I'm back! Sorry for the delay. My life became very hectic, and my job picked up a crazy amount. But it's slowed down a bit now and I have time for one of my favourite hobbies again. I'm going to try and get a new chapter out once a month, or every second month. Here it is though, the next chapter in the adventures of the Neo-Marauders!
Don't forget please review and let me know what you think!
Bright stars and a half moon shone down from a cloudless sky, onto the expansive manor below. Starlight illuminated manicured lawns, immaculately trimmed hedge rows, and flashed on gurgling fountains. The peaceful night was a stark contrast to the turmoil that was taking place in the Manor, as yelling echoed and bounced off the walls of the Malfoy home. Draco was sat up in his room, lying in bed, feigning sleep, listening as his parents continued to row about Merlin only knew what. Again. They'd been arguing more and more lately it seemed. He'd noticed it at Christmas, but his mum had assured him that it was nothing that he needed to worry about.
His parent's marriage had never really been a happy one, but it had been peaceful when he was younger. More political niceness than true love or affection, but he never doubted that either of his parent's cared for him. In their own way. His mother loved him as a mother should, doting on him when deserved, and stern, but fair, when he misbehaved. His father loved him as his heir, and someone to carry on the family name, but loved him nonetheless. He still wasn't sure which he preferred, but he loved both of them, and hated seeing them fighting. Especially when he didn't even know what it was about.
Hearing a door slam made the young blonde jump up straight, blankets pooling in his lap. Draco sat in silence for several moments, staring at the door, face going through a multitude of emotions, before coming to a stop on one of resolve. He threw his covers off of himself and slid out of bed on silent feet, grabbing his wand off of his night stand. He wanted to know what his parents were fighting about. He had thought, at Christmas, that they were arguing about something to do with the Potter, Black, and Longbottom Heirs, and what their sudden reappearance may mean, but since neither of them had wrote him anything pertaining to his three cousins (some more closely related than others), he had written the idea off.
However, his Father seemed to go on the warpath after Draco's letter, detailing the events at the end of the year, reached home. So maybe it was about Potter and his siblings after all? He didn't know, and the uncertainty of it all was eating at him. He had to know.
He crept down the hall towards the staircase that led to the main floor, where the voices of his parents were floating up from the drawing room, which was just off to the left of the grand staircase. He crouched down halfway up the stairs, his parents voices were much cleared, but he was far enough away that he hoped he would have enough time to scamper back up the stairs before they saw him.
His Father's shadow stalked passed the door, long, angry strides carrying him from one side of the room to the other. "This is not up for discussion, Narcissa. I've already made my decision."
"Yes, the decision that is best for you, as always Lucius." The scorn in his mother's voice was a surprise to Draco. "Not the one that's best for our family, our son!"
"Do not accuse me of not thinking of Draco. This is for his future!"
"A future of what? Being enslaved to a mad man? A future of broken and false hopes? No. I will not let you choose that life for our son. I will not let him make the same mistakes we did!"
"Keep your voice down, woman."
"No. Not this time, Lucius. I will not remain silent any longer. If you do this, husband, I swear on my magic, I'll – "
Draco's blue eyes widened as a loud crack echoed out from the room, muffled by the door.
"I said enough. My decision on this matter is final. You can either follow me, reap the benefits, and be able to keep being a mother to my heir. Or leave, now, and never see him again. The choice is yours, Narcissa."
There was a moment of long silence and Draco sat, wide eyed, crouching at the top of the stairs, arms wrapped around the banister post, trying to make sense of everything he had just heard. His parents argued often, but never to the point of physical violence. He didn't know how to feel about it.
On one hand, he was taught that raising a hand to someone was for muggles, squibs, and lesser wizards, and as a Pure-Blood he was above such things as physical violence. If he wanted to hurt someone, ruining them financially and through rumours, going after their reputation, would hurt worse and last much longer. It sounds like whatever his Father was planning, would secure them a future.
His Mother's reaction though, sounded like she believed otherwise, and that his Father's plot would ruin them, not have them prosper. His Mother had always shown him nothing but love and kindness, but had also taught him the importance of doing everything in your power to defend and protect your family. Everything he has ever seen his mother do, had been to make their family strong.
If his Mother didn't think his Father's idea was a good one, but he did…who should he believe?
Draco's gaze shot to the door, the ornate silver snake handle turning downwards, as someone inside the room started to leave. He shot to his feet, and as quietly as he could, hurried back to his room. He slid inside the door, closing it softly behind him, before leaping into his bed, throwing the covers over his head, and squeezing his eyes shut as he heard footsteps approaching his doorway.
The door swung open on silent hinges as Narcissa peeked her head in, checking on her son, to see if he had been woken by her and Lucius' arguing. She had been trying to keep her and her husband's increasingly frequent arguing from her son, wanting him to enjoy his summer vacation. However, since the incident that took place at the end of the year at Hogwarts, Lucius had been on the war path about helping his "Master".
She had hoped that the peace over the past twelve years, and having Draco to think of, would have tempered his radicalism, and his fanatical belief in the, what she now saw as, discretions of their youth. It seems as if her hopes were for naught, and now she had to think and figure out what to do.
Her gaze softened as she gazed at the sleeping form of her son. Whatever she decided to do, she would ensure that Draco was taken care of and that his future was secure.
