*waves awkwardly* Hi peoples. So...how about that hiatus? Ok so "hiatus" is a bit of an understatement. I pretty much dropped off the map for a year. The last few months have been hectic to say the least. The short version is that family health issues, school, and a new job have kept me from writing and postIng. I've also been struggling with adulting (it's totally a word). My sincerest apologies.
A/N: For plot purposes, I moved the Death Eater Azkaban escape from 1997 to 1996.
Christmastime is supposed to be a joyous time, is it not? It's a time to mingle and celebrate with family and old friends. It's supposed to be fun, right? Perhaps the manner in which fun is gauged is dependent on the environment. Some sing while others sigh.
Draco sighed, letting his breath fog up the glass and blur his view of the depressingly slow falling snow outside his bedroom window. The flakes here seemed to drag themselves through the air rather than merrily flit and float like at Hogwarts. Perhaps the Wiltshire air was too thick, redolent of the Dark Lord's recent visit or, maybe the flakes were reluctant to fall on the property of such an undesirable(?) family. In spite of this, there was something uplifting about the snow...the way it seemed to iron out the rolling hills into one, smooth expanse of white. If the peacocks were out, they would be practically invisible against the lawn and the hills but, they were not out roaming the property as it was winter and Draco knew his father would not let his precious pets freeze in the harsh winds that blew through the property. Instead, black suits of armor roamed the manor lawns, their entire forms shining menacingly in the sun. Of course, no one physically wore the suits; they were simply enchanted, ready to attack day or night and at a moment's notice. What they would attack, Draco didn't know but, if the snow was reluctant to fall here, why would anything living dare pass the property line?
Inside the manor, safe from the harsh winter weather, the members of the Malfoy family occupied themselves as best they could following the recent not-so-festive gathering. Evidence of severe strategic planning remained on the dining table in the forms of newspaper clippings, various scraps of parchment with swiftly made notes, and several ancient looking maps marked with illegible scribbles in different colored inks. A silver dagger stuck out of the black, lacquered surface, pinning a handwritten note to the table. Draco didn't dare look too closely at any of the things on the table for fear of learning about other horrible tasks that had been set out for him by none other than the Dark Lord. In fact, he avoided the dining room all together which wasn't too much trouble given the sheer size of the manor. It was easy enough to bypass the dining room since it was right off the foyer but sometimes Draco had to be more creative with his alternate routes if he was in certain areas. For example, if he was sat in the east-facing drawing room and he suddenly fancied a read in the library, he had to go up the main staircase, walk to the other end of the house, and take the second set of stairs down to the kitchen just so he could take the servants staircase up to the hall. It was peurile and ridiculous but, something almost malodorous eminated from the dining room. He did his best to avoid it.
A week into winter holiday, this method of moving about the manor became a game. It was, admittedly, a childish game to see how many rooms could he walk through before finally reaching his desired destination but, it was a game nonetheless so it helped to pass the time. Draco soon found himself in rooms long-forgotten since his childhood, rooms that had not been visited by anyone other than the staff since before he was born: a lounge decorated in nothing but linen-covered furniture, his father's old study which still held some books on the mostly empty shelves, a ballroom whose only occupant was a grand piano fashioned in such a dark red wood that it was almost black.
It was the ballroom Draco found himself visiting the afternoon before he returned to Hogwarts. He sat down on the plush bench and lifted the cover to reveal ebony and ivory keys that still shined like new. He had vague memories of his piano lessons with Mrs. Pendlebury, a kind, elderly witch and a member of the London Philharmonic. His mother insisted he learn when he reached the age of five and he immediately took to it. By the time he was eight he was quite proficient and had several classical pieces in his repertoire; he could perfectly play two of Bach's two-part inventions from memory among other pieces from the many musical eras. To say he was proficient was an understatement. Then he turned ten and his lessons abruptly stopped. He didn't dare ask for a reason why but he understood enough when he heard his father and mother in heated argument regarding Mrs. Pendlebury's "worth". Needless to say, Draco never took lessons again with Mrs. Pendlebury or with anyone for that matter. He rarely ever went near the piano when he was home except to play the odd scale or a few chords and even then he played as silently as he could for fear of a scolding from his father. Today, however, was different. Without a second thought, Draco shut the doors, pulled a dusty book off the shelf, and propped it open on the piano. His eyes surveyed the piece in front of him and he let his hands rest on the cold yet familiar keys. Then he began to play.
A slow, sorrowful song poured forth from the worn instrument and the melody filled the room from lacquered floor to marbled ceiling, echoing around as it went. Every crescendo and slur was executed with ease as Draco's hands fell into a feeling of familiarity and he let his mind relax.
Just down the corridor, Narcissa almost dropped her book when the haunting waltz reached her ears. It had been years since she heard any music come from the piano. Of course, the house elves tuned it from time to time but, it could never be categorized as music. Eager to see her son perform, Narcissa gently closed her book and silently made her way to the ballroom. She opened one of the double doors a crack and let the tune seep out into corridor and surround her. Smiling to herself, she made to pull the door shut when a discordant bang came from the other side of the doors and Draco cried out in pain.
"Draco!" Narcissa cried as she threw open the doors and ran to her son's side. "Dear, what's the matter?"
"The damn thing burns!" he hissed with his jaw clenched. Draco yanked the left sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow and gingerly unwrapped his bandaged forearm. Beneath the white bandages his skin was an angry red and hot to the touch. Where bare flesh used to be, a black skull with a winding snake protruding from its mouth now existed. Draco sucked in air through gritted teeth as he watched the skull and the snake cycle through a color change; it faded to almost nothing and slowly darkened back to black. A string of curses escaped his mouth as he tightly gripped his arm in an effort to squeeze away the pain.
"You need to give it time," Narcissa said soothingly. As she expertly re-wrapped Draco's arm, she feIt a shiver run down her spine as a memory, just shy of thirty years old, crept to the forefront of her mind. She was wrapping her eldest sister's newly tattooed arm, all the while praising her for her bravery for taking an oath to follow one of the most powerful wizards of the time. Now she found herself in the same situation only this time filled with worry and fear for her son. He was so unequipped and too young for the grave task he was set. In spite of making an Unbreakable Vow with Severus, Narcissa was still unsure of Draco's fate.
While his appearance nearly mirrored his father's, he was still just a child - her child - just beginning to find his place. "Go bathe your arm in murtlap essence for a bit," she said as she cradled his hand in both of hers. "It will help." She tried her best to smile up at him and hoped it would relieve him of even an iota of pain. She received a smile in return but, she saw through it. Her only son was trying too much to be too strong and she hated it. She hated herself for letting it progress this far, for standing on the side as her son was ordered to do things well beyond his capacity.
As Draco stood to leave Lucius' form appeared in the threshold looking weakened and slightly disheveled from his recent prison escape. Being so close to Dementors for even a short period of time will do that to a person. "Draco," he croaked. Even with a hoarse voice, he managed to be intimidating.
"Father," Draco replied with a curt nod. He immediately crossed the room and left both his parents standing in the sunlit ballroom.
Lucius, limping slightly, took confident steps towards his wife while she stood tall with her arms crossed. His cane thumped on the wood floors with every step he took and Narcissa's frown deepened. Silence passed between them for a few moments, each of them not wanting to deliver the first blow of the argument. That seemed to be the only thing they did when they occupied the same space since Lucius' escape. When they weren't arguing they stayed in different rooms in opposite wings. "Narcissa-"
"He cannot do what is tasked of him," Narcissa said shortly. "He's only sixteen."
"He's perfectly capable, Narcissa," Lucius replied, slightly agitated by his wife's repeated protest. "He's nearly of age; you can't coddle him forever."
"I am not coddling him! I'm trying to protect him."
"That is coddling him. How will he ever learn how to fight for what belongs to him? He is a soldier now, Narcissa."
"Lucius, please, I beg of you. There must be a way, another Death Eater-"
"Have you lost your mind!?" Lucius said with some panic. "My failure at the Ministry has displeased The Dark Lord so much that we are fortunate he did not reduce our home into a heap of ash with us buried beneath it."
"Oh, yes. We are very fortunate that it has instead been fashioned into his headquarters." The anger in her voice rose with each word. "My dining room has been turned into a war room! Some of the followers practically lives here and I can't have a decent night's sleep because Draco has been assigned a task he cannot carry out! Too much is being asked of him, Lucius!"
"If he wants to stay alive, if he wants us all to stay alive, he will do what is asked of him without hesitation!"
"You have always set your expectations too high for him!"
"And you contually underestimate him!"
"I will not allow my son to commit murder!"
Lucius' hand flew across Narcissa's cheek, leaving a red mark on her pale face. In a low voice, he said, "Do not forget that he is also my son. He will obey the Dark Lord's orders if he knows what is good for this family."
In a flash, Narcissa leapt back and aimed her wand at Lucius' chest. "Don't you forget that I still have a wand," she warned. "If you raise your hand to me again I swear I will not hesitate to return the blow. And if you so much as mistreat Draco, I will not hesitate to kill you." With her wand still drawn, Narcissa stormed out of the room, leaving Lucius alone with her warning.
It's good to be back.