Chapter 14

Mother

The 2nd Of May 1998

Draco POV

As he watched his childhood home in the golden light from the setting sun, it looked a lot less frightening than the night he had left it with Hermione. In fact, it looked almost pathetic. One of the gargoyles next to the cast iron door was broken, its snake like head lying on the ground. A pile of rubble in the yard was smouldering. Several of the roof tiles were broken, some were even missing. Faintly he detected a whiff of soot.

Standing in front of his home, the notorious stronghold of one of the sacred twenty-eight families, while dressed like a Muggle with his wand hidden in the inside pocket of his coal grey Muggle overcoat, was a surreal experience. He smiled wryly as he pondered the many ways his father would have punished him, had he dared to dress like this as a boy; he even wore a pair of the much-despised Muggle jeans. The old bigot would have been apoplectic.

He had spent the previous weeks in London, hiding in plain sight amongst the Muggles, and living amongst non-magic people for several weeks had given him something to think about. Peculiarly they did not seem to miss magic at all; as a matter of a fact they managed splendidly without, judged by the vast number of mechanical devices and machines all over the city. If each and every witch and wizard disappeared one day, very few Muggles would notice.

Anyway, he was procrastinating, trying to postpone the inevitable. Cursing under his breath, he braced himself, and entered the cast iron gate with calm steps, yet still very aware of his surroundings and holding his wand in a firm grip. This could be a trap! He was not even sure whether the Dark Lord was defeated or not, all though the desolated atmosphere of the Manor pointed towards that direction.

The wards were all gone, and nothing prevented him from entering the yard and the main building. Bleakness engulfed him as he took a couple of steps into the main entrance hall. It was quiet. Way to quiet. Normally the place was bustling with activity, house-elves cooking and cleaning, visitors inhabiting the many guest rooms, wizards and witches waiting for an appointment with his father, and lately the disgraceful activities of the Death Eaters. Now it was dead quiet.

Outside the birds were chirping and from far away he heard noises from a Muggle farming machine, but the inside of the Manor felt like a tomb. Draco shivered involuntarily from the cold and stale air.

"Lumos!" he said quietly and used the ball of light to guide him towards Narcissa's room.

He felt anger rise inside his chest as he noticed the filthy and muddy velvet carpeting. The Death Eaters had not even bothered to cast a simple scourgify now and then, as they took advantage of the hospitality of the Malfoy residence in the crudest way possible.

He followed the familiar path down the corridor to his mother's room, took a deep breath and entered. The room was empty, like he had expected it to be. The bed was made, and everything looked as if it had been untouched for weeks. There was no putting it off any longer, he would have to search for her in the dungeons…

As he made his way back to the great hall and towards the staircase in the far corner, he heard sharp whispery voice calling his name. He looked towards the main entrance, and in the light of the setting sun was the dark form of the fellow Slytherin, Blaise Zabini.

"Blaise," he whispered back. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you; your daft idiot. Nobody knew where you were. Rumour has it you fled the Manor a couple of weeks ago and took the Mudblood with you."

Draco furrowed his brow. Was this some sort of ruse orchestrated by the Dark Lord? He and Blaise had been on friendly terms during the previous year at Hogwarts, though not so friendly that Draco told him about the Mark and his impossible appointed task of murdering headmaster Dumbledore. But they had lots in common, both arising from wealthy Pure Blood families, and that had fostered a certain kind of allegiance between them. Draco was just not sure whether he could trust the darker Slytherin now that the war was over.

"Says whom?" he snapped.

"Several of the former Gryffindor students. Loosen up, the Dark Lord is no more. Potter got him in the end! I know that you've been less enthusiastic about your Death Eater membership ever since the 6th year at Hogwarts."

The blond wizard exhaled a breath he didn't realize he was holding. Feeling safer now, he dared speaking a little louder.

"To say the least; me and my family were practically prisoners in this very building. I curse the day I took that bloody Mark. And her name's Hermione Granger, by the way, she's not to be called the Mudblood." The last part was said in a firm voice.

The darker wizard made a surrendering gesture.

"I meant no offense, Granger it is then. It sounds as if you have feelings for the witch." Blaise said, lifting his eyebrow enquiringly.

Damn! Was he really that easy to read? Carefully schooling his features into an indifferent mask, he replied.

"Seriously, what do you take me for? I just had plenty of time to think during the last couple of weeks, and I understand now, that the entire Pure Blood ideology was a bunch of pseudoscientific rubbish! Is there any news of my parents, by the way?"

Blaise sighed and laid his slender hand on Draco's shoulder.

"You father was incarcerated earlier today, at the very moment the war ended. Concerning your mother... Nobody knows where she is. She was last seen here at the Manor a couple of weeks ago."

Draco felt coldness seep into his bones. "I think she might still be here... Somewhere in the basement..."

The mocha skin of his friend suddenly looked ashen: "You mean in the Dungeons?"

The blond swallowed. "Merlin, I wish it wasn't so... But when I escaped together with Granger, I gained access to her room by spying on Mother and getting the password from her. I reckon that the Dark Lord most likely blamed her for our escape."

The fellow Slytherin took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. "Okay, let's go then. Lead the way!"

Draco gave him a puzzled look.

The darker wizard shrugged: "I would be a sore excuse for a friend, if I left you to your own devises right now, wouldn't I?"

The blond nodded, grateful to have a friend at his side this very moment. He led them towards the staircase and they carefully made their way down, wary of any remaining Death Eaters or stray curses. As they pushed the heavy entryway to the dungeons, a damp and stale air hit their nostrils. The air of desolation was more pronounced in the basement.

Entering the long corridor lining the many prison cells, they heard a faint and irregular sound of breathing. Blaise pointed towards the second door on the left, which was ajar, and the two of them stole in that direction.

Until the day he died, Draco would never forget the sight that met his eye inside the cellar room. His Mother, the graceful and stylish lady Malfoy, lay sprawled on the floor, her blond hair caked with dried blood and her leg bent in an unnatural position. She was barely dressed, safe for some torn rags. Draco nearly gagged from the putrid smell of old blood and bodily excretions.

"Mother," he croaked, and rushed to her side.

Blaise lurched in the doorway, making sounds of retching.

The Malfoy matriarch did not move at all, save the motion of her chest cage from her laboured breathing.

Draco noticed that her right thigh was discoloured in purple nuances and pus was oozing from an open wound.

"Blaise, we need to get her to St. Mungo's immediately," he roared, his voice breaking. "Does the Floo Network function?"

"It's up and running," Blaise replied quietly. "All though it might be too risky for you to Floo right now; the Order is out hunting the last remaining Death Eaters and their collaborators down at this very moment. I have reason to believe they placed a trace on the Floo network. I fact, I came here to warn you."

"I don't fuckin' care, she's way too frail to side-along apparate, she will likely flinch into a thousand pieces," Draco growled. He was shaking all over and pearls of sweat shone from his upper lip. He steadied himself and bent down towards the injured shape of his beloved Mother.

"Mother, it's me, Draco," he murmured soothingly. "I'm here now. I'm going to take care of you. It will be all right now, I promise."

The only sign of life from the maimed figure was a faint twitch of an eyelid.

With great care he lifted her from the ground and carried her out of the dungeons, up the stairs and towards the fireplace in the hall. Her breathing was becoming more and more erratic, as if the simple movement of her chest cost her too much strength.

"God damn it, don't you dare giving up now!" Draco cried; tears were now streaming down his cheeks, blurring his vision.

Blaise followed right behind them with hurried steps. He threw a handful of Floo Powder into the hearth, and together they entered the green flames of the Floo Network.

As they stepped into St. Mungo's, Draco noticed his mother was turning blue. He felt for a pulse, but could not find any, and her laboured breathing had ceased.

His own pulse, on the other hand, was racing, and everything felt surreal.

"In the name of Merlin, help us," he bellowed. "My mother is dying! Please."

Healers rushed to from near and far, pushing him into the background. Lime green robes were blocking the view to his Mother, as she was now surrounded by a handful of healers; all wearing grim expressions as they cast a plethora of diagnostic and healing spells.

"Move aside," an older healer wearing a golden chain barked, as he neared the group. "I'm the chief professor in traumas and spell damage. When she's stabilized, we need to move her to the fourth floor."

A long discussion ensued, filled with words Draco did not entirely understand, but occasionally one of the healers uttered sentences like "hopeless case", "too much damage" and "not likely to survive".

He stood quietly next to Blaise; there was very little he could do now, but on the inside, he felt as if he was drowning. The room was spinning, and he felt every beat of his quickening pulse. His beloved mother was lying there fighting for her life; collateral damage of a war she never wanted. Whereas he, Draco, the one who took the Mark, stood next to her, fit as a fiddle.

She was most likely going to die here at the entrance to St. Mungo's, tortured to death in her own bloody home; mutilated by her former friends and allies. Hatred and despair consumed him; his only solace was fantasizing about the death of the Dark Lord at the hands of the Chosen One; hoping it had been long and painful.

A commotion ensued amongst the lime green bunch surrounding his mother. Someone conjured a stretcher, and another one started levitating her gently onto it. When she was lowered onto the stretcher, the group started moving towards the vestibule. As he tried to follow a hand grasped his shoulder firmly, and he felt the tip of a wand touch his neck.

"Mr. Malfoy! I'm Auror Williamson. You're accused of hate speech and war crimes during the Second Wizarding War. We're taking you into custody until a Wizengamot Hearing has been held. Resistance if futile, the place is surrounded. Hand over your wand!" a baritone voice boomed.

"But my mother is here at the hospital, she's very ill. I might lose her any moment. Can I just stay here for a couple of hours? Then I will gladly do as you say and turn myself in," Draco pleaded.

"No, you can't!" Auror Williamson replied coolly. "The wand, please!"

Gritting his teeth Draco handed over the wand. With a satisfied smirk the Auror cast a Petrificus Totalis and Draco felt his limbs stiffen immediately. Milliseconds before he hit the floor he was levitated and the auror moved towards the main entrance, using a mobilicorpus.

"You can't do that now; his mother is close to dying. Have a heart, goddammit!" Blaise yelled at the Auror.

The Auror snorted with contempt. "Did you-know-who have a heart when he killed the golden boy's parents? Did the Death Eaters show mercy when they tortured innocent Muggles and Muggleborns?"

"By Merlin's beard, he was just a child being misled by his parents."

Draco felt humiliated and powerless, floating in the air in this paralysed manner. He wanted to scream his rage and frustration out, but he was unable to make even the least of sounds. He was not even able to arrange for someone to take care of Narcissa, while he was gone.

Almost as if the fellow Slytherin could read his thoughts he yelled after him: "Draco, I promise to look after you mother until you return. And I will try my very best to be present at your Hearing."

Had he not been paralysed, he would have said something back, expressed his gratitude, anything. Why the dark wizard bothered to help him was a mystery, but he was grateful nonetheless, though a little troubled that he would end up owing the fellow Slytherin more than he would be able to repay.

As he pondered his situation, his nose caught a whiff of soot.

"To the basement," Auror Williamson said, as Draco felt the familiar pull of the Floo. He was levitated down a long corridor lit by torches. Along the corridor were several heavy iron prison doors with small barred windows. As they reached the end of the corridor, Auror Williamson incanted an alohomora. The door opened and Draco's limp form floated inside. He was put down, rather roughly, on a worn mattress in the middle of the room.

"Finite incantatem," the auror hissed, and Draco regained control of his body once more. He gazed around in the small prison cell and was appalled by the sight that met his eyes. The room contained nothing more than a filthy mattress, a coarse blanket, and a small loo and sink in the corner. Even though he had just returned from a self-imposed exile in the Muggle world, there was no way in Hell he could live like this.

"You're in custody here at the Ministry until further notice. You have the right to remain silent. What you say can and will be used against you," the Auror said, turning around to leave.

"But.. w-wait a moment," the blond stuttered desperately. "How long am I going to stay here? Look at this room! I can't possibly... I mean.. I can't live like this. Surely you can see that."

A malicious smile curled Auror Williamsons lips. "Well, well, my little Death Eater friend. It might be a while, given that your nasty little friends infiltrated the Ministry, thus ruining our government, so you better get used to it. Personally, I would've preferred to throw away the key to your room and let you starve in here. But rest assured that you will have to face your crimes sooner or later. And this prison cell is a luxury hotel room compared to the ones at Azkaban."

With this final remark the Auror slammed the heavy door and Draco was left to his own devices.