A/N: Hello! This is one of the fics I started in 2010/11 and never got around to completing. But I do want to now, so thank you for reading as I work through it.
Scorpius Malfoy sniffed disapprovingly as he unloaded his numerous suitcases in Blaise's average flat. Blaise wasn't bothered by his behavior one bit. He understood. Thirteen years of living in Malfoy Manor would spoil anyone. He supposed he should have agreed to move over instead of forcing the boy to come live here, but Blaise didn't like the Manor. It held too many memories.
Over tea with the silent boy, Blaise remembered the morning he read the Prophet, proclaiming Draco Malfoy dead, his broken figure found slumped in one of the white lawn chairs, face turned skywards.
A few days before that, the trial that had finally fully cleared the Malfoy name of any wrongdoing had been won. Potter had been the lawyer (yes, they had that now, worthless Muggle terms and professions) defending Draco and his father. Blaise recalled Draco saying that he wished his mother was there to witness it all; Narcissa had passed on a few years earlier due to health complications. The Manor, left with only Draco and Lucius then, had fallen into a quiet stupor afterwards without her parties.
Blaise knew that it was murder. Everyone else probably did, too. But no one said or did anything. Draco Malfoy was given a stately funeral in the traditional burial ground of the Malfoys. Scorpius held his head high, even as he stood without the presence of his mother, letting go of only a single tear.
Lucius Malfoy committed suicide a few days later. Out of grief for his family, they said. He joined Draco's side in the graves.
A few months later, Blaise found himself burdened with the Scorpius boy and embroiled in what looked to be a long-drawn lawsuit Greengrass had set up to claim part of the Malfoy inheritance.
Three years passed quickly and Scorpius grew up into a man even faster. Blaise found it a pity though, that Draco's angular features were only a passing impression on the boy. His eyes were also not the shade of frigid grey that Draco's were.
It had to be poor blood from his mother.
The case was still far from closed. Potter –the hero, the celebrity lawyer, as always- dropped by for frequent visits and consultations. Two complications he kept harping on – one, that Scorpius only had up to 7 years after Draco's death to claim his family's inheritance; if not done by then the inheritance would be passed to the Ministry or Greengrass. Second, the court claimed that it was inappropriate to hand over full inheritance to Scorpius as of yet for that could only happen if he were twenty one, or if Draco made a public statement allowing him to prematurely receive it. Both were impossible though, Blaise scowled. Scorpius, being 13 at the time of Draco's death, had basically lost the case by being a year too young to meet the deadline. And Draco was dead in every sense of the word and buried deep underground.
He quietly wondered if this was the court's way of getting back at Potter for choosing to fight for the dirty, dirty Malfoy name.
There were only two weeks left to the opening of the new school year when Scorpius made his request.
"I want to return to the Manor," he stated.
"For a visit?"
"No. I want to live there again."
"I'm not sure if I…"
"I've started packing my things already."
Blaise shut his eyes as Scorpius drew away. The painful case came to mind, and so, in a spur of oddly Gryffindor heroics, he relented for the sake of the boy, and went to pack his things and put his flat up for sale.
Malfoy Manor was still every bit he remembered it to be. The place crackled gently with the magic that Blaise supposed helped it upkeep itself. Scorpius smiled, and Blaise was sure then he had made the right choice.
He left Scorpius to attend to his own room. He knew the room he wanted to visit first.
For a moment, he hesitated as he stood outside the door of the bedroom of Draco Malfoy.
Then, he knocked three times out of habit and opened the door.
A young couple, so painfully alike in some of their features, whirled around and stared back at him.
"Mr Malfoy…? Draco…?"
Ghosts, Blaise thought, heart hurting, as he saw the figure of Lucius flicker. Lucius looked no older than twenty, proud and aristocratic with formal robes, with no tinge of colour to his body. He wasn't real, of this realm, because Blaise saw the bed, right through him.
But Draco…Draco was…
Blaise reached out a hand and ran it tentatively across the outstretched, pale arm of his friend. His fingers dipped through the opaque skin, but he could feel a tinge of the sensation of having touched soft, real skin.
"Draco, are you real? Is this…are you alive?"
"What's dead stays dead, Blaise. I'm only as real as the day before today is. It's absolutely terrific, existing within the confines of the limbo between life and death. And I'm surprised you haven't laughed at my attire yet; Father here wouldn't relent for weeks. How many days has it been since the passing…?"
"Three years," Blaise mouthed, truly examining Draco's form for the first time.
If Draco was alive and wearing such an outfit, he would have laughed and laughed the same way Lucius did. Draco, in his seventeen year old form, was in a navy blue gown, with multiple frills from mid thigh onwards. The bottom of the dress fanned around him the way a wedding gown would. His hair fell to his shoulders, and it looked like it had actually been intentionally styled for the garment. There was faint makeup, but no lipstick, thankfully; his lips were still the same shade of pink Blaise remembered them to be.
"It really matches you, dear," Blaise grinned. Lucius chuckled discreetly from behind Draco, whilst the boy pretended to look extremely miffed.
"Father says that this is the work of the ancient magic of the Manor, but what exactly he cannot remember. It has not been activated for centuries," Draco sniffed, patting his dress self-consciously.
"Have you checked the Manor library?"
"Excellent idea, Zabini, but I'm a ghost and my hands just happen to pass through all the books. And it could be in any of those thousands of books. It's obviously not reversible though, so why bother?"
"I'll ask our favourite bushy-haired bookworm, then."
Lucius shuddered violently in disapproval in the background. Draco looked unconcerned.
There was a moment of silence, before Draco stepped forward, and Blaise suddenly found himself looking extremely intently into the boy's eyes, unable to tear his eyes away from the gaze of the ghost.
"Won't you join me, Blaise?"
The ghost's face creased in sadness. Blaise felt something- a powerful emotion- ripple within him. He did the only thing he could think of: bolt out of the room and put a large, large distance between him and the ghosts. Draco's words, his presence, and his aura- something about them made him uncomfortable, feel perverse; perverse for being fully forty-one years old and feeling such sudden desire for the seventeen year old memory of his best friend.
Of course Harry Potter, the good sir, dropped in later that day to continue work with the case. Scorpius stared off into the distance, looking nonchalant as Potter went on and on about nothing in particular. Blaise kept himself awake in the onslaught of Potter's incessant droning by amusing himself with a little Warming Charm on the teapot every now and then.
"…never had happened if Draco were here!"
Blaise's head snapped up at that moment. But it wasn't because of whatever clueless lawyer Potter had said, but because he heard music- and the tapping of dancing feet coming from Draco's bedroom. Potter leaned forward, concerned.
"Mr Zabini?"
Blaise didn't respond; he was frightened as hell that Potter could hear the sounds too. Potter would choose to be a goddamned nosy arse and go up to investigate- and he hadn't even found out what exactly Draco and his father were; so damn Potter if he was going to get killed by a bunch of malicious spirits under Blaise's watch.
Sometime in the silence Scorpius must have rolled his eyes and left the table for his room, because when Blaise finally recollected himself, all he saw was that awful bespectacled face of the pesky lawyer.
"Is there someone else living here, Zabini? Not that it is of any importance to the case, of course," Potter nodded, looking up in the direction of the bedroom curiously.
Damn Potter.
Blaise glared sullenly at him.
"Thank you for your time, Mr Potter, I look forward to discussing the case again very soon," Blaise said cordially, briskly ushering Potter to the door before he could protest.
Blaise paid a visit to Draco's grave the week after he'd sent Scorpius back off to Hogwarts. He gently placed a bouquet of roses next to the elaborate tombstone.
The place felt so empty. The ground in which Draco lay sealed in his coffin- it felt as if it was devoid of his presence. As if Draco's conscience was still existent someplace away from here. As if Draco was still alive.
The crows cawed and a drizzle fell soon after the thought.
Blaise whistled in worry, gathered his things and Apparated to the Weasley-Granger den.
"Zabini, pleasure to see you- I hope you aren't here for more advice on the case though, I absolutely must reiterate that I refuse to partake in such horrendously biased court proceedings-"
"Not that, something else," Blaise tried a smile wearily, to stop Granger's stream of words.
"Oh. Come in then, but do dry yourself before you sit on the couch."
Blaise settled himself on the too homely –ragtag,he thought- couch quietly. Granger stared at him expectantly.
"Do you know anything about an ancient Malfoy spell? The one that affects spirits?"
Now, Granger looked really excited- to the point that it was frightening.
"Yes, yes, do tell! You mean to say-"
"-Draco and his father still linger on in the house. But their spirits take the form of their younger selves. And for some odd reason, Draco's in a dress."
Blaise found himself backing away slightly as Granger tilted her head back to laugh, almost hysterically, "A dress?! Oh god, Zabini, if you even knew!"
"That's what I'm here for," he replied, a little crossly.
"The spell is activated only when the Malfoy leaves the world without the one he desires. They linger around the Manor, using what little magical ability they have left to try to draw the one to them. The house embodies some of their living conscience into their spirit form, whose looks are based on a particularly attractive and unique appearance they took on some time in their life."
"So you mean to say, Draco is in a dress, and he's seventeen years old when he's wearing it- because he actually wore it himself when he was that age- and the Manor thinks he looked bloody good in it?"
"Bingo, Zabini! I am thoroughly-"
"Yes Granger, amused. But more importantly, why draw the person back? What's the intention?"
She eyed him warily.
"They lure the one back to convince the person to join them in taking the train to the next life. As soon as possible."
Blaise's mouth suddenly felt very dry.
"And how do you know if you are the one?"
"If you are the one, you'd be able to touch the Malfoy as if the Malfoy was a real being, and you'd see the Malfoy in full colour. It's all part of the seduction, I suppose. Do tell me though; is Lucius simply like another ghost? Or does he retain some colour?"
"Just transparent. Why?"
"…He's that way because he's waiting for another spirit, Zabini. I'm just going to put it across bluntly; I think he's waiting for Draco."
Blaise's head was spinning. He quickly conjured up a glass of water and gulped it down. He couldn't get his mind around all this new information – of Lucius and Draco's possible relationship and the intention of the spirits. Though, he comforted himself, it was likely he was not the one who was going to be encouraged into the slaughterhouse- he had not been able to grip Draco's arm firmly the way he could when Draco was alive. He had an idea of who "the one" for Draco might be though; Draco had spoken at length about Potter even after Scorpius' birth. Slipping up on his guard and letting that nuisance of a man see the waiting spirit was as good as deciding to send Potter to the guillotine.
Granger watched Blaise silently, as if trying to read his thoughts.
"Be very careful, Zabini. The spell hasn't been activated in so long because the Malfoys have always managed to get what they want through their affluence. Very few wizarding families, even some of the purest and oldest, have ever managed to employ such a spell. It may even be stronger than an excellent Imperius; this ability was created with the use of a very powerful but since-forgotten ritual. The Malfoys burned all records of the ritual after they were done with it."
