Chapter Twenty-One: Sugar Low
Draco sat outside Narcissa's bedroom door and waited.
He'd tried knocking, calling, sending a house-elf in and whispering "I'm so sorry"s to the wood, but she wasn't letting him in. From time to time he heard movement, a rustle of cloth or a sigh. Once he heard a sob, short and sharp and cut off, trembling with the effort of containment and release.
And so he waited, sleeping outside his mother's room, riveted by the need to explain.
…
Theo was the first person he saw after The Incident, because Draco somewhere had found kindness and wasn't going to let Theo feel guilty about it for too long.
Privately, he thought that the bloody prat might as well suffer a little, but apparently he'd gone too soft and didn't want anyone to suffer too much.
…
"Draco?" Came Theo's voice from around the corner, and Draco cast a look at his mother's door before going to meet him.
Theo didn't look so great. He looked about as guilt-ridden as a Slytherin could get.
"I'm sorry," Theo started, not meeting Draco's eyes, and Draco cut him off.
"Look at me, Theo."
He looked up.
…
"You didn't know," Draco said, softly. "You didn't know, and it's okay. And anyways, I'm used to you being a right pain in the arse," he added as an afterthought, and Theo looked up at him with a watery grin.
"Look at you," he said, "All grown up."
Draco didn't ask him what Theo thought of his patricide, and Theo didn't say, just clapped Draco on the shoulder with Slytherin solidarity.
Draco returned it with a confidence he didn't feel, smiled with a joviality that he didn't have, and saw him on his way. Theo, in the end, walked out with a straighter spine, and that was what mattered.
It was strange, Draco thought, but somewhere along the way he'd learned how to be gentle.
…
People continued coming to see him; but he rarely moved from his vigil outside his mother's door.
…
Pansy wrote him a letter; Draco guessed that she didn't want to be around him right now. He surmised that she'd told Theo in passing, probably to convince Theo to grow up or guilt him into doing something, and forgotten how regrettably loose-tongued Theo was for a Slytherin.
He tried not to blame her. It wasn't something he would have done, betraying his friend's secrets for a "greater" good. He wasn't sure if that was better or worse, but he was learning that some things about people couldn't be measured by degrees: they simply are. Pansy was Pansy, Theo was Theo, and Draco was Draco, whether he wanted to be or not.
…
The next person who came to see him was, surprise surprise, Mr. Feelings Potter.
He hesitated down the hallway, as if he didn't want to intrude on something that was important. Draco stood to meet him, resigned, knowing what he was going to say somehow before he said it.
"I can't go talk to Hermione right now," Draco said.
"She wants to talk to you."
"She does?" There was hope blossoming under his breastbone, aching with the sudden release.
Harry held up his hands. "I didn't say that she was happy. I said that she wanted to see you."
"Harry," Draco said, and he felt the plea in his voice, trembling on the way up, "I can't do this right now."
"Yes," Harry said, meeting his eyes, "You can."
…
"Can you ask her to give me one more day?"
…
Harry shook Draco's hand and turned to go.
"Potter."
"What?"
"How come you haven't been looking at me any differently?"
"I already knew."
"No, I mean, before. How come you just went ahead and let us become…friends?"
Harry stopped, and considered.
"You know," he said slowly, "I judged you before you did anything. Even though you hadn't done anything inherently evil, you hadn't done anything inherently good, either. That- killing your father- was your first act, one that would change our little corner of the world. And I think that because of that, I knew what kind of man you wanted to be. And I wanted to know him."
"Who did you want to know?" Draco entreated. Who did I want to become?
"You," Harry pointed at Draco, transfixing him on the end of his finger. He turned, then, and left.
"Me?" Draco whispered.
…
This time, he pressed his forehead to his mother's door and cried, great silent sobs that shook his entire frame with the exertion of keeping them in.
…
His Mark was burning. Draco rubbed it absently, not wanting to look at the mark on his skin that just hours ago was only another scar. The pain made him focus.
He didn't want to focus. He wanted to scream, and cry, and break things. He wanted to hide in his room and not come out again. He wanted to go far, far away and be miserable.
But he also wanted Hermione. He wanted his job. He wanted the life he was building for himself, the life where he was loved and accepted and needed. The life that he would grow old in, and pass on to his children.
So Draco took hold of himself, and he stepped up and knocked on the door once more.
…
Maybe there was something stronger in his knocking this time, or maybe Narcissa just thought that it was time.
The door swung open, and Draco's heart dropped to his toes in a sudden, surprising jerk.
They surveyed each other, icy blondes with red eyes and tear-stained faces. Draco took a stutter step forwards, trying to ask questions with his eyes, pleading somewhere within for his mother to pick up the pieces and make it all better again.
"I…" he started. "…I'm sorry," he whispered, feeling the inadequacy of his words as he spoke them. "I am so, so sorry," he tried. "I…"
…
"You can't bring him back," Narcissa rasped, finally. "Maybe that's for the best."
He looked at his mother, really looked this time. She was disheveled and worn, but her posture was that of the woman who had dived in to help after the last battle, that of the woman who had stood through her trial without flinching, that of the woman who had hosted the Dark Lord and survived.
"I just…" She swallowed, and he felt the ache of speaking through a voice that has been crying for too long. "How did it happen?"
…
"He was going to kill her, and then who knows who he would have gone after," Draco croaked, surprised at the effort. "I was the only one who noticed. And I couldn't- I couldn't-"
He heard a sob, and he wasn't sure where it came from. His hands were shaking, and he gripped the frame of the door so tightly that he heard it protest. "The curse was out before I could think of something else," he whispered, "And he was-"
He couldn't say it. Merlin help him, he couldn't say it.
"Gone," Narcissa supplied, watching him with a look that was half soft and sad, and half raw grief.
"He didn't even know it was me," Draco whispered.
…
Her hands were fisted in her skirts, and then she spread them, wide, a gesture of opening and acquiescence. He stared at her hands, the delicate fingers and the white line where her wedding ring used to be, not comprehending.
"I cannot hate my own son," she said. "And some days I hated my husband."
It was not acceptance, and it was not understanding, not yet. Even so, Draco stepped into his mother's arms with relief.
At least, now, they were crying on the same side of the door.
…
A/N:
So, I tried to update faster this time around!
KodeV: I don't think the conversation is over, but I think it's begun. Thank you! I hope this lives up to it!
Fulgance: Thank you so much! I really like hearing what parts of the chapter you think are the best. Hopefully this chapter continues to make you feel for Draco and his emotional life. :)
Luna9: Thank you! Read and find out ;)
Pug1998: I am very glad that you enjoy my writing style- thank you. I hope you like this chapter too!
DramioneAgainstAllOdds: And here you go- Thank you for reviewing!
The Silvermoon Wolf: Angst will remain in abundance, I assure you. As well as the Weasleys xD. Thank you!
Harder Than The First Time: Well, that was the plan. xD.
I have been informed that I'm nearing 100 reviews! Thank you all SO SO much for reading and loving my story. Anyways, I thought that for the 100th and 101st reviewers, I would offer to write a one-shot prompted by them. Something they'd like to see. Again, thanks so much!