His Unlucky Life

Even More Sulking

Waking up in his childhood home left Draco in a sour mood. It wasn't so much the house itself as it was the the emptiness that had taken over the property. Everywhere he looked, he saw memories of his family. Some were good, like when his mother had taught him how to read. Others were awful such as the time he asked about Aunt Andromeda. His mother and father had forbid him to even speak her name in the house after that day. Even then he loved them. Even when they gave him trouble for something he didn't know was wrong, he listened to them and followed their instructions because they always knew what was best for him.

Or so it had seemed for the longest time. Draco wasn't sure that he could trust much of anything from his father after being sent back to Azkaban. His release the first time had left the man shaken up and feeling horrible for putting his son in such a position. He worked hard to please the Dark Lord and keep his family safe and together. That was a man that even after everything happened, he could still walk away respecting the elder Malfoy. This time he had completely gone insane, believing that his actions were right and that the Dark Lord had really been the answer. Before he had doubted him and his power, he valued family more. It's why they left the battle in the first place. Then he became something that was barely human.

Draco's mother had worked so hard to make the broken family work together, to keep them all in check and behaving like a normal family would. She had made them sit down for breakfast and dinner. She even dragged them out of the house for some "bonding" time.

It pained Draco to think of how they had fought to be a family but then one man could tear that all away. Voldemort had wrecked his father right down to the core when he fell. It shattered any semblance of right and wrong in the family. Dearest mummy couldn't handle daddy and his moodiness, giving up on trying to hold it all together. No, Narcissa had wanted a normal life, to escape the dead end that Voldemort had forged in their path. She chose a muggle man who could grant her just that. Draco didn't blame her, he wanted out of it just as much as she, only he was going to accept Dumbledore's offer to keep the whole family safe.

What hurt the most was hearing what people would say about his family. If they had been in this situation, many of them would have chosen preservation over death. That was the only choice the Malfoy family made. They didn't chose murder and destruction, the chose life.

That wasn't a crime.

Draco had no idea how long he sat there, staring at the green silk sheets that covered his lap. He knew exactly why he chose that colour, to remind him of his time at Hogwarts; of a time that didn't have him questioning his mental state. He had picked them out himself once he learned that he was being invited back to teach.

Nostalgia washed over him as he stood up, walking to the bathroom.

The way Potter always had a righteous air about him. It was pitiful five years ago but now it was a comforting thought. The way Weaselbee could never seem to stay focused had once been a nuisance, now it had faded into a feeling of relief. There was Hermione too, with her know-it-all attitude. That which was infuriating became an almost happy memory.

Blaise was something different altogether. Draco had never had disdain for him as a boy nor as he grew into a man. He understood the struggles that people went through and how right and wrong were not exactly the clearest to see. Instead he stood tall and proud, something Draco had admired about him as it was never something he could accomplish himself.

He let out a deep sigh as the hot water made it's way over his body. The shower washed away everything. All of his worries, his guilt, his growing fondness of people in general, although he'd never admit that one aloud, went down the drain with the soapy water.

The air was a pleasant chill when he left the warmth of the water. He threw on a par of slacks and a white button up shirt, careful to make the buttons match up. He still didn't stall for long enough though and found himself sitting in his father's old study long before he was ready. The room was the same it always was, books he had been forbidden to lay eyes upon as a child were now available for his reading. A pile of paperwork regarding his parents' arrest had been left on the desk from the last time he had visited the room. It had been the day he got the letter from Professor McGonagall. He had felt the need to connect to his parents. He had sent them both letters that day but neither had responded.

He was okay back then. His mother was only going to be in there for a year and his father's case had been lessened to seven due to Harry's help. If only he had not gone off the deep end, then family might have been able to reunite but now it's just a fleeting dream.

Draco didn't know what he was doing but he found himself flinging a vase across the room. The shattered the large window overlooking the garden and he couldn't stop the tears that flowed. Everything he had worked for was smashed into a billion little pieces, much as the fine crystal vase now laying helplessly against the base of a small tree. His hands shook as he furiously swiped at the tears streaming down his cheeks. They refused to stop though and he found himself sitting against the wall, his head held in his hands.

To think that the two people he loved and respected most in this world are gone, a father killed by his son. A wife killed by her husband. Sure there had been more shameful things that happened in the family tree but this was something entirely different. This feeling was one that said that he was to blame. That he should have prevented this. Deep down Draco knew that there was nothing he could do though.

His silent sobs shook his body violently as cold air blasted him from the smashed window. He was done caring though.

Draco didn't leave his bed the next day. Or the day after that. Actually, it had been a week of straight nightmares and refusal to get up besides letting his house elf change his bedding daily. It was during those times that he would get up and have a shower, wiping off any traces of the horrible memories that plagued his mind. When he mind had been preoccupied at Hogwarts, what with packing up to return home and lending a hand to Professor Slughorn, his actions didn't have a chance to hurt his unconscious. He simply wasn't dreaming.

Now his subconscious was making sure that Draco knew what it thought about his choices in the heat of the moment. It replayed his father's death again and again. It pointed out how effortlessly he had said the two small words that he couldn't even say to Dumbledore, someone he was sure he hated. It didn't leave out the fact that his father didn't expect him to do it. No, his father had willing kept his arms open, inviting him to join him. He wasn't aiming to hurt Draco, but somehow Draco didn't hesitate to kill him.

The thought sickened him.

Even being consumed by the madness, the elder man had still wanted to be a family with him. Even though the man had killed his own wife and demolished any chance for Draco to choose him, he still tried. This is why Draco got out of bed for the first time in a week.

He had gone out to the garden, an enchanted place that was always in bloom. Even though the house elves tried, they couldn't keep it running as beautiful as it once had. Narcissa had loved the garden, it was her pride and joy. She had kept it clean and not a single flower showed a sign of wilting. Draco worked diligently to make the flowers acceptable. He grabbed all of her favourites, separating them into two bouquets each fastened by a large ribbon. With the flowers in hand he made the one trip that he had been dreading most of all.

He didn't bother apparating to the back of the property. It was pointless when this was the first real exercise he'd gotten since coming home. Even the cold and snow wouldn't deter him from his task at hand. He walked the long winding distance through the trees, holding onto the presents as if they were a life line. In reality, he guessed they were. They were slowly pulling him towards the crypt just as he'd be pulled back to the ship.

It was mid afternoon when he finally got to the burial ground his family owned. His hands were frozen stiff around the flowers but he didn't care. In total, there were seventeen generations of Malfoys buried here. He had asked his dad once how old the manor was and he couldn't even tell him the answer. So the two set off to find the records of the building. It had taken a week to find out that the original owner was Talus Malfoy. As expected, his headstone was the largest as he was the first one to define the plot. Draco continued on, passing by the graves of his ancestors.

At last he reached the two freshest graves. The headstones were impeccable, not a hint that the weather had been undesirable to them. Draco smiled slightly. To think that they went through hell and back, becoming battered and broken versions of what they once were, only to be left alone in death.

"Hello mother, father."

He waited for a response even though he knew that he wasn't going to get one.

"It's lonely in the house now. I mean, sure the house elves are still as loud as ever but there's not a single sign that you guys ever occupied the space. Besides Mother's closets and closets of clothes. She needed a new robe for every occasion, didn't you?"

Draco felt tears starting to prick the corner of his eyes. He turned his face up to the white sky, trying to blink them back. It worked, even if it would only be temporarily.

"You know, I think I need to take over the garden. It's not looking so good. Maybe I'll find the journal you kept about the willow snaps. I heard that they're quite nasty but you always knew how to take care of them." he said, bending down to one set of the flowers on his mother's grave.

"And father. I still haven't broken your rules. Those books have not been gotten rid of. Merlin knows how hard you tried to keep them in the Malfoy family, even if it's not solely for academic purposes. I mean, educating oneself about the dark arts in case of an emergency is definitely important but it took forever to build that collection. It's not going anywhere soon,"

After placing the second bouquet on his father's grave he placed a hand on the tombstone of each parent. He squeezed each one before letting go and taking a few steps backwards.

His focus was amazing, barely emitting a 'pop' as he apparated back to the manor. His heart felt lighter but he still didn't sleep well.

Agh, I'm so sorry for the late update. Originally when I missed Friday I was going to put it up Sunday since it was my birthday but I was out all day then got completely swamped by school. Needless to say, excuses don't mean anything to any of you and I'm trash for not getting this done but it's finally here. And as a heads up, next two weeks may be late as well since it's my my last week before exams and then exams.

Again, I'm sorry!

~Aerivia