Chapter 43: The Village
Draco changed his identity again. He left London immediately and headed for Hogsmeade. He took a Muggle cab halfway there, then took another cab, then flew to the Hog's Head. He laid his broom against the coat rack and lumbered up to the bar, shaking his long leather coat in search of a few Sickles. He dropped them onto the counter and asked for a firewhiskey. Aberforth Dumbledore turned around to face Draco.
"Anything else?" He asked in a gruff voice.
Draco coughed. "No, sir." As he waited, he looked around the dingy bar at his fellow patrons. There was a vampire sitting in the corner, nursing what appeared to be a Bloody Mary- with actual blood, of course, and a man who looked suspiciously like a werewolf. Draco felt simultaneously at home and in a foreign country. This was the place he had come with Crabbe and Goyle so many times, and the same place where he'd peeped into the windows to watch as Dumbledore's Army was formed. The rafters overhead were draped with cobwebs, and bats dangled from them like black icicles. Apparently, Aberforth was not a flourishing businessman after the war, unlike Tom.
Moments later, a grubby mug of firewhiskey was slid in front of Draco. Draco watched Aberforth's retreating hunched back as he took a sip, feeling the burning sensation crawl down his throat. He coughed violently, earning himself a disapproving stare from the vampire. Draco had forgotten how strong Aberforth made his drinks. Downing the rest of his drink in two gulps, Draco called for another one. This time, when Aberforth returned, Draco stopped him and pulled out his press badge.
"Hey, fella, do you mind talking to me for a few minutes? I'm reporting for the Aldea News about the war-"
"No," Aberforth interrupted sharply. "Not interested. I don't have a damn thing to say about that mess, except that I'm glad that it's over. And those damn kids aren't using my bar as a railway station anymore," Aberforth muttered darkly.
"C'mon, man," Draco said, trying to sound as American as he could. "What's the harm? You might get something off your chest."
"I don't want to talk to you!" Aberforth roared, slamming his hands on the counter. The firewhiskey in Draco's glass sloshed violently. "Now stop asking or get out!"
Draco grit his teeth. He wasn't surprised at all. "Thank you for your time," he said curtly, knocking his firewhiskey over, leaving it to seep into the wood as he marched out the door. Honestly, Draco didn't know what he'd expected from Aberforth. He knew what Aberforth was like. A man who sells firewhiskey to eleven year old Slytherins stays as far away from the press as possible.
Wrapping his coat tightly around his chest, Draco proceeded up the road to The Three Broomsticks. He gazed into the frosted windows for a few moments, watching the ember glow shine through the frosted glass. Draco breathed in slowly, watching Madame Rosmerta flitted about the bar. How could he face her after what he had done to her? Granted, she wouldn't recognize him, but he still felt horribly guilty. He had Imperiused her, for Merlin's sake! Draco exhaled, then pulled open the door, the familiar scent of Butterbeer filling his nostrils as he proceeded to the counter, where he grabbed a seat and dropped a few Sickles onto the counter. He cleared his throat, preparing to assume his American accent, then called out to Madame Rosmerta. "One butterbeer please."
Rosmerta, decked out in black robes completely unlike her normal garb, hurried over to Draco with a mug of the warm drink that was associated with fond memories for all wizards. ""Here you are, sir," Rosmerta said. "And where are you visiting from? You sound foreign!"
"That I am mam', Draco said, tipping his hat. "I'm here from America. Reporting on the war, that's what I'm doing."
"Well, that must be a difficult task to undertake," Rosmerta said, busying herself by picking up empty mugs. "So much has happened."
"D'you mind telling me about some of it?" Draco asked, almost choking from nervousness.
"Of course, dear," Rosmerta said. "Give me a moment." Rosmerta dropped off a couple of firewhiskeys to some men at the end of the counter, then sat down in front of Draco on a stool she had just summoned. "So, young man. What would you like to know?"
"Nothing much," Draco assured her. "I just want to get some notes on what your experience was during the Battle of Hogwarts."
"Oh, yes, of course," Rosmerta said, tapping a long finger on the counter. "Well, when the Caterwauling Charm went off after Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger Apparated into Hogsmeade, I sent a Patronus to the castle right away. To Professor McGonagall, of course, letting her know there had been a breach of security. She'd assigned me that task at the start of the school year. Then, I grabbed my wand and locked up the shop with all the charms I knew. People from the Ministry began apparating into my bar a few hours later, for I had allowed for the charms to let in certain trusted people, and I helped them into the castle. I didn't actually know that there was a battle going on, per say, until the Ministry folk showed up. Once I was sure it was safe, I rushed into the castle as well and began tending to the injured. When it was over, I took care of a few children who had nowhere to go. In fact, the last of them just left last night..."
Draco wrote furiously. Rosmerta filled in some more details at Draco's questioning, then finished off her story. Draco thanked her profusely, then almost ran out of the Three Broomsticks. The whole time Rosmerta had been speaking, the guilt had slowly been spreading throughout his body, until finally he felt as though he were about to faint. He couldn't even gather his thoughts. What had he done during sixth year? Why had he let anyone guilt him into becoming a Death Eater? Consumed with grief, Draco ducked into an alley and began scratching furiously at his left forearm. Blood began pouring down Draco's hand until his fingernails were stained red until Draco stopped the flow of blood with this coat sleeve. Mopping up the blood, Draco was horrified to see the Dark Mark still tattooed on his arm, a black blemish against his pale white skin. He spat on the ground disdainfully, cleaned up the mess with this wand, then whisked out of Diagon Alley in a rage.
A cold wind ripped through Draco's coat as he regained his balance in front of a familiar gloomy mansion. Long gone were the peacocks that used to strut about the grounds, and long gone were any fond memories Draco had of the place. Drawing his sleeve farther down his left arm, Draco gripped his wand tightly and walked mechanically toward the house, bent over with emotion. He clenched his jaw as he felt the Transfigurations begin to wear off his tear-stained face. Once he reached the tall oak doors, Draco raised an arm, then lifted and dropped the large brass knocker three times. He heard a scurrying behind the door, and then a gruff voice called to him from the other side.
"Who's there?" This was not who Draco was expecting. He drew in a sharp breath. "It's Nymphadora Tonks," Draco said softly. The door was flung open, and a small Ministry man in gray robes stood before Draco. "Hey..." the man began.
"Stupefy!" Draco yelled, his wand directed at the man. Once his enemy fell, Draco stood over the man, pointed his wand at the man's face, then muttered scornfully, "Obliviate." The man rolled over sleepily, and Draco kicked him in the side as he walked past the man into the entrance hall. "Narcissa!" He screamed. "Narcissa." Seconds later, a pale white face peeked out from the top of the staircase. The blue eyes widened upon seeing Draco, and Narcissa Malfoy proceeded to run down the stairs.
"Draco! Oh, Draco, you've come home!" Narcissa stumbled on the last few steps and was about to embrace Draco when he pointed his wand at her.
"Move or I'll curse you, mother," he spat, bile filling his throat.
Narcissa looked shocked. "But...Draco...why?" She made a move toward him.
"STOP!" Draco shrieked. "STOP! How dare you treat me like a son? How dare you come near me? How dare you do this to me!" Draco felt his voice crack as he fought back tears. "YOU...YOU...you let them do this to me!" Draco cried, shaking his sleeve down from his left arm and pointing the bloody Dark Mark at her. "YOU. You let this happen because YOU were too afraid to stand up for your GODDAMN self and now...now look at you. Your husband's in jail, you're locked up in your own house, and you have NOBODY. And you know who you left me with? NOBODY?"
Narcissa's face flushed with rage. "Draco! How dare you! I did everything I could for you...I lied to the Dark Lord to find you at the Battle. And you... you ABANDONED our family!"
"What family?!" Draco exclaimed. "A controlling father and an abusive husband, a weak mother and a submissive wife, and a bully and bratty child?! Is that the family you wanted to keep?! And you think that you're the only one who ever lied to him? Don't glorify your one act of bravery, mother. It was meaningless. What did you do while there were PRISONERS chained up in your basement?! When your SON was made a Death Eater. Oh, that's right, you went running off to Snape. You know what, I came all the way here, risking my life to see you! And I'm glad I saw the truth before I walked in through those bloody doors today. Good day!"
"Draco!" Narcissa shrieked as Draco stormed out of the Manor. "Draco Malfoy, get back here this instant!"
"Draco Malfoy is dead," Draco said stonily as he walked out of the Manor doors. By the time Narcissa had rushed outside to see him, he was gone.
A/N: Please leave a review! I could really use some feedback right now...I'm unsure of how this story is going :( Thanks for reading!
P.S.: I also went back and updated the first few chapters to make them less cringey, jsyk! :)