La Destinée qui laisse A Couru Son Cours

by fadedjaded

The above title is French for "Letting Destiny Run Its Course." I understand that there has been some controversy over the translation. I checked several sites and they all came up with different translations, so I decided to stick with the above. Angst,

La Renaissance du Passé (Celui)

Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not own anything.

Author's Note: This is my first fic, so let me know if you think I should continue. I adore comments, suggestions, ideas, eulogy, constructive criticism, and … hmm … oh, and reviews! J It's the first part of my LDqlACSC series, La Destinée qui laisse A Couru Son Cours. *ahem* It's a rather long title, meaning, "Letting Destiny Run Its Course" in French. The ballad is not mine. I forgot who it was by, but it is not mine nonetheless. I added a few lyrics and altered it a bit to fit the story. No, I'm not French, Scottish, or Canadian. So. Off to Part 1.

***

He had silver eyes.

He remembered that day when he had been four, in his father's study. His father had called him in to have a talk.

[--memory--]

"Draco," Father had said, "I have to tell you about a Malfoy family secret." He'd pulled out a mirror and handed it to Draco.

"Look at your reflection," he said.

Draco looked. Nothing out of ordinary. Same pale, white face; ordinary silver hair; boring, everyday greyish silvery eyes; a common pointed chin. "I don't see anything different, Daddy." He never called his father Daddy now. Times had been different back then.

"Look at your eyes, son," Lucius had said, kindly, "do you see the silver in them?"

"Yes," said Draco slowly.

Lucius started pacing again. "Draco, look at my eyes."

Draco looked. His father's eyes were completely grey, lacking the life that had been there, before- Draco swallowed -*she* died.

"Why are my eyes slightly silver, then, Daddy?"

Lucius sank down in a padded armchair. "In the Malfoy family," he said, slowly, "How silver your eyes depend on your level of greatness. You have a great potential to have your eyes turn completely silver. The more silver, the more power. But the more power, the more of a chance you have to turn good, turn *away* from the Dark side. You understand, Draco?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"I want you to promise," Lucius leaned closer to little Draco, "promise me that whatever you do, you will not turn away from the Dark side. Will you, Draco?"

"I won't turn from the Dark side," Draco said, stomach churning. Little did his father know that his mother had long ago made Draco swear to never go *to* the Dark side.

"Good," said Lucius, "you may return."

[--end of memory--]

Draco threw the mirror out his window angrily, fifteen year-old body slumping against his four poster bed. Staring up at the ceiling, he could see the various calligraphic M's interlaced with each other, intertwining across the cream coloured background.

It was the summer after his fourth year, the year that that wretched Potter had entered the Triwizard Tournament and- fifteen year-old Draco pounded his pillow angrily -and he had won. Lovely, lovely, hateful Potter. With his lovely scar.

He had seen Hermione at the ball, and had noticed again how much she resembled his mother and his heart had hardened again.

Oh, Mum, Draco had thought, Why did you have to go and leave us all, and to die? Why did you make Father marry that hag, Narcissa? Why?

His mother had died when he had been four years old. Draco remembered her so well though he had been young.

She had long, thick, straight raven hair, with the whitest complexion Draco had ever seen. Violet, starry, eyes. My little dreamer, Father had often called Mummy. She smelled like roses and lilacs and sea spray, mist coming over the ocean at dawn. Dew in the morning on green grass. Crisp, clear, refreshing, yet tinged with something else. Father would hold her at times and fondly say, "What is the dreamer thinking of now?"

She was more like a dream, thought Draco, instead of a dreamer. She had this aura around her, that attracted everyone and everything. Even his grumpy grandmother would grudgingly smile and sing with her.

Mummy would be waltzing by herself with only the music in her head. Sitting on the satin window seat, laughing every now and then at nothing in particular. Wandering around the manor singing old Scottish ballads.

The bonnie lass yonder Highland

Wandering through the fields

The bonnie lass yonder Highland

Calling to her ancient people

Through her tears

Poor lass: take pity on her

Poor lass: take pity on her

Poor lass ...

Draco still remembered his mother's name.

Cosette.

Cosette Malfoy.

Poor lass: take pity on her

Poor lass: take pity on her

Abandoned, alone, afraid

She seeks her ancient folk

But there are none to be found

Sometimes she would sink into bouts of sadness, huddled up near the bay window, looking out across the front lawn. Grief all around her, chilling anyone who came close. Draco would always be playing near her with his toy broomstick. He'd come up to her once, and asked her, "What's wrong, Mummy?"

She'd only smile through her tears and shake her head. Kissing Draco on the forehead, getting him wet with her salty tears, smiling sadly as he wrinkled his nose at the awful taste. "Go on, Draco," she'd always whisper, "go on far, far, away from here."

"But why, Mummy? I like this place, it's so big and I have so many toys."

She would always start crying again.

Whenever his father was present, he would go up to Cosette and hold her. She would still be crying, though, in his arms, with him crooning and whispering to her, kissing her hair. He'd pick her up and carry her to her bedroom. But the house was never the same. It seemed like the house would be weeping with her, or for her, Draco never knew which. When his father came down, clothes wet, face weary, Draco always asked what was wrong. Lucius simply ignored him.

The story of a maiden fair,

Sing briney, briney brink.

With shades of silver in her hair,

Sing briney, briney brink.

Shut off forever from all that can be seen,

Consigned to Malfoy's company.

Sing briney, briney brink.

Sing briney, briney bonnie doon.

The very first stanza of the ballad Cosette loved so much.

Draco could tell by the way Lucius looked at Cosette that he loved her. He never looked at anyone else the same way, not even Draco. He was never really kind to Draco, but he had never been cruel or unkind. Simply ... not seeing him. Like he didn't exist. Draco soon learned to only seek sanctuary with his mother.

"You're his heir," Mum had once told Draco.

"I am not air," Draco had said with the babyish regality that only those young and innocent possessed.

When he neared four, the fateful age, his parents had told him that he was going to have a sister.

"Really?" asked Draco, "Where is she from? When will I get to see her? Where is she?"

They'd just laughed, and Lucius had simply patted Cosette's stomach. He'd started kissing her neck, and Draco, not knowing what to do, had crept up to his mother and started to kiss her neck, too. They'd laughed at that.

Another reason for Cosette's sadness, Draco thought, must have been his father's involvement with the Dark Arts. Whenever Lucius gave parties, a certain tall, skinny, pale man named *Voldemort* would be invited. He scared Draco. Draco could tell by the way his mother frowned whenever Voldemort came near her that she didn't like him.

Vol de Mort ... Flight of Death ...

He'd asked her to dance, once, and she'd cried out when his touch burned her hands. She's too good, Voldemort had hissed to Father, she's too pure. She doesn't like Dark Arts, now, does she? Notice I can't even hold her hand? My touch burns her. His nostrils flared. She isn't going to be part of all this, is she? Draco noticed he never said Cosette. It was always she.

Father had simply shrugged. "I don't know, my Lord," he'd say every time Voldemort brought this up.

Then the Day came. Mum had been rushed to the wizarding hospital. However, when Father came to pick up Draco, he looked very, very old and very, very tired. "Your sister is dead, Draco," he'd said.

"What?" asked Draco, who had been three and about to turn four in a month. "You mean I won't get to see her? She's not coming home?"

"No," said Lucius. "I'm going to go and bring your mother home. Stay here and don't wander out into the gardens like you did last time. The Chomping Garden Gnome almost bit your head off."

"Yes, Daddy."

When Mum had come home, Draco was shocked at how different she looked, as if she had aged twenty years. Her face was paler than usual, so white that Draco could see the veins. She looked wan, and tired, and her usually thick and shining hair was bedraggled.

"Draco, darling," she'd said, and fainted. Father had magicked a stretcher and carried her up to her room.

She had her depression periods even more often than usual. Voldemort was forming a group, Father had told Mum over dinner, and all the members would be called "Death Eaters". Mangeurs De la Mort. "How awful," she shuddered. "You, eating death? Lucius, please don't join!"

Father had only looked at her sadly. She'd sunk into depression, but this time, she didn't cry, and instead started singing.

Why weep you in the Manor, Lady?

The Manor, proud and high.

Why scrawl your name on whitewashed

walls,

When'er your Lord comes neigh?

Why walk about without a word?

Why choose, at last, to die?

I cannot cease my weeping, Sire,

I'm chilled unto the bone.

I've lost my lass, my tiny babe,

I've lost my ancient home.

The singing sea is far, yet near;

I'm locked in solid stone.

Whenever Lucius left for a Death Eater meeting, Cosette sang. The simple two stanzas, over and over again. When he came home with his tattoo, she'd cried and run off, with Lucius standing there, forearm still bared, watching her go. Draco saw her later, weeping under their big willow.

Draco turned four.

A week after his birthday, Mum had come up to him and rocked him for a bit. She was clad in all white. "Draco," she said, whispering, "whatever you do, promise not to get mad at me, all right?"

"Mummy," he'd said, patting her cheek clumsily with a chubby hand, "what are you going to do? Why will I be mad? I'll only be mad if you go off and leave me ... and you never, ever come back. Promise me, Mummy, you'll stay. I was so so scared in the store, last time, and you were gone!"

"I know," she said, "this time, don't be sad. But promise me, Draco, that no matter what, you will never go to the Dark side."

"Why?" Draco asked with the innocence that only a newly four year-old could possess, "Why?"

"Promise, Draco," she'd said, voice hoarse. "Promise me."

"Oh, all right," Draco had said. "But remember, you owe me," he said with a childish sternity. "Candy?"

She'd just smiled, and left, and Draco watched her. She wandered out to the pond, crystal clear in color. Cosette looked back at Draco, who was watching from the window. Opening her mouth once more, she sung, beautifully,

The story of a maiden fair,

Sing briney, briney brink.

With shades of silver in her hair,

Sing briney, briney brink.

Shut off forever from the sea,

Consigned to Malfoy's company

Sing briney, briney brink

Sing briney, briney bonnie doon.

And walked right into the pond.

"So she's going swimming?" wondered Draco aloud. "Why would I be mad?"

But she kept walking, walking, until her head was covered and the pond was stained red. She never came up. Draco still stood there, watching the pond, when Lucius came home from his Death Eater meeting.

"What are you looking at, Draco," said Lucius unattentatively.

"I'm waiting for Mum to come up from her swim," Draco said, "she hasn't come up for an hour."

"WHAT?" Lucius spun around, knocking Draco out of the way, staring out of the window frantically. He spotted the pool, rusty-red with Cosette's blood. "Oh, God, no..." Lucius moaned, head in his hands. He called Dobby to his side and told him to go and fetch Cosette. Dobby returned only a few minutes later with Cosette floating in front of him.

Lucius had taken one look at her and knew she was dead. Draco could tell by the look on his face. Strangely, the water had not stained her nor her clothes. They were still white, white, white. "Is Mum all right?" asked Draco. Lucius ignored him yet again. He was breathing very fast. Slowly, after a while, he squatted down next to her levitated body and placed his head on her breast. Draco slowly left the scene and fled to his room. He hugged his little teddy bear, the present from Mum for his fourth birthday. "My mummy is dead," he whispered, over and over again, "my mummy is dead..."

Draco blinked back tears and swallowed. He remembered that night well, too well. He still had the little bear. He kept it under a loose floorboard underneath his bed.

After she'd died, Father had changed. For one, he would no longer let Draco call him "Daddy" anymore. In addition, he'd gotten married to Narcissa.

Narcissa ... cold, cruel, heartless, calm, but beautiful--Narcissa. Draco hated her. Narcissa hated him back. She was all fake, a fraud. Oozing with it. False kindness to Draco, simpering like a puppy to Lucius. Draco detested her.

His father had changed, too. He was cold now, completely shut off. He never was kind anymore. Sometimes Draco saw him weeping for Cosette, holding a lock of her inky black hair. At times like these he would permit Draco to stay, and let Draco reach out and touch the bit of hair. They'd stand there together, mourning for Cosette. But she was gone, and nothing could bring her back.

Nothing.

***

A week had passed, and it was time to board the Hogwarts Express. He'd wandered about until he had found Crabbe and Goyle. Still extremely large, bungling, and complete gits. He had grown taller than them, however, which given him a very small and fleeting pleasure. Draco spotted Weasley and noted with displeasure that he was still taller than Draco. Draco was taller than Potter by four inches, however, and this gave Draco immense satisfaction. He sat back, relaxed, waiting for the train to start, with Crabbe and Goyle grunting to each other.

This year he was a prefect. Fingering the shiny 'P', he wondered how much Father had had to bribe the governors. Or was it Snape? None of the teachers except for Snape liked him very much ... they couldn't've chosen to make him a prefect on their own free will. Perhaps Snape, ah, amusing them? He shook his head free of his hormonal thoughts.

Draco closed his eyes. The Dark Lord, according to Father, was still biding his time, and wanted to keep his motives secret until he could find a weak spot in the wizarding world. One jab, and then the world would fall for him. Draco didn't see how this was possible, but he had nodded like he was supposed to and was out the door.

Suddenly a sleek brown head poked in through the door. "Harry?" it inquired. Then, upon seeing Malfoy, it snorted, and asked, "Do you know where Harry is?"

Malfoy sneered. It was Hermione. Her hair no longer bushy, quite attractive now, she reminded him of his mother. He hated her more than ever. "How am I supposed to keep track of outhouses?" Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. They sniggered at everything.

"Out-" Hermione started, then, comprehending the insult, turned red. Draco noted the badge on her own front. "You really are a bastard, Malfoy," she said and stalked away. Crabbe and Goyle started grunt-snorting, which really irritated Draco. "Shut up, you two, and let me have some peace." They stopped, and started grunting towards each other again. Draco sighed.

What a pair of bastards.

A plump old witch rolled her cart by. Crabbe and Goyle, of course, jumped to their feet. Draco simply sat there. The smile on her kindly face reminded him. Again. Why did you have to die? Didn't you think of me? thought Draco bitterly.

"Whatever you do, Draco, promise not to be mad at me, all right?"

Draco exhaled deeply. "Something to eat, dear?" asked the witch. Draco shook his head, biting his lips. Perhaps she noticed his overbright eyes, or his jaw clenching. At any rate, after giving Draco a look of sympathy, she exited the compartment. Draco heard indistinct giggles, but didn't really care.

"Harry!" a voice sounded.

Hermione, Draco thought dully.

He was lost in thought afterwards. When the witch passed by again, going the opposite direction, an oddity, he didn't even notice.

The train had stopped at Hogwarts. They were now seated in the Great Hall. The journey had been frightfully boring--Crabbe and Goyle eating and grunting with Draco thinking of his mother. All of a sudden, with a pop, Crabbe turned into a frog. It hopped about the hall, unnoticed, until it bounced right into Snape's face. It clung to his nose upside down and it happened that a fly landed on Snape's hair. Though being a frog, Crabbe was still Crabbe and a stupid git. His tongue shot out reflexively, but Crabbe, being upside down, accidentally shot his tongue into Snape's mouth.

All of Hogwarts screamed with laughter, especially from the Gryffindor table. The Slytherins gaped in astonishment.

Moments later Goyle turned into a handsome, dashing, prince, rushed over to Snape, flung Crabbe the toad towards the Hufflepuff table. "My Lady," he said in a cultured voice, "is thy fair face left unscathed? Hath thee suffered no harm? Ah, my Lady, kiss me!" and with all his might (which was a lot for a buff, handsome prince, though still Goyle on the inside) he flung himself upon Snape.

Draco smiled bemusedly. So Goyle was finally getting his fantasy.

More laughter. Tears from many of the students, who were clutching their stomachs in agony. Draco fought back the urge to join in, as many of the Slytherins were glaring about stonily. He ignored it all and kept on mutilating his pork rind. He heard Snape's roar, Goyle's squeal, and watched him storm out the Great Hall. With a wave of Dumbledore's wand Crabbe and Goyle returned to normal.

It took quite a while for order to be restored. A blond girl had fainted from all the excitement. Weakling, Draco thought bitterly.

Draco half-listened to the Sorting Hat, absentmindedly looking over the new additions to Slytherin. He noticed the same small, timid, blond girl arriving to his table, the one that had fainted earlier. Cosette, the name rang through his head.

Damn, he thought, why do I have to keep thinking about Mum? He stabbed his fork into his pot roast. Why?

Hermione walked into the Great Hall, flanked by Harry and Ron, who were bickering over Quidditch again. She sighed tiredly and sat down next to Lavender. Ron and Harry, not having noticed anything, sat two seats away from her. Hermione sighed again.

"That's the trouble with having two fellows as friends," cooed Parvati. "Boys are simply plain stupid [A/N: no offense meant *cough*]."

"You're right," Hermione said in a vapid manner, "Parvati, why are you talking like that?"

"Call me Parvie," she oozed, and collapsed in giggles with Lavender. "I'm just trying-" giggle "-out my-" giggle, giggle, snort "-new way of talking. I-" pumpkin juice came out of her nose. Hermione looked away in disgust and watched Ron and Harry bicker.

Parvati and Lavender had told Hermione last year that "Ron liked her." Hermione didn't really care. Ron was funny, and loyal to his family, but- Hermione sighed -rather dense. His marks were abysmal, even worse than Harry's at Potions. Not as bad as Goyle's, perhaps, Hermione told herself with a smile, but still ...

It wasn't fun to be with him.

Hermione turned her attention towards Harry. She smiled fondly as she thought of him. He was so brave and kind. He'd defeated Voldemort so many times, even without his mother's help. Harry had told her in very vague terms about what had happened. Hermione felt so sorry for him. She'd wanted to hug him, but one look at his face and she knew not to do that.

He'd also given his bag of prize money to the Weasley twins. Fred had told her about it and asked her to go and help them pick out robes for Ron. Hermione had pointedly refused. Fred had given her a very sly look, and left. Ron later got bright pink robes with little hearts everywhere.

Hermione had to help him change them to a solid dark red instead. It had been a very tricky, advanced charm, since all robes had some sort of powerful color-keeping charm on them. It had been a spell that Hermione had found in a book over the summer due to her extensive reading.

She shook her thoughts free of Harry.

And thought of Draco.

Unbeknownst to Draco, she had been the witch with the food cart that had passed by the first time. She, Harry, and Ron had prepared for a very long time for that particular prank. With the help of George and Fred, they'd filled the candy bars and pasties with spells and charms. Any selection of them would have had hilarious effects.

They'd just happened to pick two of the funniest ones.

Draco hadn't bought anything. Hermione had taken the chance to take a good look at him. Not bad, she mused. If only he was a decent person.

Asking him if he wanted anything, struggling to hold back laughter, she noticed the tears in his eyes.

She stopped inwardly sneering.

Draco Malfoy, big, bad, future Death Eater, crying?

He must have something really big to cry about, Hermione thought. She left the compartment, noting how tightly his jaw muscles were clenched.

She'd entered her own compartment amidst laughter.

Ron was on the floor, rolling, clutching his stomach. "Did you see them?" he gasped. "They ate so many! Pigs! Miserable prats! Greedy fat bastards!"

Harry was sitting near the window, laughing. "Hermione," he said, wiping away tears, "that was good. You passed for the perfect concession lady. My god..."

Hermione glowed at this praise, but then the thought of Draco's tears came to her mind.

"Yes, well," she said stiffly, "it was worth it, wasn't it?"

Ron looked at her strangely. "Why aren't you laughing?" he asked. "We've planned this for ages," Ron said, "don't tell me you're in love with Malfoy!"

"You're in love with Malfoy?" asked Harry in mock astonishment.

"Harry!" cried Hermione. "No, I am NOT in love with Malfoy."

They collapsed in laughter again.

The rumbling of the passing pupils awoke Hermione from her recollection.

Harry and Ron were looking for her. "There she is!" yelled Ron. "Oy, Hermione!"

"I'm coming!" she shouted back, earning several disapproving looks from a seventh-year prefect.

"Where were you?" Harry asked. "Ron and I were looking for you." He had finally put on his badge. Ron had been the only one not elected prefect.

"I was eating, like normal witches and wizards, using my mouth for more appropriate uses," Hermione said dryly.

"Sorry," Harry said.

"It's all right," she replied, turning away. And spotted Draco, with his white, white, blond hair. His eyes were silver, causing Hermione to give a little shudder. She turned back towards the mob and trudged towards Gryffindor Tower, giving herself a little shake. Hermione, she told herself sternly. You've lost your mind. This is Draco Malfoy. Malfoy. Get a grip on yourself.

She entered the Tower, unconsciously gripping Ron's arm. Ron shot Harry a triumphant look, while Harry nodded and grinned falteringly. She looked back at him in time to catch a sad look flit across his face before he smiled at her. Looking down at what she was holding in surprise, she let go of Ron's arm. Hermione knew better than to ask Ron why she was holding his hand, however, and headed towards Gryffindor Tower.

Draco saw Hermione look at him, lingering on his face longer than was necessary. Filthy Mudblood, he thought, disgusting. Idly rubbing his badge with his fingertips, he went up to the boys' dormitory. On the way, he met up with Pansy.

"Hi, Draco," she fluttered, batting her eyelashes.

"Hullo, Pansy," he said, dully. "What do you want?"

"Oh, Draco," she flounced, throwing her hands around him. "I'm so glad you're back. I missed you ever so much over the summer." She had an American accent.

"You talk like a Yankee," spat Draco.

"I went to visit New York over the summer," Pansy simpered, "and after that, California. It is simply marvelous, Draco, we must go there sometime. Together. Hmm?"

Draco shuddered inwardly at the thought of going anywhere "together" with Pansy. "Listen, Pansy, I have to get to my room. I can't talk to you right now. G'bye." He stalked off. Moments later, a house elf ran up to him while he was sitting on his bed, massaging his temples.

"Dobby," Draco hissed vehemently. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"M-m-master Draco! I is sorry sir, but Master Malfoy is giving Dobby socks, see, so Dobby is working for Master Dumbledore sir, please, sir, please, sir, don't hurt Dobby! Dobby is only giving Draco a message from Master Dumbledore! Young master! Young master! Calm down!" Dobby squeaked. Draco had hurled himself at Dobby and was now trying to hex him unsuccessfully. Dobby was using his own brand of magic to avoid from being hurt. "STOP!" shrieked Dobby.

Draco stopped, breathing hard. He looked down at Dobby. "Disgusting," he muttered, glaring at Dobby's mismatched clothing. "Utterly despicable."

"Dumbledore is wanting Dobby to tell young Master Malfoy that all the new prefects is supposed to meet in Dumbledore's office. Dobby bids young master goodnight, sir!" Dobby blithered in a rush, and with a pop, disappeared, all in less than a minute.

Draco blinked.

"Damnit," he cursed. "Blast, a meeting for prefects right after the Hogwarts feast? Curse Dumbledore!" He looked around automatically, but no one appeared to be in the room. Even Crabbe and Goyle would have been afraid had they heard the last two words Draco had spoken. The two were usually too slow to be afraid of anything.

Draco sighed and trudged down to the Slytherin common room. Something wet and seemingly an acid landed on the ground in front of him.

It burned a four-foot hole in front of him.

"Master is not to be cursing Master Dumbledore!" Dobby's voice sounded. The hole closed up.

Draco doubled his pace, grumbling. "Curse that house elf," he muttered.

He kept walking, looking at the floor, and ran right into a table.

"Oh, fuck," he cursed. Suddenly it all got to him. The pain of his newly freshened memories of his past, the frustration that Dobby was working here, the anger that Potter and Granger were prefects with him, the latest rants of Narcissa, the stress of it all finally caught up with him. The table had simply tipped him over the line between insanity and sanity.

He screamed at the top of his lungs and kept screaming.

Darkness settled. The last thing Draco saw was a worried face hovered over him. "Mother," he breathed; blackness came and all faded.

Author's Note: Please review! That's what the little box down there is for…