A/N: Hello people, I have had a very long week trying to get this story out and now its here, and I... I honestly don't know what to think. There's a lot of stuff going through my head like: "will I be able to keep everything I've been doing while I'm at school" "I need to get my learner's permit soon" "I have three AP classes" "I'm going to die." You know the usual. I'm also considering taking on the burden of writing on of the stories I've been meaning to. I really really want to, but it's just going to be really hard.
Anyways with stress out of the way let's get back to the awesomeness that is this story! SO basically Shakespeare. That was the theme for this Round of the QLFC (Go Puddlemere Potatoes!) and each position got a different play to take a scene from. I was assigned King Lear...so I went against the grain and did Draco and his father in that scene with the lord and his son dressed like a beggar.
Prompts:
(Sentence) He couldn't believe what he saw.
Word count: 1665 or something very close to that.
Hoots,
Owls
P.S. A big thanks to GoDownWithThisShip for beta-ing!
Draco tugged on the lapels of his muggle suit eyeing himself carefully in his long mirror. "I look as good as a beggar on the street, Astoria. Do I honestly have to wear this?" He turned to his wife.
"Yes," she said from her place by the bed. She frowned at his annoyance, walking towards him. "You are a figurehead for muggle acceptance in the wizarding world. The media will have all eyes on you, once they see this." She tugged on his tie, he wrapped his arms around her.
He kissed her forehead, swiftly. "You're right, I supose."
"And it makes you look very, very attractive," She kissed him slowly, leaning back. He noticed there was a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
"Why are you always right?"
"Mother," Draco hissed walking quickly beside the woman who was holding two suitcases. "Stay here, we have enough room for you." He glanced back at the rest of the manor for a moment. Its twisting halls lead to rooms that hadn't needed to be opened in centuries.
"Draco," his mother paused and faced him. "I know, but I can't stay here." She dropped her bags for a moment, bringing a hand to his cheek. "This place has too many memories and now your father… now that your father is no longer here and you have Astoria, I'm not needed." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead.
She faced the door again and left.
"It's the damn suit isn't it," he hissed and walked to the fireplace. "Trinket," he called to the house elf. "Please tell my wife that I'm going to Gringotts to work out some business issues." He jumped into the fireplace, throwing down the floo and was teleported to the bustle of Diagon Alley.
He walked into the street expecting cameras to be flickering in his face, but for a moment there was nothing. Draco straightened his tie and looked around before he began to move through the crowds. He started to blend in for a moment; it was a strange feeling for the first time in his life to not attract attention especially in his mundane suit. Then, the cameras started flashing.
The day blurred past him in an array of large flashes and blinding lights, so he was extremely happy to crawl into bed next to his wife that night. When he woke up, he was disappointed to find she was no longer there.
"Master," Trinket the house elf squeaked bowing in his little butler uniform that Astoria had insisted on him wearing. "Mistress is taking lunch in the garden."
Draco grumbled into his pillow– he had slept in. "Tell her I'll be out in a minute."
"Does Master want his mail?"
"Bring it outside." Draco rolled out of bed, and faced his mirror.
A few minutes later he was dressed in another muggle suit and was pulling out a chair at a small table in the garden. It was a cool day in the beginning of summer, so it was vibrant but it was always vibrant with the help of magic.
Astoria was reading the Daily Prophet, an odd sight as the woman prefered magazines to newspapers' boring political articles. She quickly glanced up and looked down smugly.
"Darling, you are terrible at keeping secrets." Draco chided beginning to look through the letters Trinket had set out next to his breakfast of eggs and toast.
Astoria rolled her eyes and handed him the paper. On the front was a picture of him adjusting his tie with a cocked brow and then dusting off his suit before walking forward like he had when he had entered Diagon Alley. The headline read "Malfoy Accepting Muggle Fashion." The article went on to say that he would forever change the way the world saw fashion and muggles.
"See, you are paving the way, Draco." Astoria clapped her hand with delight.
"Of course, dear," he said looking through his own mail again. He handed over invitations to dinners and other meetings to Astoria, so she could schedule them. The rest were business correspondents that he would deal with later that night sitting by the fire in his study; Astoria, again, scheduling for him.
He froze when he saw one addressed to him from St. Mungo's. "Draco?" His wife noticed and worry etched her voice.
"It's the hospital." He ripped it open.
"Is your father alright? What happened?" Astoria asked, but watched him pick up his things.
"I'll be back for dinner."
Draco marched through the white-walled corridor of St. Mungo's psychiatric unit. "Mr. Malfoy," a familiar young doctor stood by the door that Draco intended to enter.
"Healer Martin." Draco nodded to the muggleborn wizard. "How is he?" He motioned to the door.
"Not as good as we hoped." The healer licked his lips, obviously keeping something from him. "We thought," he decided to explain. "That your father was getting better. Mostly he had stopped calling me 'mudblood' and trying to kill the nurses with his straw, but we let him finally read the paper this morning-"
Draco groaned. "Right, well. Can I see him?"
"Yes, but he's gone mad, not like before. He tried to carve his eyes out so he would never have to see you again." He paused for a moment again deliberating whether or not his next words would be the right ones. "He called you a traitorous bastard."
"Can I see him?" Draco ground out, causing the healer's eyes to widen in fear.
"Y- yes. Yes, sir. Just be careful, please." He stepped aside and Draco opened the door.
He couldn't believe what he saw. His father was lying calmly on his bed. They had taken him out of his usual padded room because of a recent heart scare. He looked defeated in his state wrapped in gray and having no choice.
The old man's head turned to him, but he remained silent. There was a bloodied bandage covering his eyes.
"Have you finally come to take me away?" The old man's withered voice was fainter than Draco remembered. Stepping up to the side of the bed, he found the paper with his face on it straightening his tie. It's pages were rustled as though it had been thrown there and a single drop of blood had smeared into its paper. He gulped and looked back up.
"Do you know who I am?" Draco asked finally breaking the silence.
"The undertaker, the reaper, the man who's here to kill me," his father spat, leaning to the wrong side of the bed as though he wished to face him.
"Why do you want to die so badly?" He hesitated not wanting to hear the answer, but knowing he had to.
"My son is a blood traitor, I can't- I can't live on knowing that."
Draco's heart stopped. For a long moment he watched the man before him, his face obscured by the bandage covering his eyes. He realized suddenly that he loved this man even though he had his wrong doings, even though he was barely the man he once was.
"Well, aren't you going to lead me to my death," the one in the bed said.
"Of course," Draco replied, deepening his voice. He gripped his father's hand and stood him up. "I will lead you to the roof, and you can jump off a subtle death."
His father nodded but gripped Draco's hand tighter. He was shaking just a bit. "Alright," the man said, his voice softer than anything Draco had heard before– weak, he thought, he's weak. And they began to move, but Draco lead him away from the door. "And we are in the elevator," Draco hummed quietly in the man's ear. "No one else is here, we are alone in your last moments."
"Indeed," his father replied, his voice stronger with greater intent.
"Are you certain you wish to die today, sir?"
"Yes," the man hashed out. "I can't breathe the same air as my tratious son."
"Of course," Draco hissed trying not to break the foolish character he had created, but it was becoming harder.
"We are here, sir." Draco informed him walking him forward to face a stool he had transfigured from a chair. "Stand up on this ledge and jump if you truly wish to die for the reasons you stated."
His father stood up on the plastic surface offered to him. "I will die because of you, Draco. How does that make you feel?" The man shouted as though the the street below him he thought was there, but it wasn't.
Draco froze thinking he was addressing him, that he knew, but then the man jumped. He was quick to stop his father's fall making him float in air for a moment before dropping him safely to the tiles. He bent down, shaking a little. "Sir," he said in his best imitation of a lower class accent. "Are you alright sir? You fell an awfully long way." He shook his father's arm. Sir, are you dead?"
"Am I?" the man questioned, looking around, but the bandage still covered his eyes.
"Well, I don't think you're dead sir because I'm not dead."
"What happened to me then?"
"I don't know sir. You jumped from the roof; there's a demon up there now screaming at you. Maybe you were going to die sir, but realized it was for the wrong reasons."
"I- I could have, but my son…"
"If he's your son sir, I'm sure he loves you more than anything and wouldn't want you to think otherwise."
"Right," his father sat up a little shaken.
"Ill lead you back to you room, alright, sir, and you can put this stuff behind you."
"Of course, yes." He stood his father up, and began to lead him to his room, but really it took him no time at all.
He tucked the man back into his bed, watching him for a moment and he eased into sleep.