Chapter 10
Draco Malfoy

That afternoon Mum and Dad visit. I lie uncomfortably on the hospital cot, my whole body filled with a dull ache. They don't say anything at first. Dad hands me the day's edition of the Prophet with a look of grim resolution on his face. I pick up the paper and begin to read aloud to them.

"'The Court of the Wizengamot has made its official decision on the Weasley v. Malfoy trial-' Oh, this is going to be exciting," I say. "'Junior Minister of Magic Percy Weasley announced last night that the Wizengamot has decided to interfere with the private affairs of George Weasley and the Malfoy family to provide a reasonable and desirable outcome to the conspiracy surrounding the mysterious occurrences involving both.' Blimey, that's a long sentence, they're making everyone involved sound pathetic, even Percy."

"Filthy blood traitor," Dad says, scowling.

"Father!" I exclaim sarcastically, my mouth slightly agape in mock surprise. "You shouldn't give terrible labels to good people." My voice grows hard by the end of the sentence. Dad doesn't say anything, but glares at the floor. Mum twiddles her thumbs, looking uncomfortable. I smile in spite of myself and continue reading aloud.

"'Both Mr. Weasley and the Malfoy family will have one week to hire an attorney. The attorney will act as a detective in the time before the trial, which will be in February.' Bloody hell, I'd assume they'd just make it next week."

"We have an attorney," Mum murmurs meekly.

"I don't give a damn if we do or don't. I'm going to tell him I plead guilty," I say coolly.

"You didn't do half the things they accused you of," Dad snarls.

I pick the newspaper back up. "It says here that Percy Weasley hopes the trial will present the truth of what happened."

"Son," Dad says urgently, "you don't know what Azkaban's like."

"I know enough to know I deserve to be there. You and Mum, too." Privately, the idea of Azkaban scared the living hell out of me. I'd never been there. I'd sooner be sentenced to execution by swallowing hot embers-if such a torture even existed-than to have a life sentence in Azkaban. But I deserve Azkaban.

"Did you kill anyone, Draco?" Mum asks gently. She sounds like she's on the verge of tears.

I close my eyes to try to stop the tears from spilling out. I shrug in reply to her question.

"You can't plead guilty," Dad insists. "I won't allow it."

"Just like you won't allow me to leave? I've done enough things to earn a Dementor's Kiss." My voice is rising, hoarse and scratchy. I try to sit up, but it causes so much agony in my legs I surrender.

"Orion wouldn't have been this difficult!"

"I didn't think you cared about him! He's a Gryffindor! I thought all you loved were Pureblood Slytherins!"

"He would've done what I asked him to!"

"He's dead! There's no telling what he'd do!" I shout. My breath comes in rasps and I sink back down onto the bed. "I'm going to accept Azkaban."

"Your father and I aren't," Mum says briskly. "And if you accept Azkaban, you're as good as giving it to the rest of us, too."

"Great," I say. "All three of us can be justified together. Let's make it a family outing."

"Don't be a wise-ass," Dad snaps.

"Why?" I say, struggling to move where I can look him in the eye. "Don't like the fact that I hate being who we are?"

"Draco-"

"Because honestly, if it were up to me I'd rather be Gryffindor. Hell, I'd rather be Hufflepuff than where Slytherin got me."

"Honestly-"

"You're pathetic," I say, my voice full of contempt. "Are you going to sit here and try to justify the things you did? The things I did? There's no way. We deserve a trial. At the very least we deserve a life sentence."

"Draco, I'm sorry, but you are not going to get your father and I in Azkaban," Mum retorts. "We are not going to do this game anymore, where you pretend like your father and I are as bad as Voldemort or that we never did a thing to help you-"

"You two are basically the whole reason I'm where I am today-"

"What she means is you aren't going to pin your crimes on us, and we won't put ours on you," Dad finishes, glaring at me.

"I'm not going to cheat my way out of justification, even if that's what you're doing and want me to do," I say. "Is the lawyer here? I'd like to tell him right now how guilty we all are."

"He's not here now."

"Pity. Tell him I'd like to seem him."

"Let's go, Narcissa," Dad says, giving me hostile looks as he holds the door ajar for her. It shuts, and outside in the hall I hear Mum say, "Lucius, I don't think it's necessary-"

"He's asking for it, Narcissa, he doesn't want to be a part of this family anymore-"

"He's still our son, Lucius!"

"I don't care what he is!" Dad's voice is a low growl. "He doesn't want to tell us what he did, so be it. But when he threatens to put all of us at jeopardy is when he really hurts us."

I listen to their bickering as it grows fainter and fainter, and finally dissipates into a hiss as the door to the stairs shuts behind them. I close my eyes. I wish I could be proud to be their son. Instead, I'm ashamed of the burden that comes with the Malfoy name; a burden of fear and legacy and hostile names.

When Orion was around, over summer or the holidays, he would tell me how amazing it was to have the Malfoy name. I didn't quite understand until I was much older. He had told me how professors liked him before they had him in class, how the new Potions professor, Snape, treated him like an equal, despite him being a Gryffindor. He had been one of McGonagall's favorite students.

"Being a Malfoy is great, Draco," he had said, smiling. We had been in the library, his feet propped up on the table, leaning back in his chair, hands folded behind his head. "You don't realize how fortunate we are, Draco, until you get to Hogwarts. Some of the kids in my year don't have parents, because they died in the war. Some of them live in orphanages, some of them live by themselves. A lot of them don't have money. We're lucky, Draco, that we are who we are. Just remember that."

He had been fifteen then and I had been five. When he had been eleven he had been sorted into Gryffindor-the first other than Sirius Black in both the Black and Malfoy families to be sorted outside of Slytherin. The result was that he wasn't allowed to come home for Christmas that year and was welcomed home frostily by our parents that summer. At least, that's the way he had described it to me. I can't remember the event.

"They still love me," he had told me reassuringly when he'd been recollecting these things years later. "Maybe not as much as they would if I were in Slytherin, but they love me. They'll love you, too, even if you aren't in Slytherin. No matter the choices you make, they'll love you."

It was an insult to the Malfoy name for one to be sorted into Gryffindor. Orion knew it, but he didn't seem to mind. He didn't even seem to mind that our parents were prejudiced against his House. I remember vividly how, one June we'd been coming to pick him up from King's Cross, he had been holding hands with a Gryffindor girl. He'd kissed her on the cheek and said good-bye, and Dad blew a gasket. All the way home he had ranted on how it was one thing for a Malfoy to be in Gryffindor, but it was as bad as murder for one to have anything to do with a Mudblood. Worse than murder, even, in their eyes. Because the murder of Muggle-borns had happened in the name of Pureblood Malfoys.

I wonder what Orion would do. What choices he'd make. Would he choose between the right and the wrong or go with our parents' will? I try to picture where he'd be now, in my situation, but all I can see is his warm smile as I try to picture him as slowly unconscious envelopes me.