Hello guys! Here's the next update :) Hopefully, you guys would like it and do tell me what you think of it!
Draco
Chapter 1 : The Sickness
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but this isn't curable. We could slow down the process, sure, but stopping to completely… That's one to a hundred."
Draco couldn't believe his ears when he heard this. It just kept repeating itself in his head, over and over again till he found himself clutching his head with tears cascading his cheeks. He had imagined the healer's face when she had said the news. It was neutral, but he could figure out what she was thinking, figure out what the whole Wizarding nation was thinking if they had heard this.
'She deserved it. Being in league with Voldemort…'
And, of course, it was the same for him.
Five months had passed, and still, the Ministry was still scrambling about to pick up the pieces from the war. One by one, they locked up every single death eater in Azkaban with Potter helping them at each turn.
His father was thrown into Azkaban right after the war. That wasn't much of a tragic occurrence in the family. He mistreated them—mistreated Draco, that all he could think about was the words 'serves him right'.
Maybe that was how the world actually thought of him… an evil death eater who still wanted Voldemort to be alive, who still wanted to follow his mindless father's footsteps. Draco sneered at the table, smashing his fist on it to hear a resounding 'smack'.
Did he really deserve it?
His mother was sick, a sickness that still had no cure and feed on her magic core. His father was in Azkaban, rotting. Now, he was staring at the parchment from Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Draco Malfoy,
I'm sorry to inform you, but from your hearing, the Ministry decided to give you a month stay in Azkaban and a fee of a thousand galleons because of your contribution in the battle.
The month stay in Azkaban could be abolished, if you could get at least two wizards to stand by you and say that you have changed and the stay wouldn't be needed. That would be, of course, another story.
If you want to pick the latter, you must send me a letter, because your silence would in fact tell us that you've already accepted your punishment. I will give you a week, and if you still haven't respond, you will be taken.
Sincerely,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Minister of Magic
He exhaled, shaking his head.
Draco had to calm down; his mother would be coming anytime soon with a healer right behind her. He needed to tell her about this, about the fact that his own son couldn't even be there for her during the process. A low growl escaped his lips.
The galleons weren't a problem at all, heck, it still wouldn't put a dent on his inheritance. But he knew, no matter how much he could ever give, they wouldn't budge.
For in their eyes, he was none other than Draco Malfoy, Slytherin death eater who despised mudbloods and killed blood traitors. When in reality, he had never killed anyone, even during the Battle of Hogwarts.
"Incendio," he whispered, his wand pointing at the piece of paper in front of him, and he watched it lit into flames. He may earned this punishments—all of them, but his mother didn't.
A sudden pop was heard and he widened his eyes when he could only see his mother in front of him. Her blonde hair was fading to white and the wrinkles started to show themselves as she stumbled to the chair that was for her. When Draco stood up to help her, she only gave a wave of a hand. Narcissa smiled, a small one, "Draco, darling, how are you?"
"Where's the healer? She was supposed to follow you…"
"She's an annoyance," his mother spat, her eyes shining with defiance. "Just because I'm sick doesn't mean I'm helpless. Merlin, the word 'privacy' is utterly meaningless to her."
"She's supposed to do that. Mother, you can't just go around apparating, you know it's draining your magic," Draco didn't budge, and his gaze hardened at the sight of his mother already pale and thin, not the healthy woman she once was when he was still in school.
Narcissa ignored his protests, "As long as you are with me, it's all fine." She then gave a weak laugh. "Ha! Of course you would be—what was I thinking?"
All thoughts of telling her or even mentioning the letter he had gotten from the Ministry had faded at the back of his mind. His mother was right in front of her, shaking slightly as if the wind could already push and pull her body at its command. What was he going to say now?
That he couldn't.
Yet when he stared into her blue eyes, he gave a small smile and a nod of his head, "I'm not going anywhere."
Bloody hell.
And after thirty minutes of chatting, his mother left with the healer and he was suddenly scrawling down on a piece of paper.
He was now going to owl his old friend, Blaise Zabini.
