AUTHOR'S NOTE - I worked super hard on this chapter, and I really hope you guys enjoy this and review with your honest opinion on it. "Enjoy the Silence" and "Change of Heart" just weren't working out for me; so I'll be just writing this story and see how everything goes. I might do one-shot stories as well, but I'm not so sure yet. :) Anyway, enjoy!
DISCLAIMER - I do not own Harry Potter. All credit goes to J.K. Rowling.
CHAPTER ONE
The woman in the front let out a gasp of air, wobbling as her knees nearly gave up on her. Her ice blue eyes were red with tears, her makeup trickling down her puffy cheeks as she blew for the thousandth time into her tissue. She held onto the raven-haired woman's hand beside her, letting her head fall onto her shoulder. Another sob occupied the attendees' ears, causing several of them to bow their heads in grief.
The sky was casted with gray clouds; it was as if they knew today would have been a depressing day for a good amount of the society. The sun was blocked with grayness; the air was misty and fogged. It was, in Draco Malfoy's opinion, a horrible day—but a perfect day to hold a funeral for a fallen wizard.
The only reason he decided to come to this grieved ceremony was to stabilize his mother so that she wouldn't go completely berserk in front of the guests who came to pay their condolences. If he hadn't been for Narcissa, he would've liked to spend his Tuesday afternoon playing wizard chess with Scorpius.
As the guests began to make their way toward Malfoy Manor—where the house-elves had prepared a small lunch to say thank you for those who had joined the Malfoy family—Narcissa stayed behind, ignoring her sister's gesture to come back up to her home.
Draco watched in a far distance as his mother's shoulders slouched, her body trembling as silent tears crawled out of her eyelids. His lips went dry just watching her nonchalantly; his jaw clenched as his mother dropped to her knees. Why he hadn't expected this from her, he had no idea. Letting out a small sigh, Draco placed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the tree, wondering when the appropriate time to approach her was.
The sudden, and even shocking, death of Lucius Malfoy didn't faze Draco much after he heard the news from a brief note sent by his mother from St. Mungo's. Sure, it took a few hours to let the information sink in—never again would his father scoff in his face his ideas to help improve their family business; never again would he live as "the Death Eater's son"; never again would he be called a disgrace to the Malfoy name.
Just the thought of the cold words leaving his father's mouth made Draco shiver involuntarily. A disgrace, that was all he ever was in his father's eyes. He was a letdown, a disappointment, a humiliation to his surname. His dreams and his father's expectations for him had never leveled out smoothly; his ambitions were "foolish", "careless", "irresponsible" to Lucius. Whereas Draco despised sitting in a boardroom with twenty other aging wizards to discuss business and investments, Lucius dreamed of his only son to handle the family business once he deceased.
But, of course, things didn't work that way.
Draco's profession was one Lucius said were for poor, useless people. But to Draco, he enjoyed teaching Hogwarts students about defensive spells against the Dark Arts. His personal stories were shared tediously to the first year students; not to scare them, but to teach them what the Wizarding world was really like before and during the war. It made his students take the class seriously; Headmistress McGonagall said she'd never seen a better O.W.L and N.E.W.T results since before the war.
While thousands in England praised his teaching, Draco's father simply refused to congratulate his son's teaching. It was nothing but nonsense.
And now, as Draco stared blindly at his sobbing mother, he wondered what would happen to Malfoy Corporation. It was never his intention to take over the business; he loved his position at Hogwarts and had no intention of giving up on it just yet.
Malfoy Corporation invested small Wizarding businesses to have them expand. Their company made a large profit annually, recruiting unknown associations and developing them into lucrative companies.
When Draco had been younger - even before he went to Hogwarts - his father took him to important meetings and interviews with new, hopeful clients. He remembered vividly how excited he was when Lucius invited him to business lunches; he enjoyed being in his company then.
Things changed as the buildup to the war progressed; Lucius's imprisonment to Azkaban during his fifth year tore apart the already-weak connection between the two. Draco became vulnerable, easy to manipulate - especially to the Dark Lord. He wasn't fond of his decisions that recruited him to the Dark Side, but he didn't have a choice - he had done all he done to please his father, to get his approval after his breakout.
Lucius didn't see the sacrifices Draco had made for him after the fallout of the war. Things went back to how they were before Lucius's imprisonment; Draco stayed put in his part of the manor out of his parents' ways until he was offered the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor where he moved into a three bedroom cottage closer to Hogwarts.
Despite his mother's protests, he enjoyed his life alone. Marriage was out of the question; that was, until he turned twenty-one and Narcissa threw a surprise birthday party for him.
The usual guests were in attendance; co-workers, clients, family, old pals, and ex-Death Eaters had come by to wish him a happy birthday, but Draco only gave them a curt nod.
It turned out to be a show for his father; his Dark wizard friends questioned Draco's odd choice of profession and Lucius had given them an expected response: "He's just a confused child, still. Sooner or later, he'll come over to Malfoy Corporation."
Other than his mother, the only guest who was pleased with Draco's presence was Astoria Greengrass. A charming, bright witch, Astoria worked as an Owler for Malfoy Corporation but held onto a striving dream to become an Auror. It wasn't long before she and Draco began sending letters to one another, and began spending the night laughing over wine at exclusive eateries.
Astoria was something special to Draco. She wasn't fond over his decisions of teaching, but unlike Lucius, she approved of them. His parents accepted her into the family, and welcomed her with nearly two thousand guests for their wedding at the Malfoy Manor.
Draco recalled the look on his father's face when he informed him that he still had no desire to help run the family company with Lucius; he looked disappointed, enraged.
"How will you support your family properly once you and Astoria decide to have children?" Lucius had asked, his voice sour.
Draco had kept still, his pale lips in a thin line. "We'll manage well enough," he drawled, the bitterness in his tone exposed.
But Lucius and Narcissa approved of Draco's choice in Astoria immensely; she came from a line of a pureblooded family. Though she wasn't exactly high on the social society's food chain, the Greengrass family was still very well-respected in their community. They weren't as wealthy or as fortunate as the Malfoy family, but they managed without the luxurious additions that came with fame and fortune.
He became a father at twenty-three, the same as Lucius took the title as father to Draco. Scorpius resembled Draco in every way since the day he was brought into the world; his lips were thin; his skin was a milk-white and glowed in the darkness; his eyes were pulled by the sides, the color of gray ice. He was cocky, sarcastic, intelligent, handsome, and charming all by the time he turned eleven. Draco didn't see anything greater than being a father; all the darkness of his life before Astoria and Scorpius seemed to have diminished.
Despite Draco's uncertainty, Scorpius was fond of his grandfather. When Astoria and Narcissa spent their Saturday afternoons shopping around London's most expensive department stores and Draco graded assignments, Scorpius enjoyed his grandfather's presence at Malfoy Manor. He loved hearing the tales of his grandfather's success, the build-up of his career and fame in the Wizarding community. (Of course, he left out the little bit of his cowardice to the community and his worship to the Dark Lord.)
Scorpius had been completely destroyed with the news of Lucius's death, much to Draco's displeasure. He locked himself in his bedroom, nearly setting the entire house on flames—his amateur magic wasn't being tamed and he had no way to control it. Every time Draco tried to ask Scorpius what was upsetting him, his son shook it off and stormed off outside to play Quidditch on his broom. He continued trying to feed out the information from Scorpius, but it was no use; the death of his grandfather was unbearable for him.
Draco now gulped the bile rising in his throat, feeling the palms of his hands start to sweat. His mother's sobs turned to small weeps as her other sister, Andromeda, approached her. He watched as his aunt placed a hand on Narcissa's shoulder, struggling to help her rise to her feet once more.
Seeing his mother this distraught broke his heart. She had shut herself in her private den, only leaving to eat for three meals. Her eyes always seemed glazed with tears, her mind distracted on the reality in front of her.
"Draco," a delicate voice breathed behind him. He cocked his head to the direction of the angelic intonation and his heart swelled to see his wife, Astoria, watching him intently. "Everyone's inside the manor, you know ..."
He nodded slowly, turning his head back to Narcissa and Andromeda. They were disappearing into the fog, on their way back to the people who were paying their condolences. "I was just...seeing how Mother was taking this news."
Astoria nodded, stepping into Draco's side. She wrapped her shawl around her body tightly, letting out a small breath. "She's just as hurt as Scorpius . . . And you?" She questioned quietly, glancing at him as he stared blankly at his father's gravestone.
"And I?"
"How are you handling this?" she thoroughly explained.
Draco merely shrugged his shoulders casually, fisting his hands into his pockets. "Quite well ... I think I'll be just fine."
"But our son won't and neither will your mother," Astoria pressed. "Face it, Draco; you'll be headed to the family business -"
"Don't," Draco interjected shortly, holding up a hand to silence her. "We cannot discuss this matter at the moment."
"Then when?" Astoria inquired curtly, her voice in a bare, terse whisper. "You keep avoiding this conversation, but it's only natural that -"
"Where's Scorpius?" he asked loudly, droning out his wife's accusations. He glanced ahead toward the manor, a blanket of fog and mist gulping Draco's past home into a grey scale.
Astoria realized her husband wanted no say in the discussion she tried to hold previously. Letting out a small breath, she loosened the black shawl around her thin frame and lifted her chin to the direction of Malfoy Manor. "Last I saw him he was storming off into your old room ..."
Draco felt his stomach turn over. He hadn't entered his bedroom since he left it once he turned eighteen. How Scorpius had found his room was beyond him, considering he once got lost even after all these years. He wondered what would possibly please his son in his room - his Quidditch magazines? The moving posters? His old broom? He shuddered at the thought, the burning memories of his short-lived childhood searing through his brain.
Without a word to Astoria, he Apparated straight into the empty kitchen in the presence of his house-elf, Verney. The bat-like ears that belonged to the hunched-over elf touched his toes as he bowed. "Young Master Malfoy," he crooned lowly, "how may Verney assist you?"
Draco flinched consciously at the title "Young Master". He shrugged it off, asking immediately: "Have you seen Scorpius?"
Verney lifted his ears, letting them bend behind his balding, wrinkled head as his long fingers tugged onto his ragged, oiled cloth he wore as clothing. "Verney saw Young Master Malfoy's son sneak out of the dining room to avoid the commotion. Tewny spotted him in your bedroom. Would you like Verney to call for him?" Again, the elf bowed.
Draco shook his head, glowering toward the dining room with icy grey eyes. He then glanced up the spiral staircase, muttering, "There won't be any need for that, Verney. I've got it."
"As you wish, Young Master," Verney croaked, trotting his way over to the cooking room with his hunched back.
Silence fell; the only things Draco could hear were the hums of distant voices belonging to the guests in the dining room and the clatters of metal pots and pans as the house-elves prepared desserts and beverages for the evening guests.
Quickly, he marched up the stairs-two at a time-and banked left. The long hallway only contained Draco's private bathroom and his bedroom at the end of the hall. The corridor took a full ten minutes to walk at a reasonable pace; the mutters from the portraits of ancient and distant relatives vibrated in Draco's ears. He did his best to drone them out as the heat picked up just as he neared the entrance to the bathroom; this portion of the manor was in the South Wing, on the third and last floor. He loosened his black tie, coming to an abrupt halt at the entrance to his old bedroom.
The old perfumes of butterbear and firewhiskey filled Draco's nostrils with just one step into the grand room. The walls were a light shade of green, the furniture in black cherry wood. He couldn't help but scoff; Slytherin House colors. The bed itself was king-sized, neatly made and untouched for sixteen years with all-white sheets and pillows. A black bookshelf that towered from floor to ceiling with each shelf containing various assortments of books and volumes and old textbooks he liked to keep. An old Quidditch poster of Viktor Krum was pasted onto the ceiling hovering over his bed. His dust-covered Nimbus 2001 was leaning against the bookshelf, the sun shining down against the broomstick. Old quills, dried up parchment, and ink bottles lingered around his desk where he worked on at-home school assignments during the holidays. His Potions course book lay open to page forty-six, the page dog-eared. The door to his closet was still open. The only things remaining were his seventh-year Hogwarts robes, the Slytherin embroidery gleaming into the sunlight. Draco could spot an empty bottle of firewhiskey in the corner, his cheeks flushing into a rosy pink color.
"Wow," he muttered thoughtfully to himself, throwing his suit jacket onto the kept bed. "Nothing's changed. . . ."
He had almost forgotten the sole purpose as to why he had bothered to enter this room; the same room that contained all the joyous memories he ever had as a child. All of the Light in his life diminished just as the Dark Lord requested him . . .
But he didn't want to think of that. He didn't want to feel trapped in a nightmare, the ghost of his past -
"Dad?"
Draco's colorless eyes darted around the room until he saw Scorpius's pointed chin come passed the other side of his bed. "Son, what're you doing-"
"I could ask you the same question," his son scoffed in an uninterested tone. As Draco approached, Scorpius leaned his head against the side of the bed once more, staring out the bay windows. A clear view of the garden and terrace on the North Wing was visible past the strong intensity of the sunlight.
Draco sat beside his son, hugging his knees as his head swung back lightly to the side of the bed. "I came to find you. Of all rooms...you choose my bedroom." He couldn't help but chortle. "Why?"
Scorpius shrugged his shoulders, glancing at his father with round eyes. Draco was always intrigued by how vastly similar his son was to him; Scorpius's eyes were colorless too, frozen like blocks of ice. His skin was ghostly white too, glowing in the darkness; his hair was silvery blonde as well, combed
fashionably. The genes he had inherited from his mother weren't there
physically, but he did have the same independent pride as Astoria at times, but Draco's cocky, sour tones were seen in Scorpius as well.
"No one would've suspected me to come here. And I like it," he affirmed defiantly, crinkling his brows together. "It's...not what I would have expected from a Hogwarts teacher."
Draco raised an eyebrow, his pasty lips curled. "Why do you say that?"
Scorpius couldn't help but grin immaturely as he handed his father a Muggle magazine with bombshell women in revealing bikinis. He knew it was from the Muggle world because the photographs and articles didn't move; they remained frozen. "I found it underneath your bed," his son explained as Draco felt his cheeks color nervously. "I don't reckon Mum would be too happy about this, so -"
"- so we leave this between us," Draco shot back, rolling the magazine and throwing it back underneath his bed. "What else did you find when you raided my room?"
Scorpius shrugged, rising to his feet. Draco was impressed with his height at just eleven; he was lanky and lean, the right physique that would earn him a spot on a Quidditch team in later years.
His son grabbed a photograph off of Draco's desk and examined it carefully, almost hesitantly, before extending his hand to his father. "Who are these people?"
As Draco took it, his breath was cut short. The moving picture was of him, Blaise Zabini, and Pansy Parkinson. Blaise and Draco were in their Quidditch robes, basking in their glorious win as Pansy hugged them tightly. Draco triumphantly showed off the Snitch, grinning just as the camera flashed. He looked younger, fresh, carefree . . .
A lump formed in Draco's throat. He coughed nonchalantly, handing the photo back to his son. "Just . . . two old friends."
"You never invited them for dinner," Scorpius remarked.
"No, I didn't."
"Does Mum not like them? Or do they dislike her?"
Draco shook his head, smiling grimly. "They don't like me."
Scorpius scoffed, sitting beside his father again after setting the photo back where it belonged. "That's a lie, Dad," he replied incredulously. "Grandpa always said people were very fond of you -"
"Yes, well. Not everyone," he said distastefully, a twinge of annoyance hitting his stomach at the mention of his father. "Blaise, Pansy, and I were very close during our years at Hogwarts. They were interesting people, with different backgrounds at home, but whenever I was in their company . . . I wasn't Lucius Malfoy's son. I was just me; a carefree, reckless, although spoiled, Draco. But things-people-changed," he continued darkly, the bile rising once more. "I'm sure your grandfather shared the tales of how I was recruited into the Dark side during my sixth year." Once Scorpius nodded, Draco continued: "I didn't trust anyone within Hogwarts anymore; I was isolated, and whenever my friends came close to me I blocked them out of my way. Blaise and Pansy had enough and...and even after the War, they wanted nothing to do with me."
"But you made new friends, right?" Scorpius pressed gently.
"After the War, there were only a few Death Eaters who were saved from death penalties or life-term sentences to Azkaban; your grandfather was one of the fortunate few. We had to pay a great deal of reparations, going to public events to get the community's notice. While my father seeked power and hungered a greater wealth-not like we didn't already have it-I seeked forgiveness from old pals and enemies. Blaise and Pansy didn't want my friendship anymore; they assumed, after hearing about my position at Hogwarts, I couldn't be trusted. And, well, you've heard of my old enemies Ron and Harry. You saw them with Harry's son James the other night for dinner."
"But . . . why would you still have this picture?"
Draco merely shrugged, watching as the sun began to lower and the guests left the North Terrace, saying their goodbyes to Narcissa. "It's nice to have a memory of them every once in awhile."
Scorpius nodded sadly, looking into his lap. "I think of Granddad a lot ..."
Draco stiffened, raising a brow once more. He wondered whether or not to comment this statement, so he merely nodded once. "It's perfectly normal to think of someone who has passed on," he manages to get out.
With a loud crack, Tewny appeared with deer-like eyes. "Master Malfoy, Mistress Malfoy and your wife are looking for you and Young Master ..."
Draco nodded, looking out the window. All the guests had left, leaving Narcissa and Astoria curious as to where the two had run of to. "We'll be there shortly, Tewny."
Scorpius masked a scowl, rising to his feet with his father, as Tewny
Disapparated out of the bedroom. "Why don't you like coming to Grandma's?" he inquired lightly as they began walking out of the bedroom.
Draco bared a grimace, placing his hand onto his son's shoulder. "That's a story that's best to be told at a different time...and place, for that matter."
Scorpius remained quiet, slumping his shoulders as he reached the end of the staircase to see his mother's green eyes wide and his grandmother's painted lips drawn into a grimace.
"Where have you been?" Astoria cried, exasperated. "You weren't present for the pudding and none of the guests got to say goodbye."
Just as Scorpius opened his mouth, Draco piped up, "He was having a little adventure in my old room, with me. There's nothing to fret over, dear." Astoria kept her lips in a thin line, helping Scorpius into his coat. "I think we should call it a night."
Narcissa lifted her light, watery eyes. "You don't want to stay, Draco dear? Perhaps we have discuss -"
"As of right now, the matters left to discuss are that I must head to Diagon Alley to collect last minute supplies for the beginning of term. And, of course, Scorpius needs to get all his essentials." Draco suppressed his best smug grin, raising a pale eyebrow. "Right, well...there's nothing to discuss."
"You skipped tea," Narcissa breathed wearily, a fail attempt to keep her son in her household for a bit longer.
Draco scowled darkly, his eyes hardening as his mother's pleading marbles pierced into his. "I've been in this house for too long today, Mother," he snapped. "You can come visit Scorpius before his leave for Hogwarts. Goodnight."
Grabbing Astoria's wrist with Scorpius trailing behind after a muffled "Night, Grandma", Draco Malfoy stormed out of Malfoy Manor - the one-time place he called his home but now seemed so distant, so . . . unfamiliar to him.