10 – A Mother's Love
January, 2004.
Ginny was tired.
She peered out at the window of her new house and realised night had already fallen. It was probably dawn now and she had lost track of time again, pored over the shop's bookkeeping and ingredient lists.
She rubbed her eyes to keep herself awake, but could not contain the audible yawn that escaped her mouth.
She was really tired.
She had worked hard in recent years, incessantly, days and many nights, only stopping when James demanded her attention: in view of the upbringing she had gotten from her parents, she refused to give less to her own son.
This, of course, caused her to strain every nerve to get time to her son and her work – and Ginny did not want think that between one thing and the other, she had ended up relegating herself to the background of her own life.
It's ok, really, it was her daily mantra. As long as she kept her job and her son safe, everything would be fine. The work made her forget the things her mind insisted on remembering when she was at her leisure.
In recent times, she was managing to reap the rewards of all this hard work. She had a good shop in Diagon Alley and lived in a comfortable house on the outskirts of the wizarding shopping district. Now, in addition to Flynn, she had four more employees handling sales and storing potions. Thus, she could dedicate herself more freely to making potions at the back of her shop - activity that was her favorite by far.
And while maintaining humility was always a recommended practice, she could not deny it: She was bloody good at that.
What drove her to be so deeply distracted was the list of ingredients she was preparing. She realised her need of more Erumpent's horn fluid for the potion that was her expertise, the one that had brought her money.
Erumpent Draught. Exploding Fluid
She liked the sound of its name and - she could not deny that as well - the effects it caused. It was a highly explosive potion, created from the fluid of the great African animal, which reacted to the slightest awkward movement of those who used it.
And it was crushing.
Ginny had found a way to enhance the effects of the potion that placed her at the top of the bustling market, which made her known for her skills.
She smiled sadly at the irony that lay in the fact she had started brewing potions for people's self-defense and was now working to potentiate weapons of mass destruction. She rubbed her eyes again, this time to shake off the impractical thoughts.
Ginevra - not Ginny- was playing a dangerous game. She was providing potions to the Ministry and to the Resistance.
It was a clear conflict of interest between the money she earned to guarantee James's future and the safety of those people she loved. It was pretty obvious that the second variable in that equation was more important, but still, she could not give up the stability that money and safety would bring to James.
The solution she found was to make the potions sold to the Ministry more unstable - without the firepower she could offer - and still good enough to be considered the best available on the market.
The really lethal potions went to her family in the Resistance; that was the only comfort she could give her conscience.
However, she was confident that everything was under control and would be fine if she could continue to dominate that bloody desire to raise her wand and torture the Death Eaters every time James asked about his family, his father.
She gave a desperate giggle when she realised she was worrying about participating in the Resistance attacks when, in fact, she should have been wondering about the birthday party she was going to give her son, who was about to turn five years old.
She had sworn to herself she would disappear into the world, would never again be involved in that war. Sworn she would take James to a better place, preferably warm and tolerant of minorities. But there she was, sitting in front of her office desk, in the heart of the Wizard London.
Ginny was selfish, she had to admit it. She had developed her manipulative, self-interested and individualistic side and was now there, on the threshold between Voldemort's world and Harry's ideals, not wanting to give up either; neither the stability of the first nor the love for the second.
In this way, she was exposed both to the ire of the Ministry and to the disapproving looks of her friends and family. She knew they did not approve the life she led, no matter how little she saw them. Nor did they understand that, for the same reason she could not reveal James to Voldemort, she also could not let the boy grow up among her family.
And it hurt her.
She had to find a way to protect her life - and James - from herself, to ensure that her help to the Resistance was extremely discreet, since she could not get rid of it. And she could not quite join it neither.
At that thought, Ginny snorted, dropping the quill she was writing with and lowering her head on the table, keeping her forehead pressed against her desk. She tapped her forehead three times against the surface as if the gesture might put some sense in her head. When raised her head though, she saw that a sheet of newspaper had stuck to her face.
"Oy, what the fuck- " She cursed as she put the Daily Prophet's morning edition away from her forehead. She stopped suddenly when glanced at the photo on the front page.
She had not seen that pale, pointed face in years.
Draco Malfoy was looking at the camera - at Ginny - and it seemed he was looking through it. The disturbing grey eyes she remembered with alarming clarity became worse over the years; Malfoy must have been on the cusp of twenty-four years old but he looked older, the same impression she had had years ago when she met those eyes...
Now, it was as if his eyes were sending a message "Nobody helped me and look what I've became". He seemed simply indifferent; he smiled clearly out of obligation at the entrance to the Ministry. His hair was much longer, frighteningly reminiscent of Lucius Malfoy, even though it was only chin-length in his case.
It was the face of someone who had everything, but lost what mattered most.
His peace.
Ginny felt a knot in her stomach when thought she was one of those responsible for leaving him in that situation, for killing his father. She shook her head and leaned against the chair support, looking away from the photo. Sleepiness was starting to make her delirious. It was not reasonable to draw so many conclusions and digress like that through a simple photograph, was it?
Trying not to look at the photo, she read more carefully the headline in the newspaper, which had been lying on her desk since that morning.
MINISTRY OF MAGIC GUIDED WITH IRON HANDS.
Changing the trend established in recent years, the Ministry of Magic has clearly adopted an unrelenting policy to combat militias that are emerging in isolated outbreaks across Britain. The rebels, self-styled 'Resistance', have carried out attacks in various parts of the country and put the order of the society at risk.
In combating this insurgency, the Minister for Magic, Pius Thicknesse, has surrounded himself with energetic and notably unyielding people in the fight against the troublemakers - possibly heirs of the anarchist ideals of Harry Potter, Undesirable No. 1, guilty of the death of Albus Dumbledore and deceased for unknown causes since his mob's attack on Hogwarts in six years ago. The attack - an unsuccessful attempt to seize power - caused dozens of deaths and marked the triumph of the law and order in the Wizarding World.
"We gave people who supported wrong causes a chance to redeem themselves from their past actions and get on with their lives. However, they preferred to practice a series of atrocities that threatened the lives of good and honest wizards.", affirmed the Minister at the departure of the Ministry, this morning.
The clearest example of this more energetic stance by the Ministry is the appointment of Draco Malfoy, heir of two of the most traditional families in the Wizarding World, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, responsible for controlling the magical world in Britain. The first actions from the newly-appointed were the compulsory confiscation of the wands of suspicious people, unrestricted control of the transportation's facilities and encouragement of the disclosure of information about the Resistance, in exchange for the Ministry's substantial rewards.
"In recent years, out of respect for the democratic divergences to which any political regime is subject to, the Ministry of Magic has acted mildly in the fight against Resistance, even though the rebels have never been open to dialogue." Said Draco Malfoy in his only statement on his appointment. "This is now over. I want everyone to know, everywhere in England: there will be no more indulgence for those who do not follow the order. Traitors who perpetrates the riots will be dealt with an iron hand. I will hunt them down wherever they are holed up."
Malfoy, surrounded by a tragic family history, took over the family business after his father's death from injuries at the Battle of Hogwarts, when he fought bravely to protect wizards from Harry Potter's boundless ambition.
Interestingly, after Lucius Malfoy death, Narcissa Black Malfoy was considered to be emotionally unstable and sent to an intensive care area at St. Mungo's Hospital, where she remains until present days. In spite of his dramatic background, the Malfoy heir has been increasing his prestige and gaining more and more political space.
However, would the young Draco Malfoy be ready to take on such a great responsibility? Only time will tell.
Ginny threw the newspaper violently into the wastebasket. How could they write so many lies?, She thought in disgust. Harry killing Dumbledore? Lucius Malfoy dying because he had tried to protect someone? Ministry going easy on the Resistance? Ginny snorted, knowing how relentless - though relatively discreet - its search for the Resistance had been in recent years.
Voldemort was indeed infiltrated in all media.
And now this one, from Draco Malfoy! Bloody ferret!
She snorted again and her thoughts turned involuntarily to Draco Malfoy: she supposed he should have somehow regained his family's prestige and, against all the prognosis of the Universe, the supposition made her feel a little calmer; the thought of being responsible for his downfall in front of Voldemort was unsettling.
Suddenly, she craved a glass of firewhisky and her bed. She did not like thinking about Draco Malfoy.
With a flick of her wand, she began to arrange the objects on the desk and turned her attention to Harry's mokeskin pouch she used to carry with her.
She had taken it off to make potions and was about to put it around her neck again as was her habit - just like it was Harry's - but this time she hesitated.
Ginny never stopped to think carefully about the pouch, nor did she understand why she still carried it, knowing she could never hand it over to its rightful owner.
Its rightful owner...
Ginny almost fell off her chair when an idea hit her and her body jerked up in surprise. For a moment she forgot the Ministry, political intrigues, Draco Malfoy and The Daily Prophet. The new idea hammered violently in her head.
Could it be true?
Harry handed the pouch over to her. Harry gave the pouch to her. Truth be told, it should not matter if he would return to take it back or no. It should only matter the fact that he handed it over willingly to her.
She ran a hand over her face, feeling her mouth go dry. She already knew what was in the bag, there was no mystery in that; what put her on the verge of a nervous breakdown was getting back in touch with the past, with Harry.
She was afraid of how she would react, how it would influence her.
Clearing her mind and concentrating on testing her theory, she tugged lightly on the cord closing the pouch so fiercely for those who did not own it.
And then the cord gave way, as if it were its duty. She felt stupid for not having tried it in those years that she had the pouch, but, above all, she felt unsure.
I can't be so tormented about the past, she thought supporting her face in her hands. Then she decided it was past time to bury her ghosts and, even though she could not do a bloody thing about the shadow she saw in Malfoy's eyes, she could begin getting rid of the Harry Potter phantom, starting with the pouch that represented him…
"Idiot, idiot." She berated herself when realised she had put Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy in the same context. It was like putting heaven and hell in a sentence that made sense.
Shaking her head, she concentrated on the task she had set out to accomplish. Starting to take the objects out of the pouch with more vigor than necessary, she saw the Marauder's Map, Sirius' mirror, a medallion with the strange inscription R.A.B, Harry's broken wand and, to her surprise, she took out of the pouch five tiny vials containing that enigmatic substance she remembered seeing that night she spent with Harry in the Hufflepuff basement.
And then, as though the understanding of the situation had been brought to her with an unexpected blow, she knew immediately what it was. She had not made the correct assumption the first and last time she had seen the vials, but now she could see everything with the clarity of the sun.
Memories.
She felt the itch of curiosity eating through her veins. Why would Harry take away some of his memories?
Ginny searched her office for half an hour until she found what was looking for: She knew that Della would not get rid of a rare object so easily; the house-elf was attached to family's traditions, even though Ginny's small family - consisting of James and her - had none. She took the Pensieve to the center of the desk and poured the silver contents of one of the vials inside.
She leaned over the stone basin, hesitating slightly when she was about to touch her face to the surface, which moved like water being hit by the wind. Did she really want to see what Harry had wanted to hide?
To hell with modesty! Yes, she did!
Ginny pressed her face to the surface and felt the slight sensation of being swallowed into a new world; before that, she knew how it worked only in theory. And suddenly, she regretted doing it.
She began falling down, swirling dizzily, and in the next instant she was among Death Eaters, in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. The scene was strange. On one side Harry had fallen, with his arm at a weird angle, apparently unconscious, and on the other, Voldemort, also fallen, surrounded by Death Eaters who seemed to be asking incessantly about the dark wizard's condition.
Apparently, Voldemort repulsed them sharply, as they began to walk away in embarrassment like the cockroach they were, with the exception of Bellatrix Lestrange, who knelt beside Voldemort. Ginny felt slightly nauseous at the scene.
She did not want to know what they were talking about so she decided to approach Harry. Seeing him like that, defeated and dirty, broke her heart. But it was short lived because she noticed Harry had opened an eye discreetly to spy on the situation around him just as James did when he wanted to know if she was still in the room, watching over his sleep. She held back a chuckle despite the memory grim atmosphere.
Then, she heard Voldemort's voice rise, demanding someone to check Harry out, to make sure he was truly dead. This time, Ginny truly laughed, knowing how disappointed he would be by the outcome.
However, she did not have time to appreciate Voldemort's worried countenance because Narcissa Malfoy was approaching Harry somewhat reluctantly. Ginny walked with her side by side wondering what evil things that woman could have done to Harry, so that he no longer wanted that memory.
Narcissa knelt beside Harry and touched his face softly, then his heart. Ginny knelt down too, on the opposite side to what Narcissa Malfoy occupied, face to face with the woman and with Harry's body in the middle of them. Ginny saw Narcissa lean over him, as if to confirm that he was still breathing; her mouth almost touched Harry's forehead, which in turn remained as still as a stone. The woman's long, pale blond hair shielded Harry's face from the onlookers and it was with some effort that Ginny could hear her whispering something.
"Is Draco alive? Is he at the castle?"
"Yes." Harry's answer came as whispered as her question.
Ginny saw Narcissa's body visibly relaxing when she heard his answer. The older witch turned to the audience who had gathered in the clearing, returning to her haughty way.
"He is dead!" She said firmly, with clenched fists at her sides.
The memory faded around Ginny, giving way to reality; she staggered to the side, having to lean on the desk for support. She was perplexed. No, to call it perplexity was to ease the situation too much; she was absolutely flabbergasted. Narcissa Malfoy had betrayed Voldemort. She had betrayed her sister and her family. She had betrayed her husband's ideals - and her own.
And then the reason for all of that struck Ginny like lightning: Narcissa had lied because she knew this was the only chance she had to go back to the castle, she had lied to look for her son. She had put a bounty on her head for Draco Malfoy.
Feeling no control over her emotions, Ginny felt a wave of sympathy towards Narcissa Malfoy invading her body. Would not she have done the same thing for James?
She thought that, in essence, Mrs. Malfoy was not so different from Molly Weasley. She was not so different from Ginny herself.
She took a deep breath and tried to think rationally one more time. There was no apparent reason why Harry should have deprived himself from that memory. Ginny carefully removed the current content from the Pensieve and, with no false modesty, place a new memory in the basin. She dove her face into it without reservations this time and felt again the feeling of falling indefinitely, but this time her feet landed graciously on the ground.
There were planks closing the windows, the air was damp and a bad smell permeated the room. She inspected the place and found it strange that she was alone. Harry should be somewhere around there, certainly – it was his memory, after all. Ginny did not have time to make any more theories when a hooded figure entered the room. It stood at a door so camouflaged that Ginny had not noticed it before.
There was an obvious tension in the air and then the figure - notably a woman - lowered the hood: It was Narcissa Malfoy, looking extremely tired.
"It's me." She murmured under her breath.
In the next instant, Harry had materialised in the room, taking off the invisibility cloak.
"Did someone follow you?"
"Of course not, Potter." Narcissa answered objectively. "They're too worried licking their own wounds to bother with my whereabouts. The Battle at Hogwarts caused us a lot of damage."
Ginny located herself temporarily. That memory was of something that had happened between the Battle of Hogwarts and the attack in the Forbidden Forest. She wished to go a little deeper into the complexity of that woman, who still referred to Voldemort's side as 'us' while betraying his cause without the slightest hesitation.
"It didn't have a very happy result for my friends, either." Harry pointed out the fact with evident hurt in his voice. "And your husband?"
"Lucius is very busy trying to regain credibility with the Dark Lord, between one torture and another." She commented coldly and Ginny felt anger spill over at her words. "I still haven't been asked why I haven't perceived you were alive at the forest, but soon enough they'll come for me, if something very drastic doesn't happen before it."
"And you came here to ask for something in return, for not ratting on I was alive." Harry was adamant in his reasoning.
To Ginny's surprise, Narcissa gave a small sarcastic smile before answering. "If so, your Gryffindor honor would compel you to fulfill my wish." Harry was immediately tense as she continued. "But I came here for another reason: I want to offer you a deal. I can give you information about the Dark Lord's movements, so that you will not attack him blindly."
"And why would you do that?" Harry seemed a little confused this time.
"I have my reasons, Potter. And they certainly do not concern you. Just be sure that I'll keep my word." She headed for the door, apparently with nothing more to say.
"Forgive me if I find your word a very fragile guarantee." Harry replied.
"It's the only thing you will get from me. Do we have a deal?" Narcissa waited for an answer and Harry gave a hesitant nod. "We shall continue to use this enchanted galleon to communicate. It's a very ingenious idea, in fact." And she left without even looking back, her robe flowing behind her.
And the memory faded, leaving Ginny's mind with one last image of Harry's face looking confused.
In the next moment, she was back in her office, more disturbed than she had been in years. She finally knew where Harry was going during his escapades from Hogwarts after the battle and who the source of his information was.
Narcissa Malfoy.
How many more surprises could that haughty woman cause?
Ginny chose another memory, noticing absently that her hand was shaking. She stopped again at Shrieking Shack. Her landings were getting better and better - she had stopped right next to Harry this time, who was waiting something – or someone-, sitting in an old chair and looking restless. His tousled hair fell over his glasses and he occasionally blew the strands away from his lenses. His expression softened when Narcissa entered the room.
"You took too long," said Harry, sounding worried. "I thought something had happened."
A hint of a smile formed on Narcissa's beautiful lips.
"I appreciate your concern and I know that it was certainly caused only by the doubt of whether I would bring what you asked for." Harry blushed, knowing that Narcissa had realised that he had cared about her safety and had failed to hide it. "There's no reason for that. I brought your list. It contains the name of every Death Eater who will guard the Dark Lord tomorrow night."
"Are you sure it will be just these Death Eaters?" Harry asked while reading the names written in the older witch's refined handwriting.
Narcissa looked a little annoyed. "The Dark Lord cannot use all his strength yet. And if your attack is really a surprise, as you want to make me believe, there will be no problem. He needs the Death Eaters in London to continue to control the Ministry and the transportation facilities." She softened her voice. "Yes, Potter, I'm sure."
"The attack will be tomorrow." Harry uttered, attesting the obvious.
Narcissa was uncomfortable, as if something very bad to swallow was put in her mouth.
"I would like-" She started, correcting herself in the sequence. "I demand you to commit to my payment for helping you out. It's possible, not to say desirable, that this is our last meeting; therefore, I want to make clear my wish that Draco and Lucius be spared."
"But their names aren't on the list." Harry had responded rather casually in Ginny's opinion. "There's no reason for you to worry."
"Once you asked me my reasons for doing this and now I'm giving them to you" Narcissa replied exhaling cold exasperation. "Draco and Lucius are the only reasons for me to wake up in the morning, the only reasons for me to breathe. I want this to end in the best way for my family and, with the Dark Lord alive, it cannot happen. Draco will not be free and Lucius will be constantly tormented. If the Dark Lord lives, my family will inevitably be destroyed. Lucius' failures to capture you have caused the Lord's wrath to fall upon us."
"I'm sorry-" Harry murmured, even though nothing of that was his fault.
"Stop it." Narcissa hissed. "I don't need your pity."
Harry flinched slightly, looking a little uncomfortable, and she resumed talking with difficulty, as if each word killed some of her proud countenance.
"If the Dark Lord dies, we might have a chance to return to our lives, even if we have to answer for some of our actions. So even if Draco and Lucius aren't on the list, I do worry, Potter. And I want them to be spared, in every way possible."
Harry was silent for a moment, thoughtful. "Mrs. Malfoy, I can't guarantee that your husband and son will be free if I manage to destroy You-Know-Who, but I give my word that I'll do my best to make them safe."
"I just want them to come out of this war alive and ready to start over." She got up from the decrepit chair she was sitting on, clenched fists in display. "If this means that Muggle-Lovers and Half-Bloods will corrupt our society with their ideals, so be it. I could not care less." She lifted her nose in the air slightly. "It's a very small price to pay."
And she headed for the door, on a path that Ginny knew she had done many times in that month.
"Mrs. Malfoy…?" Harry murmured and the green eyes met the blue ones. He hesitated an instant before speaking again. "Thank you."
Ginny felt a silent understanding between the two, before the witch turned silent and left the room.
In the next moment, Ginny was back in her office again, more emotionally shaken than she would have expected to be.
For the next few hours, Ginny wandered between Harry's remaining memories of encounters with Narcissa Malfoy, where they planned the best way to carry out the task of ending that war.
She felt a mixture of conflicting feelings for the woman: surprise, admiration, empathy, commiseration.
Narcissa Malfoy had always been the key to the problem: She was Harry's source of information, which had always intrigued Ginny. It was Narcissa who, in a way, had saved Harry's life and given the Resistance survival at Hogwarts. Ginny did not want to think that woman was languishing at St. Mungo's at the time.
It had been because of her that Harry had gone into shock when Neville killed Lucius Malfoy. Now Ginny knew why the Malfoys were not supposed to be in the Forbidden Forest that night and, most importantly, why Harry had been so upset by the fact that they were there.
And it was because of her that Harry had deprived himself of those memories. He was trying to protect her in case he was caught, just as she had done to him.
With the back of her hand, Ginny wiped away a tear that she did not even noticed she had shed.
Ginny put the vials back in the mokeskin pouch with a little reverence this time. She would keep those memories closely guarded and safe.
A sixth sense told her they might be necessary in the near future.
Draco was tired.
But even with the tiredness that came over him after another exhausting day at the Ministry, he forced himself to maintain his upright and haughty posture, seating in an uncomfortable chair, so that it never showed how he really felt. So that no apparent weakness would ever be used against him.
Even at times when there were no enemies around like now, Draco could not afford making mistakes, so he kept his guard every bloody second he was awake.
He was really tired.
But it was the least he could do for her.
Draco looked at the thin, apparently fragile body that lay on the bed in the aseptic room - thinking about what he could do to make the environment less sterile.
He had never liked hospitals - as it turned out, they were full of the two things Draco despised the most, misery and hope-, but he forced himself to go to St. Mungo's periodically.
It was almost a ritual. Usually at night, where his visits - and their conversations - would not attract as much attention.
Like so many other nights in recent years, he watched over his mother's sleep, enjoying the little peace he could provide her, even in such fleeting moments.
Because when she slept like that, it meant his mother was safe.
As if she felt his intent gaze on her - and she usually had that strange power - Narcissa's eyes fluttered open.
If she did not approve of his peculiar habit of watching over her sleep - even though he found the custom comforting - Narcissa never said anything in the matter.
"Good night, Draco."
"Good night, Mother." He said quietly after a moment. "How are you?"
Narcissa sat on the bed, resting her back on the wall behind her and refrained a yawn. "It's hardly time to a social visit."
"I'm afraid I don't have much time left to do as I please." He shrugged nonchalantly. "And this visit it's hardly social neither."
"I suppose it's not." Narcissa nodded conceding his point. "Perhaps a visit to a convalescent person is a more appropriate definition."
Okay, it's one of those days when she's not cooperating. How lovely.
"I meant that it's not a social visit because I don't do it out of obligation." Draco restrained the urge to roll his eyes at his mother. Scoff at her would never be the wisest choice for him. "And you're not convalescing because you're not sick."
Draco practically sneered at the word and Narcissa raised an eyebrow skeptically.
"Is that so?" Narcissa questioned pretending to be intrigued. "I had the impression I was, given that I am confined to this hospital."
Draco struggled not to let his exasperation show, but it was fruitless. His mother, after all, was the person who knew him best. Hiding his feelings from her was pointless and tiresome.
Since his father had died, it seemed that there was a barrier between his mother and him, practically insurmountable, that only was becoming thicker and more solid over the years.
Draco ran his hands through his hair and sighed tiredly. "Mother, you know very well we can't take any chances until you get better."
"I understand why I'm unable to come and go whenever I feel like doing it, Draco. As well as why it's inadvisable for me to be alone." Narcissa made a dismissive gesture with a pale hand. "I do know my mind has not been very reliable in recent years."
"So, we're on the same page." Draco stated at the limit of his self-restraint, wanting to put an end to that subject once for all. "I don't understand why we always need to have the same conversation."
"Because being aware of all this doesn't mean that I have to appreciate it." Narcissa affirmed a little more impatient than usual. "I might as well be at home, not in this horrendous hospital."
"And being subjected to scrutiny of the other Death Eaters and their wives? I cannot be with you all the time, Mother. It's the only way I have to protect you."
You're the only thing I have left.
I've already lost too much.
I cannot bear losing you too.
"Please, don't patronize me." Narcissa scolded him. "I'm well aware of what is at stake here."
"Then work with me, please." Draco pleaded to his mother's less stubborn side. "We need to be sure you will have no memory lapses and say things that should not be said. Here, at least, you will always have an excuse for any eccentric behavior."
"I'm not crazy, Draco." Narcissa replied coldly.
"I never say you were." Draco tried to sound cold as well but was undoubtedly becoming angrier by the second. "I'm only saying you're mourning for years. And the pain has dulled your senses and it has consumed you."
"It has, indeed." Narcissa agreed effortlessly, ignoring his restlessness. "But now I feel I'm getting better. I know I'm getting better. I just wanted you to trust what I say."
He was so fucking tired of that conversation. So, fucking tired of being the bad guy for taking responsibilities, for doing things no one else were willing to do.
He was practically the Head of the Ministry, had recovered his family's esteem, saved their name. And yet, that was not enough.
He had never been good enough.
He had never been good enough to Voldemort, who would always look at him with that underlying hint of contempt for Draco's past sins.
He had never been enough to his father, who preferred to attack the Weasley girl instead of listening to him and avoiding all that tragedy.
He had not been good enough for that specific girl either, always below her high standards of morality - despite what she had claimed that very night, so many years ago.
And he had not been good enough for his mother who chose to seek Scarhead for help instead of entrusting her plans to Draco.
He could not take it anymore.
"I have trusted what you said once, Mother." Draco finally snapped at the limit of his patience to make his mother understand that everything he did had the sole purpose of protecting her. "And what good did that do? Father is dead because of it."
"Draco Malfoy!" It was the closest to a shriek he had ever heard coming out of his mother's mouth, but the words - they had never been his friends - continued to pouring out of him in an uncontrollable torrent.
"Because you believed bloody Harry Potter could help us when that moronic fool couldn't even help himself!"
That was why Draco had learned - the hard way, after many years – to never talk too much.
Once he started, there was no going back.
He regretted his outburst, one of the rare ones, the second the last words were spoken in his most poisonous - painful - tone.
Narcissa's only reaction was inhale through gritted teeth.
Draco supposed that if he had slapped his mother in the face the effect would not have been so devastating.
"Je suis désolé, maman." He said desperately, unconsciously returning to his father's family language, which he always did in his most vulnerable moments. "I didn't-"
Narcissa raised her hand and the authoritarian gesture was enough to stop him short.
"I believe it's quite late. You will probably have a very busy day tomorrow at the Ministry and I would like to rest now." Narcissa said while removing an invisible dust from her nightgown as if the whole conversation bored her to the death. "You may leave now."
"Mother, please-"
"Good night, Draco."
Draco sighed tiredly again and headed for the door knowing that this was a battle he would never win. One that he did not deserve to win.
"For all it's worth, I'm truly sorry I said that." He said and waited a few seconds an answer that did not come.
He had practically closed the door behind him when he heard Narcissa's murmur. "It's not good enough, Draco."
Draco turned to leave with a bitter taste in his mouth and his heart broken in ways he was not sure he would ever be able to recover one day.
N/A: Please, consider that your comments make ALL the difference in the world for those who write. It's a kindness that costs very little, in exchange for a fun time you get at no cost.
To those who comment, thank you very much!