Author's note: Edit made 15 April, 2017.
January bled into February which bled into March and then April. The days and weeks became identical, indistinguishable, and with that came the inevitable sense that, less than a year after the war, the Purebloods were still on top. Sure, many of them had been imprisoned but most of them were not and some of the lighter sentences were already being repealed or diminished even further. Their confidence came back piece by piece and with that came the ego—the bragging and bravado amongst polite company that by the end of the year, life would be exactly as it always had been prior to the war.
Draco held several meetings with those with whom his family held close financial connections, finding more often than not reassurance that the companies were doing well or even better than in years past. He was congratulated over and over for taking on the position of head of the family, though the reason for why he was now in charge was left unsaid every single time. But there was no more talk of dropping or severing ties with the Malfoy family as there had been over the winter. How quickly they all were to fall to their knees and beg for his forgiveness once it became clear that there would be no repercussions from the general populace or the Ministry.
What gutless cowards Draco found them all to be—disgusting and pathetic as they snivelled, pledging allegiance to him while also pretending to never have had any doubts about him taking over in the first place.
Slowly, one day at a time, the Malfoy family fortunes recovered over those four months until he saw practically no change from what it had been while his father was in charge. How quickly and easily people were willing to forget the sins of the past when it benefited them to do so. Even people like precious Potter largely appeared to have dropped any discussion of Death Eaters like Draco, too busy becoming the golden boy of the Auror department to waste his time on his old nemesis. Draco's name rarely appeared in The Daily Prophet any more as the public largely moved on to other more intriguing scandals that allowed him to finally take a deep breath.
Along with Mother, he visited Azkaban every other week, though Draco rarely actually spoke, allowing his father to dictate commands on how to run the family's companies.
He attended the wedding of Blaise's mother to her newest husband, a younger man named Dagworth-Granger, who seemed much less the epitome of all that was wrong with the world that Blaise described him as being.
With Theo trailing behind, the old friends went to a few parties, had drinks at some of the shadier bars in Knockturn Alley, and just in general began to live regular lives once more, feeling largely unburdened by the occasional glare thrown their way or the fact that 'their kind' was not allowed in The Leaky Cauldron even now.
For the first time in what felt like years, they were truly free of the regime of their parents' decisions—or so Draco told himself. They were free of the war building around the Dark Lord, of the expectations set upon them for being highly ranked members of Pureblood society. No ugly sneer or nasty gaze could possibly touch them because it was now largely outweighed by empty contentment or even apathy towards people like Draco and Theo, or even Blaise for just being a Slytherin Pureblood that hadn't turned tail during the war.
But as it must, May came around and with it were memorials, commemorations to the fallen, speeches about the evils that had unfolded one year ago. Draco was once more thrown into the public spotlight as a furious debate popped up on whether confirmed and convicted Death Eaters should be allowed to attend the memorials at Hogwarts and the Ministry and if such a band should also include people like Pansy who had done nothing wrong, technically, but were merely associated with known Death Eaters. His name was splashed across The Prophet once more as people began to pick up the notion of calling for his arrest once more or at least that he not be allowed to darken what was already such a heavy time for so many people.
The general public seemed to forget that his side lost people last year as well—people like Crabbe, people like his cousin Haffrey, people like Daphne Greengrass who had technically refused to choose a side but who had been intentionally left off of the list of fallen heroes just because she was the daughter of a prominent Pureblood family. His community, too, wished to mourn and remember those who had fallen fighting for what they believed to be right.
All that had gone back to normal was suddenly washing over him and his family, making it impossible to go outside or do much of anything once more. Just as easily as it had been to go back to what they once were, it was also alarming how quickly things could crumble all around him, becoming almost unbearable this time around, for he'd been given a brief taste of normalcy and freedom only to have it robbed from him without warning.
On the first of May, Missy delivered a letter to Draco over breakfast, bowing low to both he and his mother before leaving the room altogether, an ashamed expression on her wrinkly face as she slowly backed away, her spine still flat and stiff as a board. The letter looked innocent enough except for the fact that the sender was listed as being the Minister of Magic himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt, that bastard who had taken Draco's wand.
"What does it say, dear?" Mother asked while taking a bite of her eggs, barely glancing up at her son. "A letter from an admirer, perhaps? Or has your little bride finally decided to respond to the many letters you've sent her?"
His mother still lived in a fantasy world some days, believing that things were fine and that the Malfoy name was highly respected, a world where the war had never happened and Lucius was only away on a business trip and would be coming back home any day now. It was easier to pretend along with her most of the time, but it was clear that this letter was not going to contain any sort of message that either of them wanted to hear.
Running his eyes through the letter, a scowl twisted Draco's mouth and made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Shacklebolt wrote to inform him that it would be in the best interest of everyone involved if both he and Mother did not attend any officially sanctioned memorial events. It wasn't meant to be personal, the letter insisted—they weren't the only ones not welcome—but it was still obviously a message that their presence wasn't wanted and there would be repercussions if they ignored the warning. Though Shacklebolt may have worded his letter as though Draco had an option to attend the memorials, he was not a big enough fool to think he'd be allowed anywhere near the likes of Saviour Potter, who would no doubt have praises rained down all around him while the Purebloods were shunned and pushed into a dark corner.
"I think would prefer a letter from Astoria over this. At least something from her would be less embarrassing." He waved the Minister's letter around for several seconds before tossing it across the table for his mother to look at, scowling as he felt the desire to punch something beginning to fill him up once more.
Perhaps he should go to the memorial just to be able to punch Potter in his stupid, smug face—damn whatever consequences that would inevitably follow his irrational behaviour.
Narcissa quickly skimmed through the Minister's letter, her expression barely changing to show a mild sense of distaste. "Well, I suppose that, in this new world, manners would be the first thing to be thrown out the window especially considering the sorts of people that have been allowed to take over in the aftermath of what has been stolen from our people. No doubt they think our presence would be too much for their precious sensibilities. And here they call us cowards for daring to save ourselves. I ought to write to your father and see what he thinks." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "You know, he hardly writes to me any more these days."
Because he's in Azkaban, where he can't write to anyone. But he dared not say it, not wanting to break the illusion that brought some semblance of comfort and sanity to his mother's life. She drifted back and forth between reality and a world entirely of her own creation and Draco loved her too much to ruin that.
Setting the letter aside, his mother took another dainty bite of her breakfast, looking like she could hardly be bothered by this newest round of disrespect that they had been thrown into. She gave off the appearance of being above such trivial things as the acceptance of the general populace, all of whom were so far beneath her anyway. Draco had always been impressed by how his mother could remain so nonplussed by everything happening both to and all around her, maintaining the idea that she was far too important to notice any of it. Yes, it was an unhealthy delusion that she allowed herself to sink into, but that her world view had no cracks in it was still impressive and for that Draco could not help but admire her.
"We lost people, too," Draco said quietly, getting up briefly to drop the letter in the fireplace, letting it burn. "Even if they were Death Eaters, they were still people all the same, who fought for what they had been raised to know as the inherent truth. Is it really fair that we're being punished for doing what came naturally to us? don't we deserve the right to mourn our losses and commemorate a tragedy of our history, even if it's for a different reason than the official memorials?" He waved his hand in the direction of the fireplace. "Did you see how the so-called Minister has ordered us to not congregate for any reason during the ceremonies, supposedly to deter our being attacked? As though we're too idiotic to realise he thinks this will lead to a gathering of Death Eaters intent on making a mess of everything. The Ministry doesn't trust us."
"When have they ever?" Narcissa shook her head, setting aside her dirty dishes for one of the house elves to scurry off with. "Do you remember after the fall of the Dark Lord, little infant Potter destroying his body back in the early 1980s, that the Ministry was suspicious of us until that damn fool Fudge took charge. He was...great for people like you and I, of course, getting rid of a lot of the old laws put in place against Purebloods. But the Ministry has never been very trusting of our society even though they love our money."
They fell quiet, Draco resuming his meal while Narcissa stared stonily into the distance, now wrapped up in memories of how her life had once been, back in the day before her husband was in prison and things had not yet fallen apart. She was in the real world now, as evidenced by the pained expression on her face.
"Do you think anything like this could ever happen again?" He looked cautiously up at his mother, hoping that she would assure him that the worst was now behind them. "Could there ever be another Dark Lord in yours or my lifetime or are we fully past all of these arguments about the purity of blood? I think our side has lost enough now to have learned their lesson."
She closed her eyes for a long second, sighing, before Mother replied. "Did they teach you nothing during your time at school? Dark lords come and go, a new one rising every generation or so, each time championing a new cause. Some win, most don't, but at the end of the day, life continues more or less as it always does. There will be wars fought once more during my life, during your life, during the lives of our descendants, never ending feuds until there's simply no one left to fight any more. And when it is only our skeletons that remain in the aftermath, someone will still rise p to overtake what is left of this world. It is in the nature of mankind to destroy both themselves and all that is around them."
Her words hung heavy in the air as Draco gaped at his mother for much too long before he snapped out of his haze and blinked away the bewilderment and shock. "For fuck's sake, you could have at least lied to me and said everything will be alright. I'm your son, your only son."
"You're a man now, Draco, the one who makes all the decisions about where to lead the future of this family. It wouldn't benefit anyone for me to shelter you any longer, even if your father tries to, nor to pretend that the world is something that it is not and will never be. You and your children will suffer just as my parents and I suffered. The only way to get through the pain is to accept that this is how the world works and do your best to get over the worst of it all. That's why I wish you had put more effort into choosing a bride that you could trust so that, when the darkest parts of life reach your doorstep, you could rely on your wife no matter what may come. But we're here now, aren't we, with the young Greengrass as your future companion, so you'll have to do your best to come to trust her to have your back."
As though the morning could get any worse, he had now been reminded of his betrothed, that obnoxious little twit who thought she could ever mean anything to him. If his mother dreamt of a day that Draco would rely upon and trust Astoria then their marriage had failed before it even began. He could not stand his bride.
"How many others do you think received the same letter as we did? Who else do you suppose was forbidden from attending the memorials besides us? I might write to Aunt Aquila and Uncle Haffrey to see if either of their families have been disbarred from going. And those who are of Hogwarts age, but is the child of a Death Eater, how are they to be handled? Do they have to just stay in the school while everyone else heads onto the grounds to mourn?"
The look on his mother's face was somewhere between bored and critical of him, finding him foolish and full of every fault she'd ever tried to protect him from. She was slipping back into her delusional fantasy, her interest in their conversation fading. "Don't bother yourself about the outside world any longer, it does you no good to concern yourself with the things you cannot change. You are a Malfoy—soon enough, the world will swing back to be in our favour once more and you will be on top, as is the natural order of things. Forget what anyone else may do, especially when none of it concerns you."
But he couldn't just ignore it, that was the whole problem, that such a great injustice had been dealt to him and no one else seemed to care. For now, though, he would at least pretend to put aside the issue and act as though he wasn't bothered by all that had been done against him. He could at least shut his mouth for one day to keep his mother happy. It wouldn't do anything to change how he truly felt but it would at least make things easier to deal with for now.
"Very well, Mother," he replied as she stood to leave the dining room. "Should I instead write to Astoria once more to see if she replies? Eventually, I should think, she will have to break down and give into me."
"Who is Astoria?" Narcissa snapped, glaring at him. She was now once more fully in that other world, seeing life through younger woman's eyes. "Is she one of your many side projects, the ones you're always leaving me for? Well, go ahead then, write to her, see if I care. For now, I am off to visit my sister in Azkaban. If the outside world is going to think the worst of us, I might as well live up to their expectations and visit my Death Eater of a sister. If you're going to fuck your little girl today, at least try to be discrete about it, will you, Lucius? I'd prefer to not learn about any more illegitimate children trying to steal away our son's birthright."
And then she was gone, leaving him to finish a cold breakfast and wonder sadly to himself how they could have messed up so badly to be in such a place as this.