide in a nearby cupboard when they fought. His mother's shrill voice would echo down the halls. Only once was it accompanied by the sound of a slap. That was the one time in his life he actively sought Dobby out for comfort. The cowering elf did not cower in that moment and instead took Draco to the kitchen and made him some cocoa. He didn't remember the words spoken to him but he remembered being comforted by them.
How had he lived like this for seventeen years? There are still times where he found himself waiting for the sharp reprimand any time he said something that didn't label himself as the superior person.
Did he want to continue living here? What about when he decided to start a family? Certainly not with Parkinson. No, she was one of the few who remained unmoved by the war. She would push him around just as his father did and he couldn't live with somebody dictating how he should act. He needed someone to respect him as he was. Allow him to speak for himself and come up with his own thoughts and ideas.
Well… there it was.
He was going to keep his home.
He was going to turn this place into one of comfort. Perhaps he could offer up rooms to people who had their homes destroyed in the war. A lot of people were harmed these past two years. They lost everything. The economy had gone to shit so nobody could afford to live alone anymore.
He was going to turn a new leaf.
Change his mind.
And become a great man.
Like Albus Dumbledore.