Take my life into your own hands
And claim it as your own
Mind your own, mind your own business
Let me sink like a stone
Valiant Hearts - "Medusa"
03 June, 2008
Malfoy Manor, Wytchby
Wiltshire, England
My dear faHonourable FatherSir
Dear Father,
I don't know how I'm meant to address you anymore. I love you, as I always will, but I no longer have the respect for you that I once did. I don't know how to feel about that. I know that Maman struggles with this as well; she refuses to even speak of you. You are like a curse in this house now. The house that the Ministry will be taking from us in less than a month.
Nearly a full millennium of our family's history, gone.
I know that you did what you thought was best. I know that you were trying to help. I still blame you, though. I don't think I will ever stop resenting you for the future you've ruined for me. I used to want to be just like you. I did everything you asked of me; followed every step you laid before me and very nearly became you altogether. Just like you became your father. Thinking on it now, I truly don't know what about you was truly you, and not just a reflection of Grandfather. Do you have genuine interests, Father? Do you have a mind of your own? I very nearly did not.
For years now I have felt nothing but fear. Of your judgement. Of the Dark Lord punishing me. Of him killing you and Maman. Of dying in this war that you signed me up for. Now I'm afraid that our family name will never recover; that I will be a social pariah for the rest of my life. That no one will ever be able to look past my name; the one thing you taught me to put forth before all else. What good does being a Malfoy do me now? In fact, none of the advice you've given me has ever really been applicable in my life.
I can't blame you for my own failings, but I do blame you for setting a standard it was impossible to reach.
Following your guidelines, I have made precisely zero friends in the whole of my eighteen years. I have only ever had followers; friends that you paid for with our family's reputation. Do you think my friends actually care about me? Do you think your cronies ever truly cared about you? I don't think they did. Maybe that was the point, or maybe you simply have never known anything different, but in the aftermath, apart from Maman and you, and the Saviour, Harry Potter, I don't think I can think of a single person who genuinely cares if I live or die. I don't know how to be someone worth caring about.
I would never tell you these things in person. I would never tell you that I have hardly spent more than a few days sober for the last two years because the anxiety was too much to cope with. I cared too much about what you thought of me. I wanted to be a perfect son for you. I know, now, that I can never be a perfect son, just as you have never been a perfect father. I used to believe that you were infallible. That you were the cleverest man in Britain. I know now that your life has been a series of mistakes and in this way I know I have become just like you. What have I ever done to be proud of? Do you know how difficult it is to grow a conscience? Or a backbone. Or a single shred of genuineness? I hope that you find out soon.
I don't hate you, Father. I only hate the parts of you that you have given to me, and I hate them in myself, too. You are still my father, though. A part of me still looks up to you. I want you to learn from this so that I can learn from this. I am an adult now. Lord of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy. But I am still your son, and I need your guidance now more than ever. I just don't trust what you would guide me to.
I don't know if Mother will write, or of she will visit, but I will try to come to see you after we have settled into our new flat. (A FLAT)
Until then, I miss you.
Your son,
Draco
03 June, 2008
Malfoy Manor, Wytchby
Wiltshire, England
Husband,
What have we done?
What are we going to do?
What am I going to do?
Our son is suffering. Our name is a shambles. Our home has been taken from us. Everything has been taken from us.
I will make the best of it as I have done. I only wish I could be rid of my thoughts of you. Please, Lucius, let me let you go. I do not want this love any more.
I hate you.
I hate you.
I hate you
-Cissy
With a fortifying sigh, Narcissa folded the letter carefully into a perfect square and threw the parchment onto the fire.
Harry flinched awake at the loud knocking at his bedroom door. Sirius' bedroom door. In a panic, before he could think or was even fully awake, he grabbed the Invisibility Cloak, hung neatly on a hook by the wardrobe, and bundled himself in it. He crouched down, letting the fabric drag along the floor, keeping all the pieces of himself inside; unseen.
The knock came again, louder, and Harry shrank back against the wall, silencing his breathing without questioning his actions.
"Master Harry Potter?" called Kreature from the hallway. "Kreature is making porridge." He said this last as if it were an enticement and not the threat it was. The house-elf waited several more seconds before knocking again. "Master Harry Potter is to be waking up now!" Kreature very nearly ordered; if house-elves could be said to give orders.
Harry remained silent and ceased breathing altogether when the door opened and the creature stepped through, taking in Harry's rumpled but visibly empty bed with no small amount of confusion.
"Master Harry is taking a shower?" Kreature asked himself, backing back out into the corridor.
"Master Harry?" he called. "Master Harry Potter is in the house?"
Harry didn't answer; didn't even move from his spot crouched beside the wardrobe until he heard Kreature apparate away several minutes later. He sighed as he felt the house settle into silence once more, falling from his heels onto his bottom, weak from squatting for so long.
He thought a moment about going down to the kitchen, but couldn't shake the feeling that Kreature might return, might somehow see him through the cloak if he was in Kreature's own domain. In the end, he decided against it, instead choosing to continue his cleaning escapade throughout the first floor.
Struggling to his feet, Harry stumbled to the toilet. He did his business and brushed his teeth, then, rather than chancing the London tap water, cast a weak aguamenti into the washbasin, slurping up the liquid as if through a water fountain. That was really all he needed, Harry thought. He definitely wasn't going down to sample Kreature's lumpy porridge again.
Harry spent the rest of the morning cleaning the first floor. Scourgifies on all the porcelain; the sinks, the bathtubs, the tile. A dusting charm on all the shelves, cutting through the musty bedrooms like a weak tornado as the dust swirled up and evanesced into nothingness. He needed to actually go through everything in the bedrooms, but settled for simply charming the clothes back into the wardrobes and the flotsam back onto their shelves and into drawers. He worked like this for over an hour, scouring even the guest bedrooms until they shone. Clean and welcoming. As if anyone would be coming to visit him.
Instead of heading back to Sirius' room, Harry chose to lie on a window-seat in one of the guest bedrooms, a security measure in case Kreature returned and saw him under his blankets. Besides, the false widow showed a gorgeous Manx country garden, whereas the window in Sirius' room looked out upon a false image of London proper. All things considered, if he had any view to choose from, he'd take the idyll and tranquillity of a quiet garden over the hustle and bustle of one of the biggest metropolises in Europe. Even if the location was false, the windows being pressed against the walls adjoining number 12 to numbers 10 and 14, the visions they showed were nonetheless true. Harry didn't know what street it looked out on, but he knew the people bustling outside his window were really there living their lives. They were so close, Harry felt they could have looked up and seen him in the window that he knew wouldn't be there.
No, better stick with the garden. No one will think to look for him there.