Draco's head was swimming with the size of the 'day'.
The all-consuming FiendFyre, feeling Potter's hand slip, the world slowing as he fell and then the crack on the back of his head, the shock of waking up naked in the same place seconds later, the concerned faces of the adults staring at him…
And then Potter's son, who'd had his wand, the plaques in the Slytherin Common Room with the names of students lost, including his own…
And the sheer amount of things he had been told by his Mother.
…God.
He was sure he had a lot of questions but they hadn't yet formed. His mind had overflowed to the point where nothing seemed to register anymore and he had decided to file it all away for now.
The world was wildly off-kilter, his body still tingled oddly and every now and then the sensation in a finger or hand seemed to disappear entirely.
It was fine though.
And anyway, it could wait. Now was time to celebrate!
Because his Father had drunk so enthusiastically while the Dark Lord had resided in their home, Draco had assumed the suggestion of celebration was a matter of 'any excuse is a good excuse'. But now he so graciously held open the door for him, it dawned on him that it might actually be because he, Draco, was back.
When was the last time his Father had been this pleased with his presence? He honestly couldn't remember. It warmed his heart, really, it seemed almost inappropriate to be received like this.
They descended the stone stairs to the wine cellar.
They had been here plenty of times before, together, and about a quarter of those times had not been good.
It was good now.
He sighed and giddily tried to suppress the dumb smile that was forming.
The Dark Lord was gone. The War was over. Their home was theirs again. He was alive. And his Father was pleased with him.
He wasn't sure what wine to choose, he didn't recognise half the bottles and even the layout of the racks had somewhat changed. Would he dare ask for the last remaining Chateau Lafite from 1787, just to test how pleased his Father was?
Then again, it might backfire on him, he might hate the taste and be forced to finish it anyway. Best ask for something he knew he liked, such as the Domaine Leroy Chambertin Grand Cru. Or perhaps something else, something with which he wasn't yet familiar…
He didn't even really feel like drinking, to be honest. Or like eating — he had politely declined his Mother's offers of just about every sweet he could imagine and he had hardly touched the finger sandwiches she had prepared.
Regardless, it was the thought that counted. The thought that he wasn't going to be just served something and expected to be grateful, but that he was allowed to choose.
Seeing 'future years' on the labels was bizarre.
Slowly and silently they made their way between the wooden racks in the stone room, Draco pausing every now and then to read a label and his Father keeping pace with him. The worn carpet on the floor, which was nearly threadbare and had lost most of its colour in Draco's 'absence', didn't entirely prevent their footsteps from sounding hollow.
After considering a Merlot that seemed somewhat out of place beside the Alsace Gewurztraminer, Draco was surprised by his Father placing a hand on his back and gently steering him near an alcove between two wine racks.
Draco looked at him expectantly, again struck by how much his Father had aged. He had to keep reminding himself that 'earlier today' for him had been over two decades for everyone else.
"Draco…" he said, a smile on his mouth as he cocked his head to the side.
Draco positively beamed as he looked back at him — his Father hadn't looked at him this warmly since he had been about to attend Hogwarts for the first time.
Of course he knew his Father loved him and he had never doubted that, but to see it on his face like this was rare.
"Darling boy… You have been quite explicit about that you do not remember what happened after your death until your… return, is that correct?"
Draco nodded, wondering momentarily whether something was the matter.
"So… you have no recollection of what you might have done?" His Father's eyes flashed.
Draco swallowed hard and felt the tension go down his throat and settle in his abdomen. "No Father," he said breathlessly, his chest hollow and encompassing the entire universe, struggling to keep his breath steady. One of his legs seemed to fade out of focus and he was sure it was sheer willpower that kept him upright.
Slowly but steadily he stood up straighter and folded his arms behind his back.
His Father considered him. It probably didn't take more than five seconds but it felt like an eternity.
"…indeed." He said finally.
Draco's chest felt enormous and empty, his limbs distant, a ringing and rushing rising in his ears as he tried to keep his left leg stable. He forced his breathing to calm.
"There are some things, Draco… Some things that I cannot let slide."
Draco had to make a conscious effort to keep his gaze on his Father - it kept drifting out and away, to a distant part of the ceiling. Sometimes when these situations arose it was as if the wood and stone weren't real, as if they were part of a veil, an illusion, and he could just dissolve.
"You're not being punished of course… You know how thrilled I am to have you back with us." His Father smiled warmly and placed a hand on his shoulder.
Draco's heartbeat was shaking his torso, his vision started to swim and his head was buzzing.
Father had hugged him earlier. It had been new.
Genuine.
This wasn't punishment. Of course. He hadn't done anything wrong, after all. This was just some assurance. Just a precaution, a safety measure, a test.
This is fine.
His Father patted his shoulder again, firmly, gently, gave a little squeeze, and shook his head as if ridding himself of an unwelcome thought.
Draco adjusted his posture, stood straighter still, nearly deafened by his own heartbeat, his breathing becoming shallower and faster as his Father looked at him, considered him, turned to him, looked at him as if wondering whether to strike at all.
Maybe he wouldn't.
This wasn't punishment, after all.
His Father swirled his cane around in his hand, a casual and playful gesture that Draco knew well.
Just as he tried to dissolve his consciousness and blend into the structure of the building he felt the blow land on his side, a contortion of a fencing strike, a moment in which his sight faltered for longer than he blinked.
The pain was distant and though his balance was affected, it had calmed his breathing. This was familiar.
This was fine.
His Father held his cane, considered him, and Draco tried to tune out of his senses but couldn't. The oddness of his left leg feeling not quite present was anchoring him on the spot and the instability of it had him concerned.
If he'd fall…
He breathed slowly, deeply, intentionally.
It's fine.
"What do you remember?" His Father asked curiously. He looked at Draco almost pleasantly, his fingers tightening on the head of his cane.
Draco took a few seconds to find the ability to speak.
"The Room of Requirement was on fire… Potter flew towards me, reached for me, he grabbed my hand, lifted me and I slipped…"
For a moment he smelled smoke and felt the heat in his mind. The back of his head echoed an ache.
It was almost nostalgic.
"Proceed…" His Father's voice was low and he had started to pace.
Draco stood absolutely still, unable to stop his eyes from watering.
"I fell." his voice broke and the shock of it sent a surge of numbness through him. "I cracked my head… The heat was… " he breathed heavily, his heart pounding.
His eyes gazed ahead but he didn't see anything.
"It … stung… I couldn't tell where I ended and it began… it was… I … "
The blow to his face made his sight flash yellow.
"Finish your sentences." his Father snapped.
Draco swallowed, his mouth dry, his eyes stinging, his consciousness disregarding the limits of his body as the pounding in the back of his head continued.
"Everything was wrong and then — " Draco struggled to keep his lip from quivering, to stop the dizziness from setting in.
"Suddenly... I was in the Room… On the floor… There was no fire… No pain... Just... People…" Breathing was hard. Breathing was impossible.
"I do not wish to make you recount your death, Draco…" His Father said warmly.
Draco's breathing calmed a little.
It's fine.
"I need to know what you remember of the time in between passing out and waking."
"I don't remember, Father." Draco said breathlessly, a sudden dread creeping over him.
His body was a distant tingling sensation.
Why couldn't his Father just give him Veritaserum? Cast Legilimens?
Why this?
His left leg gave. It was only for a moment, but he almost lost his balance.
Instantly he felt the cane again, striking straight across his lower abdomen and remaining there.
Draco recognised once more the part of the ceiling his eyes had been focused on, quite at the same time he felt something hot dribble down his leg. Slowly he exhaled, almost discarding the air, not expecting to need it anymore.
He tried to adjust his posture, to somehow make this less… true… But to no avail.
He had never been this ashamed.
His consciousness withdrew from his sight again and there was nothing at all in this world but his wet leg and the fear in his throat and stomach. He knew he blinked rapidly, to get back here, to think of an excuse of some sort but his mind denied his pleas, absolutely failed him the way his body was doing, and kept him tuned out.
The pain was fuzzy and distant, he was gasping, but he wasn't really there anymore.
Maybe that was good — the next strike was more vicious than the previous ones.
It struck his face, there was no flash of colour now but a glimpse of the entire cosmos in its vast and pinpricked glory and the only reason he knew he had lost his balance was through the pressure against his arm, followed by the sound of rattling bottles beside him.
He must have fallen against the wine rack.
The tip of his Father's cane pressed into his collar bone and he let out a whimper he couldn't contain.
In response there were blows to his abdomen that were of a different nature.
Draco tried to fight the urge to curl up, to get himself under control, but his body acted without his permission.
He had never been kicked before.
That had been reserved for Dobby.
"Repulsive." his Father growled.
Draco's breathing wavered and his heartbeat was rocking him to and fro. There was just the heat on his leg, the dull distant bruising of his abdomen and the expectation of another flash of colour, another gasp of pain, another realisation of the disappointment he was.
Maybe his body hadn't 'reassembled' properly? The Room of Requirement had given him back the Mark and his scars, but something on the inside was clearly wrong. Obviously the feeling of limbs 'fading out' was part of that, but he had brushed that off as something that would surely resolve itself.
But to wet himself… he had not lost control like that during punishment since he was perhaps nine years old.
No, don't compare it — this is not punishment.
This is fine, he was fine, his Father was thrilled to have him, he'd said so himself.
He managed to contain his sobs until the blows stopped and his body felt like a bruise.
His Father levitated him back into position by his collar bone, forcing the rest of him along like a rag doll.
Draco's cheeks were wet and he didn't know whether it was blood or tears that covered them.
It didn't matter.
There had been no cleaning charm and he could feel the material of his trousers cling to his wet leg.
He remained upright, though it was impossible to tell how. Perhaps his Father was hovering his collar bone in place. It was much appreciated.
It cost significant effort to fold his arms behind his back again and he suppressed a groan of pain.
He could tell his lips were bleeding on the inside, but even the taste of metal was distant, somehow. Fuzzy and grey, like his thoughts.
His consciousness appeared to be somewhere beside his physical body and he wished he could just hover out of it entirely.
"Tell me what happened while you were dead." His Father bit at him.
Draco tried to gaze ahead and over again, but that spot in the ceiling was a dark grey and brown blotch. His ears rang.
"I don't remember." he managed.
"What. Happened. while you were dead…?" His Father's voice was a vibration that synchronised perfectly with the ringing in Draco's ears.
"I don't remember." he said with a bit more strength this time. It wasn't strange that he wasn't believed — amnesia was a very lazy excuse, after all.
Draco was surprised his Father would dirty his hand on his face but there it was, grabbing his chin and forcing eye contact.
"Should I ask again…?"
Draco could smell the tea on his breath, so awfully mundane. He tried to straighten his spine, to elongate himself, to rise above this, but he was too shaken to coordinate the effort.
His voice failed him and his lower lip quivered as he shook his head minimally. He didn't try to free himself.
There would be no point.
He'd seen the age lines in his parents' faces, the changing of the colour of their hair, the softening of their edges…
How his Mother seemed to hurt whenever he spoke…
She had masked it of course, but he'd seen the pain in her eyes.
Whatever must have happened, however he had been Before… His Mother preferred the Forgotten him.
But his Father had been delighted.
Suddenly he realised something.
A few months— no, twenty six years ago, during the War, he had been on the other side of this exchange. He had watched people at the end of his wand cling to their self-fed lines in a last ditched effort to convince themselves of their truth, afraid to slip off course, afraid to give something away…
Because liars repeat themselves literally when pressured, since they have a script to stick to.
Yet here he was, saying the same three words over and over though he had nothing to hide. He didn't have a script, he'd just gone soft in the head.
Shame burned through the bruising on his cheeks. His Father had taught him this, surely if there weren't years and years in between the lesson and this interrogation, he'd have no reason to forget it. He cleared his throat.
"There is nothing Father, I just lost consciousness and then I woke up. It took no time at all."
His Father narrowed his eyes and let go of his chin.
This was fine.
He, too, was probably considering how likely it was that Draco was telling the truth. He strode off for a few paces but then turned around, looking all but pleasant.
"It is understandable that you might want a tabula rasa, considering the nature of your betrayal…" he said with a smile.
Draco felt the impact of the words drone into his abdomen.
"Don't look so shocked, Draco, surely you didn't think I would test you this thoroughly over something whimsical?"
"Of course not." Draco gasped, shook to the core. Then he hastened to add "Father." in case his manners were found wanting.
What had he done?
His breath was shallow and quick and his mind was racing, though not in a manner that allowed him to keep up.
"I would never betray you." he added quickly, doubting that it would remotely suffice.
His Father cocked a brow at him. "Ah… But of course you'd say that…" His voice was low.
Draco was lightheaded and his eyes watered. He had no means to stop it.
"I don't know what else to say…" he said softly as a sob escaped him.
Betrayal?
Would he have been capable of that if he had wanted?
His Father looked at him with exasperation and disgust. He shook his head, almost as if in thought but angry, then twirled his cane again.
Draco tensed, his lip quivered, and he didn't know what to do.
Quickly he banished that thought — this was not punishment. His Forgotten self had done something terrible and this was just a trial by fire.
He'd be fine as long as he kept his arms behind his back.
"What could it be, you think?" His Father asked, almost pleasantly.
Draco tried not to sob.
"If you had to guess… Just… Name some treacherous things… We will know whether it's still stirring in your subconscious…" He sounded actually malicious now.
Draco nodded and racked his fuzzy mind. "Perhaps I've spoken badly of the Dark L-"
The cane struck him across the chest and he bit his tongue.
"What do you take me for!?" Just anger — that was good.
Another strike. This one seemed almost petty, somehow.
"The War is over, boy."
Draco swallowed hard.
'Today' was a lot.
His Father sighed. "Something else, go on, list a few…" His tone was as if they were talking about dinner options and Draco could almost hear the casual hand gesture that probably accompanied it.
He stopped sobbing when a certain hopelessness settled over him.
He had no idea.
"Perhaps I've insulted you?"
The blow was so fierce it snapped his head to the side and he could feel warm blood trickle down his cheek.
His Father had never drawn blood before.
Slowly Draco turned back to face him, unable to hide his shock.
His Father looked somewhat uncomfortable and remained silent for a moment.
"I'm sorry." Draco said, his throat feeling as if there was a rusty nail stuck in it.
His Father's mask was back up and Draco didn't have the mental capacity to read through it.
"I don't know what I have said… Because as I've told you, I don't remember. But I know that whatever it was must have been misguided nonsense." His lip trembled as he scrambled for the right things to say. He adjusted his arms behind his back a little for 'comfort', since one of his hands had gone rather numb.
"I would never insult you." He added, and stiffened when his Father looked him up and down in response.
That was a fair point.
He had never felt so small and worthless as he did now, his torso bruised, piss on his leg and blood on his face.
His gaze drifted over his Father's left shoulder, over the wine racks, to that spot in the ceiling which became salient once more, the wooden beam, the stone, the weight it carried…
He took a deep breath and let the solidity fade, made it seem an illusion again.
It was more difficult to maintain this level of detachment when his Father approached him and obscured most of his view, but he tried as hard as he could to tune out, to not engage, to just not be here.
"Now… listen to me carefully, boy… You will go back to school, you will have outstanding results, you will find a probable wife and you will not disappoint me." His tone ended in a snarl.
His Father's breath on his face cooled the mess of blood and tears, which made it very difficult to dissolve in the way he wanted.
"Of course, Father." he said in an unstable voice, nodding so slightly he might have just been trembling.
His Father strode away a few paces and Draco tried to steady his quick shallow breathing.
Suddenly his Father stopped, turned back to him, unsheathed his wand and pointed it at him.
Draco's breath stopped and he turned cold.
Was this it?
He forced himself more upright and realised the moisture on his leg was… replenished.
Perhaps it was better if he just died.
He looked at the ceiling one last time before closing his eyes and wondering whether this dizzy feeling was part of it.
Wasn't he supposed to see his life flash by or something? Perhaps he was denied that because he had been a ghost for longer than he had been alive.
It's fine.
A silent spell hit him and the pain in his face, which had seemed distant to begin with, faded. It made sense, there was no healing a corpse, and if it was going to be an open casket —
Another silent spell hit him seconds later, and much to his surprise the wetness on his face and leg were no longer noticeable.
Perhaps all sense had left him, his body did feel awfully far away…
His Father's somewhat annoyed tone pulled him right back into the here and now. "It was a cleaning charm, boy."
Draco took a breath so deep he nearly collapsed, but managed to stiffen his legs in time so he could remain in proper stance.
"At ease." his Father said with an upwards nod, and Draco allowed himself to fall back against the wall for support, still catching his breath.
Silent tears ran down his face, he was gasping but he couldn't get himself to stop.
He was fine.
"Come here." His Father commanded gently, and Draco pushed himself forwards, away from the alcove, unsteady on his feet.
All his weight was in his legs somehow as he staggered over, unable to access his thoughts.
"Draco… " His Father said in a consoling tone, placing an arm around his shoulders. "You understand, of course, the necessity of these precautions… "
Draco nodded, his mind fuzzy, his limbs still distant. He crossed his arms in an attempt to mask the numbness in his hand from his own consciousness, and noticed how they were stiff from the effort of keeping them on his back. Not to mention the bruises on his torso…
Apparently this was a lesson to remember.
"Don't be so dejected… I believe you." His Father squeezed him closer for a moment, almost conspiratorially, then relaxed his hold on him.
"Now, how about we try the Chateau Lafite? I doubt there will ever be a better occasion for it than the resurrection of my beloved son."
Beloved?
Had he ever said that before?
A rush of joy overtook Draco's dazed state, a feeling so strong he felt like he was flying.
Together they made their way to the stairs, where his Father let go of him and gave him a gentle touch on the shoulder blade instead, allowing him to go first.
"Oh and Draco… One more thing…" His Father's voice came from behind him, tone casual, most unusual.
It wasn't necessarily a bad thing though, so Draco paused and looked back, near-euphoria on his face.
"Stay away from that Potter boy, will you?"
Draco nodded.
That was fine.