Written for Muggle Music Task 4 Write about someone returning home
A Home No Longer His
He was going home.
As the full power of the wind and the strength of the clamour of the waves overwhelmed his aching mind, that was all he could think about.
He was going home. Away from here.
Home to Malfoy Manor. Home to his wife. Home to his son.
When he arrived home, he realized he was coming home to a lot more than just his family.
His wife, his precious flower, is here, awaiting him with open arms, washing his body, tending to his wounds and bruises, cradling him in her arms during the nightmares. The worst of Azkaban is not what the Dementors make you see again and again as they feed on your memories of happiness. The worst comes at night, when all happiness has been removed and your brain is left to sleep and conjure up whatever it damn well pleases. Because anything is possible when you dream. And nightmares are dreams too.
His son, his precious dragon, though he never tells him, is broken. His Mother endured, with the fortitude she has always had, but his boy broke. He learns of his tasks at Hogwarts, learns of what he has had to do and of what he was not capable to. And fears for his son like he has never before feared. He is much too pure at heart to withstand all this, and he was raised to never bend.
Azkaban's terrors are diminished now, in the face of the terrors in his own house. His Master has his seat here, under his roof. There's no escaping now. His nightmares, despite the absence of Dementors, only escalate. Because now he knows just how very close his family is to being decimated.
The Dark Lord is here, always watching their thoughts, tracking their movements around the house by the virtue of following minds. The darkness seems to spill from his rooms, spreading like ink turned over parchment. The magic tumbles from his wand as a breeze that turns storm upon contact, effortlessly, smoothly, hurting, paining, maiming, killing.
The enormous piton is always near too, hissing deeply in reply to its Master, dragging her heavy but graceful body about the floor, silently passing from one room to the other. There are no boundaries to where she may go. The dungeons have become feeding ground these days. The corridors aren't particularly safe either.
His Most Faithful is here too, unhinged. Unleashed on the prisoners downstairs. Set to hunt every couple of days, lest she become uncontrollable in her thirst for blood, for pain, for the pleasure of her Master. There is something different about her now, a knowing glint in her eye that displeases him entirely, for he fears whatever her mind could have come up with.
All of his sycophants are here too. All day, all night, hoping against all hope to be the ones to please him. Only the Mad Witch and the Traitor-turned-spy seem capable of that now. Severus managed what Draco could not. But he knows that Bella had fallen during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries. She should still be down, as he is. So what has she done to deserve her seat at the right hand of power?
He has come home and it is no longer the same. He spent a whole year away and everything changed. The table has turned for the Malfoys. No longer up high but mere pawns in the game.
And one day, he learns of her leverage. And he is terrified.
For one day, he could swear that Bellatrix had gone completely, utterly mad, once and for all. He could swear he had gone mad with her too. For on that day, he heard her soothe a child, a small babe by the cry of it, just on the other side of a mahogany door. His mind felt like it was being tousled by being tossed around inside a box.
"You'll be your Father's most powerful weapon, my beautiful creature," and, the gods of the old be damned, her voice was level and caring, she was actually calm, she even looked at ease, "yes you will, my little bird."
He had quickly averted his eyes, fearing she would notice his presence, only to near startle to death right there, before the great slit eyes of the serpent, in her path to the same room. His mind had put the pieces together and he had immediately wished for a not so sharp mind, something dull that could be made blind to what's beyond the door.
A secret child. A cursed child.
He realizes now that this home is no longer his. He is still here, his family is still here, and his roots are all here. But this home is now of darkness and of the creature that rules it.
Author's Notes: Also fulfils prompt 207 of the 365 Prompts Challenge: Plot point – a character finds something