Better be Slytherin
LX
The Sisters Black

Draco sauntered down the magnificent staircase to see Narcissa ordering Binky around. There were other House Elves there too, bustling in and out of the drawing room. Draco narrowed his eyes. Several of them were on stepladders hoisting down the tall curtains in the murky old room. The windows were wide open as if to air out the room. It was lighter than it had been for years.

"What's going on?" he asked his mother as he descended.

"I'm sorting out this mess," she said in her chilly, clipped voice. Draco glanced into the drawing room. Elves were transfiguring furniture and textiles. Everything was changing. It had only been two months since Voldemort died, since the battle.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I was debating simply never using this room again," she said, "But that would be allowing the Dark Lord to win. I'm making it inhabitable again. Ours, again."

He glanced around. It made sense, to tidy everything up now that it was all over and Voldemort wasn't using the house as his base anymore. And yet, Draco imagined he could still hear the heavy snake slither around the floor and his previous master's snake-like whispers. As he watched Binky and two other Elves push the dark high-backed chair the Dark Lord had occupied so many times, across the echoing room, he couldn't help but to wince slightly.

No, believing it was actually all over wasn't as easy as he'd thought. He still woke up thinking he heard screams from two flights of stairs below - someone being tortured in the cellar - and as he would sit gasping, cold-sweating on his bed, telling himself it was just nightmares, he found little solice in the fact that the war was over. The house was all deserted, silent, dark. lonesome, and even that scared him and made it impossible to sleep again for long.

He still experienced surprise visits of heart palpitations, they would sneak up on him throughout the day, even when nothing of importance was sensation came over him once more when his father pulled him aside one early July evening after supper. "Anything you remember anyone else doing - make sure to write it down to hand to Mr Felstead," he said with an intense look at his son. "The more dirt we have on the others, the more it will help us in the end."

The familiar thick feeling of pressure upon his chest lingered and made him unsettled and fidgety long after his father had left. Sometimes he had to take long, deep breaths to calm himself but mostly that didn't help either. He found that he took these unplesant feelings out on Pansy when she asked stupid questions.

"Do you think Potter is just loving all of this attention?"

News were Potter had received the Order of Merlin for saving the Wizarding world. Pansy was holding an issue of Witch Weekly, whose cover showed Potter pursued by cameras and journalists, shaking some old Warlock's hand. His status and fame was grander than ever, which annoyed Draco further. Although, to answer Pansy's question, he had a feeling the last thing Potter wanted was more attention.

"No," he muttered.

She then laughed ostentatiously and pointed to the headlines. "'He-Who-Defeated-Voldemort' pfft. 'Harry potter: ultimate Saviour, hottest Seeker and most eligible man of 1998' I could die of laughter!"

Draco glanced at the moving photo of Potter receiving his Order of Merlin and rolled his eyes. It was mid-July and they had finally heard of a date for the trials. They were going to be held on September first.

"How are you feeling regarding the trials?" she asked him when she had stopped laughing. "Prepared?"

"What do you think?" he snarled and didn't look at her. The mere thought of the trial being just over a month away brought back the unwelcome pressure in his chest. Pansy didn't say anything for a long time, and he felt a mixture of guilt and irritation. They were on his large bed, and he was reading the newspaper, a habit he had taken up since the battle to distract his mind.

"As prepared as we'll ever be, I expect," he muttered.

"You've all been working on your testaments for weeks. I'm sure it will be expertly handled."

"I don't want to talk about it." He didn't see Pansy because he was studying an ad for cauldrons without really seeing it, but he heard a vague sigh.

"And anyway I'll be practicing what I'm saying too," she said quietly. "Both for my own hearing and for your character testimony."

Draco lowered his newspaper, the heart palpitations back. "My what?"

"Yes, Mr Felstead wants me to-"

"No way," he said. "Forgive me, but I hardly think it would be benificial for me to have you as a character witness."

She looked visibly hurt at this and he didn't understand why.

"Mr Felstead says as I'm your girlfriend I can show the Wizengamot your softer sides-"

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?"

"I can tell everyone you're not a cold-hearted Death Eater!"

"And why would anyone listen to the Pureblood Head Girl of Slytherin who tried to offer Potter up to the Dark Lord?"

He hadn't noticed they had both started shouting, and he wasn't sure why he was so angry. She was taken aback by this and frowned angrily at him. "At least I'm not a Death Eater! And neither are my parents! Mr Felstead thinks that's advantegous-"

"Well if you and your parents are too good for me and my Death Eater parents then maybe you shouldn't come to the trial at all!"

He was getting up from the bed now, shaking with anger and needing to punch something.

"That's not what I'm saying at all, you're completely misreading the-"

"'At least I'm not a Death Eater' well good for you Pansy!"

"That's not what I meant!" she defended herself, looking tired. "I'm saying I'm not the one on trial, and you're going to need people to defend you..."

"I don't need you to defend me," he snorted. "I'm an adult. I can defend myself, besides I have a solicitor for that."

Pansy sighed and shook her head. She opened her mouth several times, as if wanting to say many different things to him, until finally she decided not to for some reason.

He pointed a finger in her face. "You're not coming! Do you hear me?"

"It's ages left. You'll change your mind."

"No, I won't," he snapped and then he marched through the room and into his bathroom, slamming the door behind him, she knew just to avoid her.

She hoped other things would change too.


He did more travelling around the country than usual in the following few weeks, for all the funerals. Snape's funeral was patethic, just like Crabbe's, in the gloomy Mill town of Cokeworth. It was bleak and industrial, a cheerless place. He hadn't a clue why his Godfather had chosen this place to live. His aunt's funeral was held in the Wizarding village where his mother grew up - Mould-on-the-Wold - which was quite close to the manor. Their old home was large and magnificent, but merely half the size of Malfoy Manor. It was a pale Georgian house hidden between two gigantic oak trees, with an excessive rose garden up front. He'd never been before, but instantly learned where his mother's fondness for roses had begun. It was odd to think of his mother as a young girl, living here with her parents, whom Draco hadn't met, and the deranged sister of hers. He wondered how Bellatrix had been like as a child. Somehow he doubted she had ever been innocent.

The graveyard was enormous, spreading out before him like an infinite land of the the dead. The hills around them rolled on and on in beige dry grass and scattered, ancient trees.

Narcissa, stone faced as ever, lay a single tear, as Lucius stroked her back, his own form stoic. Draco watched them and wondered if and why they were even sad.

"Say goodbye to your aunt, Draco," mumbled Lucius.

Draco gave him a cool look. "I won't miss her."

"Draco!" his father hissed. "Do it for your mother."

"The woman killed her own niece."

"They were Bloodtraitors, draco," hissed Lucius.

"Who cares anymore," he snarled back.

And then, in matter of seconds, they're lives changed. He heard his mother gasp loudly, and sway on the spot, and Draco and Lucius turned quickly to assist her in any way. She was looking at something on the other side of the graveyard and as Lucius steadied her, Draco searched for it himself. A tall middle aged woman, beautiful, with heavy eyelids and long sleek brown hair stood with an air of pride, watching the burial defiantly and holding a tiny wrapped up baby. He licked his lips nervously.

"Who is that, mother?" he asked, not tearing his eyes off the woman, for he had an inkling he knew this answer.

"That's my sister," he heard his mother vague, breathless voice. "I can't believe she's here. I never thought she'd-"

Draco was gaping at this woman who was evidently his aunt and Narcissa trailed off. Lucius jaw was fixed, set, unwilling.

"Wow," Draco mumbled. "She looks like you and auntie Bella mixed together."

"What is she doing here?" said Lucius suspiciously, "She's hardly mourning."

He swallowed. Him and his parents stood there, on the dry grass, and over there was the infamous Andromeda. And between them was the casket which held the rotting body of the sister who had come between them in the first place. Then, the woman and the baby had disappeared, walking off determinedly.

Narcissa was looking after them with an air of desperation unlike her usually haughty features.

"Mother," said Draco quietly, "remind me, why did you two argue?"

Narcissa turned away from her husband and softly put her hand on Draco's. "I cannot remember anymore, my love." Then she sighed and tore her eyes away from the spot where her sister had vanished and looked at him. "It was so important at the time, but now... I cannot remember the point of it all."

Draco looked up at her and noticed her eyes were glassy. The soon setting sun was reflected like in a window in her pale grey eyes.

"Obviously it had something to do with Blood status, loyalties and betrayal... But it's been years, Draco, decades..."

Draco nodded.

"I'm just happy to have a sister that's alive, and not..." Narcissa trailed off, but Draco knew what she meant. "Shame she didn't stay to greet us."

"She hasn't shown her face for twenty years," grunted Lucius, "What reason could she possibly have to-?"

"It's her sister's funeral, Lucius!" snapped Narcissa.

"Why do you think she didn't say hello, mother?" Draco asked quickly, to avoid any altercation between his parents.

Narcissa sighed. "She has no reason to. My mother disowned her. My sister openly despised her. I let it happen. I even... parttook in mocking her. I looked down on her. I ignored her. I excluded her from my family. We thought she had it all wrong. My mother was very... convincing."

"She is a Bloodtraitor," said Lucius coldly.

"Yes," said Narcissa, but her chin was high, and she didn't seem disgusted by the word. "She married a Muggle, Draco, you know this. She loved him. I couldn't understand it."

He nodded. He understood.

"Now she has lost him, as well as her daughter. Your cousin. I read it in the Daily Prophet." She paused, and he noticed the sadness that had come over her. "Doesn't it make you think?" she asked. "How all of the old disagreements don't really matter anymore?"


Aftewards the funeral party made their way to the Wizarding pub which was custom. There, Pansy joined them. She arrived in gloomy robes chosen by her mother and seemed more annoyed the more he drank. Lately, he'd enjoyed numbing his mind with Fire Whiskey, and he'd been finding it hard to stop once he started.

She came home with him even though he didn't invite her, and after he had snuck a bottle of Fire Whiskey into his bedroom and poured himself a glass, she sat down on the bed far from him and looked displeased, but he paid her no attention.

He took a swig from his drink and closed his eyes momentarily. His head was spinning. First Crabbe's funeral, then Snape's, then his aunt's. All these graveyards full of graves, and yet he, Draco, had managed to escape becoming one of the victims. Why? Had he deserved to survive?

He thought of his other aunt, Andromeda, who had lost everything. She had chosen to lose her family, but then she had unwillingly lost her new family too. If Draco became a Bloodtraitor like her, would he lose everything too? Lucius... Pansy... Nott... Bletchley... what would they all think of him? If, in the trial, he denied all involvement. Plead not guilty. Explained. Tried to make the Wizengamot sympathise with him. Show that he wasn't a cold-hearted Death Eater, like Pansy had put it. What would everyone think? That he was full of shit? Or what if they believed him - welcomed him, forgave him? Then everyone he'd ever known would find him a traitor.

He had let his Pureblood friends down by not fighting with the Dark Lord. And he had let the new regime, the resistance down in countless ways. He was a traitor and a murderer and he would be really lucky to not share a cell in Azkaban with Lucius.

Lucius wanted them to turn in all of his old school-mates. Bletchley, Warrington, Pucey, the whole lot.

He was about to make even more enemies.

He had another swig. He pulled down his left sleeve without thinking. The ugly, black skull and snake seemed to stare back at him, judging him. How he wished he'd never taken it. He hated it.

"Come to bed. Put that away," said Pansy quietly. "I don't want to see that anymore."

Snapped back to reality, he lowered his eyes slowly. "You used to like it."

She grimaced. "I was stupid."

"So was I," he mumbled.

"No, Draco, you were manipulated and used."

"But I wanted it. I begged for it. I wanted to prove myself..."

"You were really young!"

"Nearly of age," he muttered.

"Why do you do this to yourself?"

"Because I feel guilty!" he snarled, suddenly turning to her, flooded with the usual rage. "What the hell do you think? If I hadn't... I thought it was cool, being a Death Eater - but I got my best friend killed... I ruined my family socially..."

"No, you didn't, Draco! Your father messed your family up and you just tried to restore it! And you did not kill Crabbe! He was insane and he made a mistake!"

Draco sighed and looked away. Somehow her words had calmed him. "Bet you don't want to share a bed with the Dark Mark."

"Don't be silly," she snapped. "I don't care what you have on your skin. You made a mistake. You've got to forgive yourself sometime!"

"Why?" he spat. "Are you getting sick of me?" he spat. Momentarily, he hated himself, and he didn't know why she loved him. He knew he'd been behaving terribly these past couple months.

"Stop it Draco," she said coldly, "you're being stupid."

He looked away. The familiar feeling of someone standing on his chest reappeared. Why couldn't it sodding leave him alone? The war was over, he hadn't seen those red eyes for over two months and still... and still!

She didn't seem to understand. He needed her to love him more now that he didn't love himself as much. But she didn't get it - she just stayed staring at him where he sat wallowing in self-pity and anxiety.

"I'm the reason Snape's dead too..." he muttered. This was something that had been plaguing his mind for ages now. Ever since he saw those black eyes stare out into nothing. "The Dark Lord killed him because of my wand."

"Oh come on!" said Pansy, rolling her eyes. "That's farfetched even for you! The Dark Lord killed Snape, Snape killed Dumbledore, Vincent killed himself, you didn't kill anyone Draco!"

"Except for an old man in Buckhurst Hill."

Pansy choked and spluttered, "Pardon?"

"I never told you that, did I." His tone was slightly defiant now but he was still avoiding looking at her. He could however feel her eyes burn into him. "Over last Christmas holidays. When you wanted me to come to some party. I couldn't because he wanted me to do something. Do you remember?"

She nodded slowly, frowning hesitantly. She'd tried to persuade him to accompany her to Bletchley's new years party.

"I was ordered to kill an old man. I went to his home and... I did it. All by myself. I could've told him to flee the country. But I killed him."

"Stop it-"

"He told me he had a family. Wife and kids. But I still killed him with my own hands-"

"Stop it! I don't want to hear that Draco!"

She turned away now, for the first time, had he finally scared her off? It was almost as if he was testing her - pushing her away because he needed to see how much she loved him, needed to see if she would stay even when she knew the worst of him. Finally, he turned to look at her. She had hidden her face in her hands. He wondered if she was crying silently behind them. Suddenly, as if sobered up, he was ashamed of what he'd been doing, and frighten of what might happen if he did indeed succeed in scaring her away.

"I'm sorry." He reached out quickly and stroked her arm. Now, he hated himself even more.


She remembered before everything, before his mission, before the Dark Lord, before the war, he had been a happy boy. Confident, even arrogant. Sarcastic and funny, even a vicious bully. She missed him. She loved him now, more than ever, but she missed the innocence of that boy. The carelessness, the playfulness. Before he'd seen things. And done things too. He hadn't hidden anything from her back then – not that he had told her everything but he hadn't actively hidden things. Not like now. Since his task. There were always thoughts now going on in his head, she knew, deep, meaningful thoughts that she didn't know about or understand. Of course, she knew he hated the Dark Lord, he was angry with his father for bringing them into this, and he was blaming himself for Crabbe's death. But there was something more, something he didn't share with her. A certain darkness that she didn't understand. He had changed. The war had changed him. And she didn't know what she could do to help him.

All he did was get drunk and push her away. There were moments where she considered letting him. But then she had to calm herself and focus. Patience. This wasn't him. He wasn't himself lately. She wasn't sure he ever would be again, but she had to try.

So after embracing for what felt like hours, in the darkness, she could feel his wall crumble.

"I can't believe you put up with me, Pans," he muttered and kissed the top of her head.

She sniggered and kissed his jaw. "I have to. I'm stuck with you now."

"I've done bad things..."

He was scared. Terrified. She knew. That was his excuse, and she allowed it.

"So has a lot of people. They're not taking you to Azkaban," said Pansy reassuringly, stroking his hair. But she couldn't promise anything.