Chapter Three: The Way Back to Normal
They watch him read; glasses slipping down his nose as his head is angles over the paper spread out across his desk. By this point in the day, everyone else will have read it, everyone else will know. Narcissa stands by what she told Draco before: they need to be united. They need to find their way back to 'normal'. She has tolerated her son's peculiarities these last few years. He struggled through the war, and of course that would have last effects. It affected all of them. She even added allowances for his age. In retrospect, she shouldn't've pushed for the Greengrass union. That was a mistake, and Narcissa accepts it as her own. She had hoped that pushing Draco towards a family of his own would give him the stability he lacked since his father's incarceration, and for a little while it did. In a way. There was no great love between Draco and Astoria, but that wasn't a prerequisite. It wasn't even expected. He was neither particularly interested nor especially resistant. If he had been, of course Narcissa would have listened. As it was, Draco was as he generally preferred to be – a passive participant in his own life – and she was more than happy to direct him. The ceremony was beautiful. Small, sedate, but beautiful. They were so young – just nineteen – the same age she had been on her wedding day. Astoria looked how Narcissa remembered feeling – bright and thrilled and a little surprised to find herself there.
And Draco…
For the first time in his life, Draco did not look like his father.
He looked younger, somehow, in the dress-robes she'd taken from Lucius's wardrobe. She'd thought they'd give him strength and make him feel like a man. But they only served to highlight what he was – a boy dressed in his father's clothes. He looked uncomfortable and unhappy, not just his usual serious. He looked like he wanted to run.
She should have known that one day he would.
Narcissa admires the way Astoria has handled Draco's abysmal behaviour – patiently waiting and hoping, as she has, that one day the phase will pass and they will all go back to normal. Whatever Draco thinks of his wife, Narcissa remains certain she made the right choice. At the most selfish level, Narcissa is glad for the companionship of her daughter-in-law.
Lucius will not be so tolerant.
"There is less than a week, Draco," she prompts when he doesn't look up from the article. "If you come home now, there will be enough time to settle Scorpius in, to get used to—"
"When was it decided?" Draco asks quietly. "It doesn't say here. It doesn't say anything. I remember the trial—"
"You weren't there." She has never quite forgiven him for making her go alone.
His eyes flick up in a glare. "But everyone else was. Every single detail was reported back. I remember it. The few who didn't think we should be facing the same sentence offered their condolences. As though he were already dead. That was the expectation. Be it the Dementors or a life sentence, he wouldn't be coming home. That's what was decided!"
He looks desperately at her and anger knots her stomach. "You really wish that for your own father, Draco? After everything he has done for you? He has his faults, has made his mistakes, but don't we all? Don't you? We did what we had to do to survive. Your father included."
"I don't doubt that for a moment," Draco spits, the tremor in his hands visible. "Father has always been particularly good at doing what needs to be done."
Narcissa sighs, fighting with her own temper. "Try to understand—"
"I do understand! I understand perfectly! I understand that nothing has changed. I understand that, as ever, you can all just do as you please with no consideration as to what is right. I understand this. How much?" Draco demands. "How much did you have to pay for this?" He throws down article as though it burns to touch it. "Not just a release but a pardon. Can't have been cheap. I don't see any of the others on here."
"I thought that, at least, would be a comfort to you," says Narcissa softly. "I have been in consultation with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I don't play your father's games, Draco. It was all above-board. I requested a review of his case as a favour. It was considered and it was overturned. Emotions were running high when the original sentence was made and, in retrospect, they concluded that your father is not a dangerous man – he is not like Greyback, or Bella—" Though it still hurts to think of her sister as she had once been, before she lost Bellatrix to Voldemort. "Or Yaxley, Draco. Be glad for that." She watches her son closely, looking for relief amidst the pain. She finds none.
"Your father never hurt anyone—" she tries.
"What about me?"
"He did what he had to do," says Narcissa through gritted teeth. "Do not compare discipline to murder, Draco, you're embarrassing yourself. Focus on what is important. The real criminals – and the one who truly did hurt you – will remain behind bars, and our family will be complete again." She settles back and raises her chin with an air of triumphant. "If Harry Potter can forgive him, you can too."
"This is nothing to do with Harry Potter," Draco snarls. "He does not get to have an opinion on this!"
"Your father was not imprisoned because he hit you, Draco. He was imprisoned for crimes against the Wizarding World. Crimes that have now been acquitted. For Merlin's sake, find some perspective."
She watches Draco fade before her eyes; the fire from his anger dying as he gives up an argument he doesn't fully understand and cannot win.
Narcissa blames Severus. She loved him dearly, but dear god! his muggle morality did far more harm than good. He had made it all seem so much worse, so much more serious than it needed to be. He spoiled Draco, just as Draco is spoiling Scorpius. It is a vicious cycle and something needs to be done. She had hoped that fatherhood would make Draco see sense and force him to understand the decisions that parenthood brings. But it only made him worse. As soon as the child was born, Draco fell in love – a dangerous, indulgent love that pushed out everyone else. Astoria was baffled, and she did her best to find her place between the two of them and do what needed to be done, but her efforts were met with nothing hostility and opposition.
A godfather's influence was easy enough to dismiss, but parents should be on the same side. Narcissa had never argued with Lucius's methods, even when she didn't necessarily agree with them. Even in their darkest moments, facing their hardest decisions, they had to be on the same side.
She wishes dearly that Draco could understand it.
"We love you, Draco," she murmurs. "Everything we have done, since the moment you were born, we did out of love for you. Everything."
Draco's nostrils flare, silence heavy. Narcissa knows he hasn't told Astoria everything, will refuse to do so even now in the middle of it all. She almost glad of it. Though she stands by the decisions they made during the darkest days of the war, though she knows it was a means to an end and a matter of survival, she knows she cannot justify it to her son in the same way she can excuse Lucius.
The only way forward is to put the past in the past.
She tells him so, firmly. "He has changed," she says. "A person cannot go through Azkaban without changing."
She swears she sees a shadow of a smirk cross Draco's face. "Like Aunt Bellatrix?"
Narcissa flinches before she can help it. "The damage to Bella was done long before Azkaban. This is different. They wouldn't release him if there was any doubt at all. He is no threat to anyone, least of all you."
Draco is immovable; tightening with every second. "Scorpius?"
Narcissa snaps at him immediately, "Why on earth would he want to hurt Scorpius?"
"I don't know." The words are small and stilted. "I really don't know. You tell me. You're the one who supports him. Or ask her—" Draco jerks his head at Astoria. "She's exactly what you think we should be. And I don't understand. I don't want to be part of this… of this… world you are so determined to sustain. It's supposed to be better now. That's what everyone keeps saying. But it isn't. Not where it matters. And I have to protect him. I have to protect my son. From it. From you. From all of you. Because you can't even see what you've done. Can you?" He looks between them, genuinely asking. "You have absolutely no idea."
"I am not the reason you are damaged," Narcissa hisses. "I am the reason you are alive. I am the reason we survived at all. Think about that."
Draco thinks about it. Hard.
Everything we did, we did for you. Because we love you.
He thinks about the fingers locked into his hair, dragging him through the Manor when he was too little to have any chance at all, being pushed down and whipped. He thinks about the darkness, of being locked up and left, of feeling forgotten. He thinks about his father holding his hand as he made Draco recite his lessons. He remembers terror stifling the words and making him forget everything he knew he knew, and his father casually snapping a finger each time he made a mistake. It didn't matter because it wasn't permanent. Everything is fixable with magic. He remembers the stammer he's tried so hard to lose and the sickening, semi-permanent dread in the pit of his stomach that's never quite gone away.
The war wasn't the beginning.
The war was only part of it.
It was supposed to be the end.
Because we love you.
Draco studies his mother's face and realises she means it. Not only that, but she believes it. And Astoria does too. His eyes flick to meet hers, and sees that she is as perplexed and frustrated as Narcissa, angry at him for something she perceives as his weakness, his failings. He ran away from her. He took away her son. He failed her as a husband. He lied to her about who he was. But it wasn't meant as a lie. Draco had wanted to be someone else – someone stronger and capable of being everything he was supposed to be – and had tried, believing as his mother had said, that he could do it if he put the work in. He doesn't want to be like this. Wishes it had never come to this.
But it has.
And he can't be anything other than what he is.
Whatever that might be.
You are a Malfoy. You belong at the Manor.
That's what Astoria wants: to be Mrs Malfoy with Draco at her side and Scorpius between them. A family. A unit. United. That is what she signed up for when she made her vows. It should've been so simple. And he failed her.
"I know this isn't real," says Astoria softly.
Draco looks at her sharply. "What?"
"This isn't real," she repeats, enunciating, cold. She is furious and embarrassed by him. If Narcissa weren't here, she would be shouting. She shouted a lot when they shared a wing of the Manor. "If it were real, you wouldn't be renting a room in the Leaky Cauldron. This is just a game to you. You are just trying to punish me. You have no intention of staying in London. If you were, you would have bought somewhere. Stop pretending, Draco. It isn't funny anymore."
Narcissa doesn't say anything, but she settles back with a twitch of the lips that sends a flush to Draco's face.
"I like the Leaky Cauldron," he says with a petulance he hears but can't control. "I see no reason to move."
"You are living in one room in a pub!" Astoria's voice rings through the room, shrill and strong. "Scorpius is five-years old, Draco. In what world is this an appropriate situation?"
"When he isn't safe at home with his mother!" Draco shouts back, any desire for restraint forgotten. His fury at her matches hers at him. "Anywhere would be more appropriate than leaving him there with you. And if you think my father's return is a reason to change my mind—" He laughs, a dry, brittle sound that tears at his throat and sets him shaking. "No. No. Someone has to take responsibility. Even if the war had never happened, even if Azkaban wasn't in the equation, it wouldn't make a difference. I don't want him near my son. Do I make myself clear?"
They don't react as he would've preferred. They don't react at all. It's like they cannot hear him. Or choose not to.
Draco is suddenly desperately, down-to-the-bone tired. He sags in his chair, pushing away the newspaper bearing his father's name amongst the handful of others.
"I have work to do," he mutters, snatching up his glasses once more.
Neither woman take the dismissal as it's meant.
He sighs. "Mother—"
"Draco."
"Please!"
"Come home, darling." Narcissa wields the word like a weapon. She uses it sparingly to keep it sharp. Her silver bullet. It hits its mark. It always hits its mark, bringing him right back to her no matter how far he's strayed. "I need you with me through this. It's going to be hard enough."
It's true. As fervently as she's worked to have Lucius acquitted, she isn't foolish enough to suppose their difficulties will end with his homecoming. Even apart from the attention of the press and the criticism that will surely come, the world is not the same as it was and Lucius does not respond well to forced change. It will be easier for everyone if, at the very least, the world of Malfoy Manor can remain stable and stationary. And she will prevail.
Draco's eyes are wide behind glasses that don't sit well on his face. She sees the flicker in his throat. He silently pleads with her to let him go, to not ask.
Narcissa has him now, by the jugular. She shakes him like a caught rabbit.
"I need you, Draco."
All the while, Astoria watches closely and quietly, learning about her husband from her mother-in-law far more than Draco will ever teach her himself. This is how to be a Malfoy. She is almost looking forward to what Lucius Malfoy can teach her. Draco is fighting with himself, she sees, more openly than he was ever willing to fight with her. Narcissa was wise to trap him here first, where he cannot run. Draco would always win, given half the chance. Astoria gets a rush of satisfaction, seeing him finally forced to confront their problems. She lost her sympathy for him years ago.
She sees the moment he loses against himself, grey eyes dulling.
When he speaks speak, his voice is low, "What do you want?"
A smile spreads the full length of Narcissa's mouth in genuine pleasure. "I want you to come home tomorrow. Give you both a chance to… reacclimatize before Thursday evening. And, Draco," says Narcissa, looking at him squarely with a warning on her face, "I want no mention of any of this, do you understand? As far as your father is concerned, everything is and has always been exactly as it should be."
"I have no intention of staying," says Draco quietly, eyeing his mother. "This is not permanent."
But Narcissa dismisses him with a wave of a hand. "We can negotiate the future later. The present is all we need be concerned with. We need to be on the same side."
Draco's eyes narrow. "I thought this was what you wanted. Why are you concerned?"
Narcissa's pause is cold and heavy. Then, "Change is difficult, Draco. You should know this better than anybody. Listen to me." She resettles, straightening her back and crossing her ankles. "I fought too. I fought for peace for my family. For you. And I will not let your little tantrum ruin everything. This really is the least you can do for me." She rises serenely, and brushes the creases from her long coat. "I will see you at home tomorrow. Don't disappoint me."
And she leaves.
Draco watches her go, the heaviness in his stomach and heart draining him fast. He forgets about Astoria until she speaks.
"Draco."
And reaches to brush his fingers with hers.
He flinches. "Don't."
"This is good," she presses. "This is what we need. A fresh, clean start." When he angles his face away from her, face set in a tight, unhappy line, Astoria moves to stand by him. "I miss you."
"Don't lie, Astoria."
"I'm not."
His eyes flick up to glare at her. "I can't make you happy."
"You've never tried," she says quietly.
"Scorpius."
Astoria laughs. "That was obligation, Draco. Nothing more."
"It's the best I can do."
"It isn't enough."
"I know that!" Draco shouts. "Don't you think I don't know that? I know. And I told you – do what you want to do. Be with who you want to be with—"
Astoria grits her teeth. "I want to be with you. I married you."
"And you made a mistake."
"I don't believe that."
Draco looks at her, dismayed, then deflates. Her determination to believe precisely what she wants to believe is unconquerable. There is no way around her. No way to win. A constant stalemate. He wishes she would give up and knows she never will. Her commitment is true and tenacious, and almost admirable. If it had been anyone else it would've been.
"Draco—"
Fingers brushing up the back of his neck, combing through his hair, and her breath by his ear is paralyzing. He can't move, even as the bubble of panic grows and bursts and screams at him to run. He can't. He never could. Draco squeezes his eyes shut in just enough time to not see Astoria's face as she presses her lips persistently to his. It takes every bit of him to keep his magic at bay. He can feel it, prickling and panicking beneath his skin, desperate to fight for him. The effort makes him tremble, and by the time she releases him, his skin is slick with sweat.
Draco keeps his eyes closed.
"Well," he hears Astoria say, "that's progress." She means it. She believes it. But it isn't progress. He just knows what to expect this time. He just knows to try harder to keep himself together. That's not progress.
"I'll see you tomorrow." She sounds pleased, like the afternoon has been productive and satisfying. Her heels clip the tiled floor on the way to the door.
Draco doesn't let out his breath until his fingers close around the cool, glass bottle and he's somehow managed to grapple off the lid and the pill is in his palm and in his mouth and down his throat.
Then he breathes again.
'A marvelous little muggle invention,' Pansy's words echo in his head.
The pills are precious, and he regrets every one he's ever taken. He won't be able to get more once these are gone; procured seventeen years ago in secret by Professor Snape because there are no options offered in the Wizarding World. He had been too young to think to ask where they came from, and had barely needed them at all during his time at Hogwarts. By the time he found himself fumbling desperately for the little bottle again, his godfather was dead and there was no-one else to ask.
By an estimating shake, there is a third of the bottle left.
It isn't enough.
He leaves late to collect Scorpius, and almost collides head-on with Harry Potter, coming at the same almost-run from the opposite direction. It isn't often their paths or their routines ever cross – as a young Auror, Potter's hours are inhumanly early – and Draco prefers it that way. At the best of times, they are neutral towards each other – equal in their begrudging understanding that they would not be alive today if not for the other and for the sake of their children who became immediately and peculiarly attached.
But today Draco is not feeling neutral.
Today Harry Potter isn't the reason he's alive or the reason Voldemort is gone.
Today Harry Potter is the reason Lucius Malfoy is free.
"Watch where you're going," Draco snarls, spun by the force of Harry's shoulder. "I know it' impossible for you to comprehend, but other people do exist beyond you."
Harry's expression freezes, and Draco realises he had been about to be cordial, almost friendly, with a smile and a flash of green eyes that gives away his own expectation.
Harry Potter had expected him to be grateful.
Gritting his teeth, Draco turns away, dragging his attention to the open door of the daycare with its bright, primary colours and flying cranes made of sugar paper. He can see the glint of blond that means Scorpius sitting close to a black-haired figure in an ugly ill-fitting jumper. He starts to lunge – wanting nothing but to have his son with him and leave this place and these people – when a strong hand grabs his arm and jerks him back.
"How dare—"
"What's your problem?" Harry Potter demands, genuinely bemused, genuinely stupid. "Look, I was hoping to catch you." He falters as Draco whips his arm back but does not make to leave again. "Did she speak to you? Narcissa? Did she tell you?"
The casual use of his mother's name grates. How frequently had they met to become so familiar? How long have they been plotting this together?
"You act as though it wasn't announced this morning for all the world to see."
"No, I know. I just—" He runs a hand through his hair, sending it up at twice as many ridiculous angles than usual. "It's been a week since it was all finalized. I haven't seen you since then. And I wondered—"
"What? You wondered what? What colour balloons we're putting out? What flavour cake we're having made? It's done. It's happening. Congratulations. Once again you made the impossible possible. I'm sure you're terribly pleased."
"And you're not?" He sounds disappointed. "Hey, Malfoy— Draco—"
"I'm late," Draco grinds out. "My son is waiting for me."
"I didn't do anything," Harry calls after him. "They wanted my opinion, my testimony, but it was one of many. It wasn't just me, I thought… I figured – we all did – with Voldemort gone, your dad's harmless, not like Bellatrix or some of the others, and we agreed—"
"Harmless?" Draco spits the word like poison.
"—that rehabilitation is a better option for some than just leaving them to rot in Azkaban. And I hoped that this might go some way towards—" Then Harry sighs and holds up his hands with a shake of his head. "Whatever. I thought, for the sake of the boys, we might finally move on and become, not friends, but—"
"No." Draco's heart thudders hard in his chest, spurred by anger. "Not friends. Nothing close. Not ever. Do you understand? And don't you worry about the boys. They won't be seeing each other much after today." He doesn't mean it how it sounds, and he can't help how it comes out.
"Now wait a minute!" Harry's outrage is righteous and predictable. "You've no right to punish your kid just because you can't get over whatever shit you're hung up on, and you've certainly got no right to punish mine! And don't you think if anyone's got a real axe to grind, it should be me? If I can get over it for the kids, you should too. They're best friends, Malfoy. I know that's an elusive concept for you, but at least give that boy a chance to turn out better than you!"
Enough.
"Good day, Potter."
He pushes past Melissa Winters, heralded by the commotion, and ignores her, "Mr Malfoy, I wanted to—"
Draco doesn't care about what she wants. He's tired and drained and done.
He beelines for Scorpius who twists and grins at the sight of him. The grin doesn't last long. When Draco scoops him up, he squirms in protest, trying to get free, at least to say bye to his friend who looks startled by the sudden intrusion.
Draco doesn't care.
Albus Severus.
He has never forgiven Potter for stealing that name. A constant reminder that Potter will always always come first and get what he wants with no consideration to anyone else. And seeing the boy who now owns it, the spitting image of his father—
He can't stand it.
Draco holds Scorpius tight and still, ignoring the pulling fingers and frantic signs. He doesn't even look at Scorpius, doesn't have time for the guilt that he knows will come at his son's expression. He will apologize later and try, somehow, to explain.
"Didya ask?"
Harry concentrates on the complicated task of zipping up Albus's coat, brows knitted together.
"Dad—"
"Didn't get a chance, Al. I'm sorry."
His son's expression drops.
"I'm sorry," Harry repeats, smoothing back Albus's dark hair as he rises. "I did tell you not to get your hopes up. Don't worry – you've got enough siblings and cousins and aunts and—"
"But they're not friends," Albus all but whines. "I wanted friends at my birthday."
"Next year, kiddo," says Harry, slipping an arm around Albus's shoulders as they make their way out. "Pick someone more likely than a Malfoy next time, okay? Bit of an ambitious first friend, wasn't it?"
Albus scowls so hard his head aches. His dad had never thought he could be friends for Scorpius but his dad had been wrong. He is still wrong. And Albus doesn't want another friend. He doesn't need one. His mum had told him not to pay much mind to anything Harry says about the Malfoys. It had been her idea to invite Scorpius to Albus's birthday party. She said that Harry just needs to get to know Scorpius to accept him.
Albus is determined that Harry will still have that chance.
Draco isn't acting normal even when they leave the Ministry, even when they're back in the Leaky Cauldron and up in their room. He's barely looked at Scorpius at all and hasn't said a word, and everything about him is tight and stiff. He hasn't been like this since they left the Manor. Nerves coil in Scorpius's stomach, half sure that it's because of something that's his fault.
Dad.
But Draco isn't looking to see the sign, just keeps moving brusquely about the room, grabbing at everything he comes across and throwing them onto the bed in a weird, unproductive bout of tidying up.
Scorpius lunges and grabs a handful of his father's shirt. Dad!
"Not now, Scorpius."
What's going on? Is it my fault? Is it because I went with Mother?
Draco stops then, looks at him properly, then sits heavily down on the bed beside him, amidst their scant collection of belongings.
No, he signs. Of course not. It's not you. I'm sorry. It's been a difficult day.
Is it because of this? Scorpius shifts and pulls out the bit of Daily Prophet he'd torn out of the paper and stuffed in his pocket. He'd scoured it with Albus's help when his mother had taken him back to Miss Winters after overhearing the grownups talking about something in the paper. It hadn't been difficult to find. His eyes had settled on the word 'Malfoy' in a list of other names midway down page three. Scorpius didn't know why it was there or what it meant, and he hadn't known how or who to ask about it.
Now he presses the scrap into his father's fingers and watches Draco's face for clues.
Draco looks terribly tired and almost sad, and he stares down at the paper with unmoving eyes in the way the Scorpius sometimes does when he's trying really really hard not to cry.
Scorpius touches him lightly on the back of his hand. What does it mean?
Draco swallows twice before he answers, "It means we're going home."
No. Scorpius pushes himself off the bed and stands back to glare at his father, distressed. I don't want to.
I don't want to either, Draco signs back tightly. This isn't about want. We have to. Just for a while.
How long? Scorpius demands, mind careening. He likes life as it is now, in the warmth of this little room and the ease of their routine. He likes going to Miss Winters's and playing with Albus. He likes having his father all to himself, and he likes Draco happy. He's never happy at the Manor. He's like this – all brittleness and sharp edges. Being home means being stuck with his mother who doesn't know how to talk to him and the house-elves who don't know how to play. It means being lonely and bored and he doesn't want to go back.
Draco sighs. I don't know.
I don't want to, Scorpius signs again.
"And I told you that doesn't matter," Draco snaps. Then, immediately, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He falls forwards, elbows on knees, head in hands. "I know this isn't fair. But please—I need you to help me. I can't do this unless you help me. And I promise you, Scorpius, it is temporary. It won't be like before. I won't let it. But I need you to trust me. I need you on my side. Do you understand?"
Scorpius takes a long time to think about it. He doesn't understand, not completely. He doesn't understand why his father has to do something he doesn't want to. He doesn't understand why his mother and grandmother want them to go back when they know it'll make everyone unhappier. He doesn't understand grownups at all. But he does trust Draco, and he will always always be on his father's side.
So Scorpius nods, and grins at the smile that finally crosses his father's face.
"Thank you," Draco murmurs, pressing a warm kiss to Scorpius's forehead. Then, Help me pack?