FINALLY! My first Drarry!
I wrote the drabble 'IRONY STRIKES' in 2010 and a few months ago, the idea started to gnaw at me again.
Deciding the pairing took no time at all - I'd never seriously tried before and I couldn't think of a reason not to. It just made most sense with the premise (and I will ship anything).
This story will be multichapter but I'm not a planner; the characters have ideas of their own and we'll see where they'll take me.
I don't have a specific uploading schedule but I have a few chapters ready to go. I'll try to be regular (monthly?).
Also, in case you're interested: I accidentally emanated 'Welcome to Death Manor', a oneshot, when I tried to write the chapter following the one you are currently reading. It stands alone, is tonally very different, and contains no drarry.
Now some gratitude:
I thank Klybneeka for her support and encouragement throughout this project, and I thank Blanxious13 (AO3) for betaing for me.
Let's get started...
There are things one expects once a war ends.
Probably.
Draco hadn't expected it to end at all, actually. He had wanted it to end, of course he had, but… the mere thought had seemed preposterous.
It took some getting used to.
Because of his Mother's act of bravery, they had not been treated like scum quite in the way most Death Eaters had been.
His parents had consulted their solicitors, and they had had many talks.
Some of those had been emotional.
That had been new. And hard.
But not as hard as trying to determine how to approach what angle to play for his trial.
Draco had been underage when he had received the Mark, so he was to be tried as a minor.
This had been relatively easy to accomplish.
Yet even though he had not killed, he had willingly taken the Mark, and was at least complicit in a scroll of crimes as long as himself.
All aspects had to be considered.
His Father had been even less innocent, of course. He had actively participated in the first Wizarding War and though his acquittal could not be overturned, the suspicion against him was heavy. His part in the second Wizarding War was indisputable, not to mention that public opinion was strongly against him.
"They always love to watch the upper class burn."
He had been identified by far too many orphans who owed their status to him.
The case against him was still being built, so he was to be tried later. Since acquittal was not going to happen anyway, they, as a family, had made a decision.
They were going to have his Father go on record claiming that he had knowingly and willingly groomed Draco to become a Death Eater since infancy.
It would sway public opinion in Draco's favour, certainly, but… his Father's chances of appeal would be obliterated.
The idea had come from his Father.
"Don't give me that look - I will be going anyway, I might as well make it worth my time."
He would spend the rest of his days in Azkaban.
His Father's 'confession' and the thereby created extenuating circumstances, plus Hero Potter's testimony in his favour, had swayed the Wizengamot.
Draco was a free man.
He would be monitored for a few years, but he would not have to serve any time.
Even though he would not be punished, there were consequences. Of course. These had not necessarily been expected, but they had not surprised him as much as his freedom had.
He had not finished his N.E.W.T.s and he was not permitted back on Hogwarts grounds until he had come through the monitoring unscathed. This seemed a fair precaution. Reparation payments had absolutely drained their vaults, so they were penniless. His Mother, usually a beacon of decorum, only held her head up in an attempt to maintain her composure these days, and his Father had been sent to Azkaban to await his own trial.
Life had looked rather bleak.
And then things had turned bad.
Draco remembered exactly where he had been when it began.
He had been in his refuge, in the bathtub, covered in layers and layers of thick white foam as if he was part of the saddest dessert in the world.
He had been staring at the ceiling, as he was wont to do, when he suddenly realised he had been scratching the Mark.
It had felt a bit odd during the trial and all —- he had been very aware of its presence ever since the Dark Lo— Voldemort had been vanquished, but he had chalked that up to psychology and such.
Though…. now he came to think of it… How often had he absent-mindedly scratched at it lately?
Apparently it had only now reached the point where it was impossible to ignore… and he had tried to.
When was the last time he had looked at it?
He had raised his left arm from the suds, calmly dreading what he might find.
The skull and the snake hadn't been as black as he remembered — the shapes themselves had a brownish tint, but their outline burned a fiery red.
As the snake smoothly moved under his skin, it'd trailed a whiteness that went beyond his naturally pale complexion.
His hand had looked rather blotchy, his fingertips a bit dark, and there was a dangerously red line crawling from the Mark itself up his arm, exactly where he knew one of his veins to be.
He had left the bath as if in a trance, he remembered that. From then on, things had been a bit blurry. He had been in his bathrobe when he had seen his Mother's eyes widen — his forearm had swollen by then, and the itch had become pain
And then ...
… the Healer had been very grave.
'Grave' had been the only word on his mind for a while.
Because of his youth, because of his health, and because he had had the Mark relatively briefly, he had survived.
As he had been in St. Mungo's, unconsciously fighting for his life for weeks, it had taken a long time before he had learnt that his Father had not
Draco did not appreciate finding himself this out of balance.
Yes, it took some getting used to.
Especially since most of his hobbies required two hands.
At least the Mark was gone.