A/N: I do not own anything…
This is an unbeta'd one-shot glimpse into Draco Malfoy's mindset during his sixth year at Hogwarts. There are (vague) references to chapters 9 and 10 of my multi-chaptered AU work, Daphne Greengrass and the 6th Year from Hell, but I hope you'll be able to enjoy this work separately as well. I plan on covering a number of secondary characters that don't get much face time in my story over the next few weeks in between updates. Feel free to check out my Daphne Greengrass story as well. And I'd love to hear from you in a review for this piece or my larger work. It's part of a healthy diet! Now, without further ado...
Draco Malfoy: A Second Thought.
In the Slytherin Dormitory, the second week of sixth year, at his desk...
One thing Father never told me was how much it would sting whenever it would stir on my arm
It seems it moves whenever he feels anything. When he's happy, it sends goose bumps — as well as small jolts of pain — up my arm. When he's angry, the thing undulates, like waves in rough waters. And it stings like a bitch.
No matter, though.
What's done is done.
The only trouble is…the blasted…the thing is making it impossible for me to write my letter. Right now, the bast-…the Dark Lord has to be pissed because my arm feels like a Hungarian Horntail vomited fire on it and burned it to a crisp. And I have to write my third fucking letter this week. To her. I did promise, after all…
Mother.
I'm afraid she's lost it. It wasn't simply the sounds of her crying every night, when she'd have to go to bed alone, that tipped me off. It was the fear, the almost hysterical gleam in her eyes whenever she'd hug me while I was at home. It got worse whenever she would go to Azkaban for her weekly visit with Father, but there was that one evening, toward the end of June…
Aunt Bella had been with Mother, talking in furiously hushed tones, mentioning a "spinner", or a "spinner's end", and meetings in the dead of night.
Probably nothing but an insane riddle about another of the Dark Lord's schemes…err, plans. I did mean plans.
At the time Aunt Bella had restrained her, wanting nothing more than to keep her from doing what she wanted to do; Mother had a fit and had yanked her arm out of Aunt's grip with such force, I thought I had heard bones snap—
"Fine!" Mother shouted at Aunt Bella, the word forced out of her like a gutteral growl, "I – don't – need – you!"
Even from so far away, I could see Mother's teeth bared. Father always said he loved her for her bite. Father always said her passion was in her anger…and the quickest way to anger her was to interfere in anything to do with family.
By that, Father always meant him or me. No one else.
"Cissy," Aunt Bella whispered in a hiss, "Cissy! Think for a second. You don't even know what side he's on…"
"I know enough, Bella!" Mother retorted, her voice starting to rise. "It's done. I'm going to him, and you cannot stop me!" Before Aunt Bella could form any other response, Mother's eyes found me beside the grand staircase that filled Malfoy Manor's vestibule. With quick steps, she walked toward me in no time. Mother took my shoulders, squeezing them in a surprising vice-like grip.
"I love you, Draco," Mother said, giving me a couple of firm shakes, her eyes wide, wild and watering. "I love you."
"Ri-ight, and I do too, Mother," I responded carefully, lifting my brow in puzzlement. Her hand cupped my cheek, in that comforting, maternal way mothers had about them. She kissed both my cheeks, my forehead, and embraced me with a frightening ferocity.
"Um, Mother…please?" There was a definite hesitant, pleading quality in my voice, and Mother released my face from her grasp, and smoothed my unwrinkled robes.
"I-I apologize, Draco. I just…you must always know that, my son. I love you." Mother's hand fell to the front of her chest, resting as a fist over the locket Father gave to her as a gift years ago.
"Everything I have ever done — I will ever do — has been for the love of our family…for you, Draco." She spoke again in maddening vagueness, and all I did was continue to stare silently at her with hands in my pockets and my eyebrow cocked, asking for some clarity. Her chin trembled slightly and Mother nodded to me only once. She turned toward our main doors without another word. Aunt Bella chased after her, bellowing her name into the darkness, and Mother kept running…kept running….
My mind flashes back to that night as I sit, rubbing my arm. I look at the picture of the three of us sitting on the top shelf of my dark desk — Mother, Father, and I.
Together.
I feel my jaw set, my nostrils flare. No way in hell can Potter — Potty fucking Potter — or that idiot fool of a Headmaster take this picture or the moment captured inside away from me.
I own it. I keep it. It's mine.
Swallowing and pushing down the nameless, but strong, swell of emotions rising in me, I rub my arm one more time, shut my eyes, and remember what it is I need to do.
For Father.
For Mother.
For us.