Saving Draco

by

Isabella C Robertson


Severus,

It is important that you keep Draco concealed well these coming weeks. I have arranged a ministry hearing, the date is yet to be revealed. All will be in attendance.

Albus Dumbledore

I burned that note. It was waiting for me on the kitchen table when we arrived home from the village. I knew immediately who the sender was, the unmistakable mauve wax signet was always from Dumbledore. Though as brief as he was, I understood the message. Concealed behind the subtle words, I knew that Lucius knew.

"Why do you burn your letters?" Draco asked. He had been standing in the door way, watching me.

"Paranoia," I joked.

He forced a smile, shrugged and walked toward me. "There's not a lot to do here."

"You haven't seen a lot. There is much to do here during the summer; meetings, fairs, bon fires-"

"Bon fires?" he asked.

I nodded, unpacking his items. "That's right. It's a large fire built on the beach every summer, all of the locals attend, old and young."

He eyed the undergarments, his brow creasing heavily as I unveiled a pair of striped underpants. "What do you do there?"

"Sit and talk, laugh and sing. The older people share stories, the younger people usually climb off onto the rocks or take a swim. I can arrange for you to meet some children your age. It might do you some good."

"I don't need pity." he spat.

"It's not pity, Draco. It's just making something good out of a bad situation. I won't pretend that you're happy here, I can see that you're not."

He didn't reply, instead he opened the shoe box I pushed to him. I wasn't expecting a glorious reaction from him, I wasn't expecting much at all, if I'm to be honest. For as long as I've known Draco, I've known that he's a subtle character. He doesn't pride himself in his conversationalist skills, most don't. The option of isolation or conversing with Draco was usually met with the former. It wasn't his fault though, you see, living the aristocratic lifestyle usually meant you speak when spoken to, otherwise you find a quiet corner and stay until you're wanted.

"I'm not allowed." he said, shoving the box back towards me.

"And who decided that?"

"Father."

"He doesn't exist in this household, Draco and the sooner you realise that, the better."

He shrugged, turning to look out the window. His eyes fixated on the horizon. I could tell he was contemplating the matter, considering his options. I felt a twinge of sadness that something as simple as shoes needed this much consideration.

"It's not that you have an option." I told him, pushing his items towards him.

"What do you mean?"

"Those shoes will be gone when you wake tomorrow," I said, pointing to his feet. I leaned against the table, folding my arms across my chest. He turned, his eyes narrowing. "There is no sense in arguing either."

"I'd like to sleep for a while." he muttered, walking from the room.

As I prepared dinner, I left Draco to his mind. Though I previously believe self sorrow was worse, that wallowing in ones own pity was never the best option, I now admit that sometimes it is necessary. I hoped with some time and thoughts, he would find his place here. Admittedly, Bearna Beith was different to his previous setting, the cottage did not have the luxury, the house elves, perhaps the comfort? Though I wonder how much comfort he received. Despite all the cottage lacked, it made up for in it's warmness, it's comforting aura and the ability to be completely at peace with ones self while residing here.

I had been about to set dinner, a fine helping of home made soup and bread, when I heard the front gate rattle. I had rigged it with a unique charm, though it opened silently to visitors, a chiming alarm echoed throughout the house. The knock was light on the door, I hadn't been expecting visitors, no one from the wizarding world called without invitation or word, the village likewise.

Though when I opened the door, I felt ridiculous for having not anticipated the arrival.

"George?"

"The very." he smiled, nodding his head. He held a basket in his arms, empty from what I could see.

"How can I help you?" I asked, hoping to rid of him quickly.

"Remember what I said about mam well ago? How she was down with a cold and the shakes and all sorts? Well she's sent me your way hoping for a pick me up. You know, some of your good stuff."

I sighed, opening the door to invite him through. "Wait here," I said, pointing at a spot by the stairs.

As I rummaged through my supply of syrups and liquids in the kitchen cabinet, I hoped to Merlin that he was still there when I went out. Though as nice a boy as he was, his eccentricity was often migraine rendering. I very often find myself reaching for a tonic after an encounter with him. I did not mind the occasional drop in from the villagers, they usually came to ask for tonics and cures. Most assumed that I was a medic man. I allowed the rumour to spread when I moved here, hoping to draw the attention away from my brewing, unusual smokes often curled form my windows, and soon found myself on high demand. I help as much as I can, though ask for little in return. Those I help usually send a cake my way, or a little gift.

I found what I had been looking for. A quick cough bottle I had brewed last week. I took it to George, surprised to see him smiling at me from the stairs.

"You're great for this, Mr. Snape!" he said, dropping the bottle into the basket, "She has me in a heap across the village looking for cures. I'm off to the chemist now for sucking sweets and powders. Then down to the market for scented candles."

"Mind you bring that bottle back," I told him, opening the door and ushering him out, "They don't come cheap."

"I will, I will. I'll come round with Alison later tonight, about seven. Mam said she'll have something ready for you then."

"Tell her there's no trouble. Good day George."

I closed the door on his continuous chatting, sighing lightly to myself. When I retuned to the kitchen, I found my soup boiling over the edges. I frowned, agitated at the interruption and dished out the thick remains of what I had slaved for.

"Draco," I yelled from the bottom of the stairs. I waited for any movement. "Draco!"

I heard his door opening. He trotted across the landing, the tips of his new socks dangling over the top stairs.

"What?" he asked.

"Dinner. Quick."

He followed me, shuffling loudly down the stairs. I ignored his attempts to draw a rise of annoyance and sat myself at the head of the table. He took a seat opposite me, examining the food.

"It smells-"

"Burned, yes. I know. I had a visitor that distracted me."

"I heard."

I stirred my soup. "I'd like for you to speak with him next time." He ignored me and began tearing his bread into small pieces. "His name is George, his mother owns the shoe shop in town. Rather eccentric, but hospitable at the least."

"Oh?" he replied, dunking his bread.

"He'll be returning tonight, make yourself presentable."

"Why should I?"

"Because while you are here Draco, you will be expected to live by the rules of this house. Those are that all guests are greeted warmly."

"Well what if I don't want to be here!" he snapped, dropping his bread.

"Then where else shall you go?" I challenged, staring at him. "Back to the manor? Or are you going to wonder the country side?"

"I'll go where I please."

"Don't be ridiculous, you're not looking at anything with a light of positivity."

"Why should I?" he yelled. "How can I look at anything positive with what's happened? He'll know where I am, if he doesn't know already. He'll come and your stupid spells won't keep him out!"

"I understand your frustration, Mr Malfoy," I said, lowering my voice and rising, "I understand the hurt , the hatred and the vengeance you feel. But despite your hurt, I will not be spoken to in such a manor. If you feel you need to behave like a child, then you can seat yourself in a corner and sulk there." He opened his mouth to reply, but I cut him off. "Go!"

I watched as his face crumbled through emotions - anger, horror, frustration, confusion and then sadness. He stood abruptly and carried his chair to the far corner, placing it roughly on the floor and falling onto it. He crossed his arms, stretched his legs out and stared coldly at the wall in front of him. I closed my eyes, mentally swearing and cursing my rash behaviour. I hadn't meant to be so harsh at the time, I didn't want him to add my image to his resentment. I wasn't meant to be resented by him, I was supposed to be here for him to turn to. As I finished my soup, I tried to shake the creeping feeling of failure.

Clearing the dishes was awkward. I kept throwing sly glances at Draco, hoping he changed his scowl to a tiny frown, or even a passive face. But the deep scorn remained on his face the entire time. I was annoyingly aware of how juvenile the matter was. I felt young again, a time I'd rather not relive, and I disliked it.

"You can sit in the living room for a while reading," I told him, or you can spend time in the garden."

He stood up without acknowledging me, and left the kitchen. I heard the living room door slam and I found myself scowling. The feelings of annoyance resurfaced. I buried them again, warning myself that I was not to rise to the actions of a teenager. I spent some time in the kitchen after that, I had letters to write. I contemplated writing to Lucius. I wasn't sure whether or not this option was wise or not, whether I was only drawing trouble to myself. Perhaps writing to Narcissa would be beneficial. Then again, how so? I shook the thoughts and went about filling in report cards.

Bulstrode, Millicent - Potions - A

Davis, Tracey - Potions - E

Greengrass, Daphne - Potions - O

Parkinson, Pansy - Potions - E

Timms, Alana - Potions - E

Crabbe, Vincent - Potions - A

Goyle, Gregory - Potions - A

Malfoy, Draco - Potions - E

Nott, Theodore - Potions - A

Zabini, Blaise - Potions - O

Burke, Ashley - Potions - A

Brown, Lavander - Potions - E

Coleman, Nathalie - Potions - A

Granger, Hermione - Potions - O

Patil, Parvati - Potions - E

Finnegan Seamus - A

Long bottom, Neville - Potions - A

Potter, Harry - Potions - A

Thomas, Dean - Potions E

Weasley, Ron - Potions - A

"He got an Exceeds Expectations?"

I looked up, my glasses slipping from my face. Draco stood to my left, his hands knotted behind his back. His blonde hair looked chaotic on his head, as if he had slept fitfully, that or it was a new style. I secretly hoped it was the former.

"It is dishonourable to view other students grades," I said, turning the reports over. "Unless you have been invited to do so."

"I just happened to notice is all," he said, "I didn't mean anything by it."

I grunted, slipping the reports into an envelope and tucking it between a stack of papers. I occupied myself with shuffling and arranging the papers, allowing him the opportunity speak his mind, or apologise at the least. I could hear him scuffle his shoes against the floor.

"You didn't answer the door when it knocked." he said.

I frowned. "Someone knocked?"

He nodded. "A boy, he's in the living room, I invited him because I didn't know what to do."

I nodded, checking the clock on the wall - 6:30. I never did understand why time seemed to fly by whenever paperwork was involved. I've heard the saying before 'Time fly's when you're having fun', - not true at all when it came to grading Gryffindor's, though they unexpectedly did far better this year than their first.

"What will I tell him?" Draco asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I stood and beckoned for him to follow. "We shall greet our guest respectfully." I led him to the front room, unusually anticipating the arrival of George. You see, one thing about Slytherin's is that they pride themselves in loyalty to their companions. I understood why, it's not easy being the hated house at Hogwarts, it causes more unnecessary hatred than needed. Considering Slytherin's are loyal to only those they trust, I decided there and then that my garden needed some grooming. Perhaps a companion would do Draco good.

"George, good to see you. You have my bottle I trust?"

"Absolutely!" he yapped, holding it out to me. "And here's a basket of nibbles, mam baked them. Mind you, I wouldn't eat them if I were short a tonic, she sneezed madly all over the kitchen."

I cringed, accepting the basket and placing them on the coffee table. I watched Draco shrink away from the exuberant manner of George.

"I have a favour to ask George."

"Anything!"

"My garden is in severe need of grooming. Would you mind assisting myself and my godson Draco tidy it up?"

I placed a hand on Draco's shoulder, pushing him foreword. He stubbornly dug his heels into the carpet.

"So that's who you are!" George chirped, throwing his hands in the air, "I wondered when you answered the door. I was astounded thinking you were Mr Snape's son. What an unusual name though. Draco!"

"Er … yes." Draco replied.

"Well we'll have a fine time tomorrow, weeding and plucking. Shall I bring Alison along too? She didn't want to make the trek tonight."

"That will be fine. Tomorrow about 3pm then. Thank you George." I said, opening the living room door.

George climbed across the room, knocking against the coffee table as he went. "Three it is then. Nice to meet you Draco, see you tomorrow."

I accompanied George out the door, greeted him good evening and returned to Draco's side. He stood alongside the coffee table, staring at the spot where George had stood. His face was an unreadable mix of emotions. I leaned against the door frame, tucking my hands into my pocket. "Thoughts?" I asked.

He turned to me. "What was that?" he asked, his face creasing in horror.

"That, Draco, was a muggle Gryffindor," I replied, smiling lightly at him.


Thank you for the constant support throughout these chapters. It is very much appreciated. Thank you especially to SimplyEcho (who noticed the molly/george name game) and poplip for taking the time to review. If it wasn't for your encouragement, I don't think that I would have gotten this far.

I've also got the first chapter of a new story up called 'Le Garcon de Saint-Maur'. It is a story centering Severus Snape, Hermione Granger and an unknown relative. Check it out.

Isabella C Robertson