Better be Slytherin
LX
Making Amends
The night was dark, silent and eerie and he shuddered as he looked out over the never ending fields surrounding the manor. He made his broomstick soar higher, just to get a taste of that freedom feeling he used to have playing Quidditch.
Somehow, getting his broom out while his parents were asleep wasn't as satisfying as his impulse had told him. Yet, what else was he do to when insomnia hit like it did so often these days?
He flew higher and watched the manor become smaller and smaller. Panic hit him and he turned around to make sure the Dark Lord wasn't flying towards him in the night sky. He used to do that, fly towards the manor, with his snake on his shoulders and his black robes billowing. Draco had always wondered how he'd mastered that - he had never heard of anyone else flying without aid.
He swallowed and headed towards ground. Despite the fact that Voldemort was never there when he turned around, he always sensed his presence and the nights were always worst, which is why he didn't dare go to sleep. When he tried, he always ended up writhing in bed for hours, seeing the Dark Lord's red eyes, the snake, or the battle. He saw Crabbe being burned alive over and over and he saw himself murdering that old man last Christmas. He remembered torturing Rowle months ago and he remembered shooting the Killing Curse around him at Hogwarts. He saw Voldemort torturing them after they let Potter escape. Everything he'd done and everything he'd seen seemed to attack him at night.
Shaking, he landed on his balcony. He looked around again to make sure nobody was watching him. He tossed his broom aside and leaned against the railing. The war had ruined him, he knew. Broken him. What a bloody cliché he was. He stood there on the high balcony and wondered what would happened if he jumped off it, or just downed an entire bottle of Fire Whiskey, and then some. Why was it that the Dark Lord's shadow was gone, thanks to Potter, but it seemed it still lingered over Draco? Would he ever be rid of him? Or would the Dark Lord haunt him forever, even in death?
He looked down, over the railings, onto the garden path below. Was it even high enough to do damage? But no, he couldn't take his own life, like a bloody coward. Not after the war hadn't done it. He'd survived for some reason that he was unsure of. He'd survived, so he couldn't waste it all now. But what was the point? He barely spoke to anyone these days, the trial was coming up which would undoubtedly send him to Azkaban, and he'd done terribly in his NEWTs. He had no friends left and his mother and father were becoming resentful of each other. He treated Pansy like shit and yet he couldn't stop. He received death threaths and howlers every day. He didn't dare show his face in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade.
His life could never be the same, would never. So what indeed was the point?
Draco Malfoy was as good as dead.
The summer went on but it was all a haze for him. They prepared for the trial, he spent countless hours in the company of Mr Felstead. When he wasn't doing that, he was drinking. He was filled with reckless anger half of the time and the other half cold indifference. He felt incapable of doing anything and their talks sometimes felt counter productive. It was like he was constantly hungover. But all he could do was to plan out his statements for the Wizengamot.
McGonagall was appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts and Kingsley Shacklebolt was temporarily Minister for Magic during its rebuilding. The inner chaos he felt was reflected in the whole Wizarding community.
Death Eaters were being hunted down and Hogwarts was being reconstructed. It was only August, and just over three months since the battle, but already books like "Hogwarts: An Updated History" and "The Story of the Second Wizarding War" and "Harry Potter: a Hero's Tale" had been released. Chocolate frog cards of Potter and his friends had been made and were now circulating Wizarding Britain. Even Draco's old House-Elf had a card made after him. It was bizarre.
The Daily Prophet were relentless in their pursuit of Potter, who kept refusing interviews and hid from the reporters.
New headlines read,
"Potter to reveal what really went on behind the curtains, special relationship with Albus Dumbledore and connection to He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named, in coming autobiography"
"Order of Merlin to deceased heroes of the war"
"Potter for Minister?"
"Potter causes uproar as he demands medals for Werewolves and House-Elves"
Draco always rolled his eyes reading it. Still, they were better than the bad press the Malfoys were getting. After his last visit at Mr Felsteads office in Diagon Alley where the two had been photographed together, he'd been hiding out at the manor.
He knew he took his terrible mood out on Pansy but he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't help but to think perhaps Lucius had been right about Pansy not being trustworthy. She had told her girlfriends about the list after all. He hated it when his father was right.
He wanted to hate his father but he couldn't.
"Mister Malfoy! MISTER MALFOY!"
"Oi, lad, just one question, what's it like to be one of the most hated young man in wizarding Britain?"
"Sir, over here!"
Pansy spun around, momentarily blinded by all the flashing lights. The reporters were all photgraphing them desperately, their cameras flashing threatheningly close, as Draco held up his arm as a sort of barrier and lowered his head as he pushed through. All she could do was hold onto his hand and follow him back towards the Leaky Cauldron to Floo home.
"Is that your girlfriend, Mr Malfoy?"
"Are you still pleading not guilty?"
"Louise Mitcham from the Daily Prophet-"
"Mr Malfoy!"
They finally found solitude within the Leaky Cauldron - where the shouting reporters were replaced with cold, judging stares from the inn's guests and visitors. Pansy, who had always seen herself as a very confident girl, had now shrunk at the attention, and wanted nothing but to get out of there and for people to stop looking.
Was this how it was going to be, being Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy in the new world? She sighed deeply as she stepped into the green flames.
They appeared back at the manor in the upstairs corridor, and Draco had already started walking towards his bedroom when she stepped out in a cloud of ashes. She could tell by the way he was walking down the echoing, badly lit corridor that he was in a state once more.
She sighed again. She wished he didn't have to take it out on her. She debated going back home to her parents, because she really didn't have a spare set of robes and she'd been staying over way too much recently. But lately, he had tended to grasp onto her all night in clingy desperation, and that was truthfully the only affection she received from him so she felt she had to stay. When she entered his bedroom he was pacing around angrily. She studied him for a brief second before closing the door and proceeding to unclasp her travelling cloak. He quickly poured himself a glass of Fire Whiskey and took large sips. She wasn't surprised anymore, for the fact that he was drinking so casually and that he wasn't offering her any,
He didn't even seem like a real person anymore, more so a weak imprint of something she'd once yearned for. Ruined – ruined socially, ruined emotionally. Morally ambiguous. Handsome, but paler than normal, and ill-looking.
Suddenly, he shouted "FUCK!" and threw the whole glass into the fire. She jumped at the small explosion of fire and shattering of glass.
"Stop doing that!" she yelled and angrily began undressing, and moved towards the bed to distance herself from him.
She thought she heard him mutter, "Fuck the Dark Lord." But she couldn't be sure. He would still never say something like that out loud - it was as if he was still scared the Dark Lord wasn't really gone.
"I'm as good as dead," he muttered and suddenly went to sit down on the bed, making her jump slightly.
His back was to her and she slowly got undressed and under the duvet, cautiously looking at him.
"Don't say that. Come here." She held up the duvet for him and like a child he obeyed. He turned to her.
"What's it like, shagging a dead man walking, then?"
Patience, Pansy, she told herself. She could make a joke and tell him 'actually, I wouldn't know, since we're not shagging' but she wasn't that cruel. They hadn't had sex in months now, not since before the battle. They had never been this distanced.
Draco was a ticking time bomb and she was afraid to approach him with anything after she told him what happened to her at the battle. Between witnessing Crabbe die, seeing Snape and Bellatrix' dead bodies, fearing Azkaban, feeling inbetween, being angry at his father, receiving hate from the wizarding community and pushing his girlfriend away, Pansy didn't know how Draco hadn't had a mental breakdown yet. Well, a more severe mental breakdown.
He had nightmares every night, and all she could do when he was whimpering in his sleep was hold him. He was drinking a lot, shouting a lot, then retreating into staring silently out into nothing and not speaking for days. He was violent and would throw and kick things. Throw glasses into the fire, kick aside vases, punch into walls. And then he'd be nowhere to be found.
She had no idea how to handle him. This was beyond anything she'd experienced with him before. But she wouldn't give up now. Not yet, anyway. She swallowed her own feelings down and took a deep breath. Then she moved closer to him and put her arms around him. Her heart was beating with suppressed anger.
"Shush, darling," she whispered and kissed his head. It was all she knew to do. Again like a child he crumbled into her embrace.
Draco glanced from his mother's straight posture to the cottage in front of them, raised upon a hill just off the road and the outside covered in ivy and various vegetation. It was a sunny, warm afternoon in the lake district but he felt eerily chilly.
"Is that it, mother?" he asked, motioning his head.
Narcissa's lips were pressed together thin, he could tell she was nervous. "I can't be sure my darling, as I've never before had the pleasure of being invited here. But this is what her owl said."
Draco looked back at the house in front of them. This did indeed seem to fit whatever image he had of where someone who abandoned their family to marry a Muggle would chose to live. Quiant, rural, common. Nothing like a historic manor house filled with silk, leather and chandeliers.
He cleared his throat, because his mother was still staring ahead without moving.
"Shall we?" he asked cautiously.
She inhaled abruptly. "Yes," she said decisively. "Let us grab the erumpent by the horn and just do it."
They walked up the garden path, and Draco glanced sideways at the carrot and potato plants. Muggles grew their own food? He wrinkled his nose. Or maybe all poor people did?
Narcissa tapped the brass lion knocker twice in a swift motion. He briefly wondered why a lion - was it simply a coincidence or were they stepping into Gryffindor territory? He felt out of place.
His aunt appeared in a crack in the door, and when she saw who it was she opened the door fully, revealing a baby in her arms. For a while they all just stared at each other. Even little Teddy moved his big eyes from Draco to Narcissa slowly.
"Andromeda," said Narcissa as if it was the easiest thing in the world. "Thank you for having us. I want you to finally meet my son, Draco."
"I didn't exactly want to come to your house," said Andromeda shortly, and then her eyes moved over to Draco. Silent, judging. "You look just like your father."
Before he could think of anything to say, his mother interjected calmly. "Looks can be deceiving."
Andromeda gave a small, forced smile to him and politely nodded for them to come inside.
"The baby is beautiful," said Narcissa as they stepped into the entrance hall. There were a lot of cloaks and shoes for a house of only one adult and one baby. It was uncomfortable to think they all belonged to people who were now dead.
"His name is Teddy," said Andromeda shortly. They were let into a small lounge and took to the sofas. Narcissa sat with perfect posture and placed her handbag on her lap and looked around curiously.
Andromeda sat down too and Draco looked between the sisters awkwardly, wondering why his mother had wanted him to come.
Narcissa swallowed. "I am terribly sorry for your loss."
Andromeda's gaze seemed almost empty when she replied, "I'm not for yours."
Narcissa looked away uncomfortably. "I will not defend what our sister did. Never."
"Yet you were on the same side."
"Not by choice," said Narcissa, now returning her gaze to her sister's.
"Everyone has a choice. I made mine long ago."
"To what price?" said Narcissa fiercely. "You lost your family. I did what I had to do to keep mine."
"I thought you were here to rectify things," said Andromeda coldly. "That's what your OWL said. If not I wouldn't have let you into my house."
"I- I am." Narcissa composed herself again. "I am not defending anything. What Bellatrix did was atrocious. There are no words for it. And my husband-"
"Chose a madman."
Narcissa closed her eyes momentarily. "Yes. I do not deny it."
Andromeda stared at her in apparent surprise, still lightly bouncing the baby.
"You don't? I never thought I'd hear you say the words."
Narcissa sighed loudly. "It's apparent now that my husband made a mistake. We chose the wrong side. The Dark Lord was..." she paused, seemingly unsure of what to say. "Not what we expected."
"You can't blame it all on your racist husband," said Andromeda coldly. "Or our murderous sister."
Draco glanced at his mother, unsure of whether she would accept this slander. She merely bit her lip and said, "I will not. Andromeda," she looked up at her sister. "I made a mistake. I was wrong. All I want is to make up for what I've done with my only alive sister. I know you have lost everything. I will not pretend to know what it's like to lose a child, but I want you know how sorry I am, and I will do anything to bring this family back together. I want," she nodded to the baby, "Teddy to know his family. I want my son's children to grow up with him."
Draco's cheeks felt warm suddenly. A picture in his head appeared of childish Pansy taking care of a child of her own. It could almost make him laugh.
"I know I have a lot of making up to do and I will not pressure you into anything but I just want you to know that I am willing."
His aunt didn't say a word, nor did her face tell much of what she was thinking.
"One step at a time, I suppose," she said finally.
Narcissa drew in a relieved breath. "That's all I ask. I want you to know we have fully renounced the Dark Lord, and we are working with the Ministry to help incarcerate other Death Eaters."
Andromeda's lip curled slightly. "Of course you would pick the right side in the end. When it benefits you."
Narcissa looked like she struggled between defending herself or appreciating the fact that her sister hadn't thrown them out of the house yet. In the end, she didn't have to say anything, because Andromeda stood up.
"Why don't I make us all a cup of tea, and you can get acquainted with your grand nephew," she said and to both of the Malfoys' surprise, she gave a smile that was a little warmer than before. Narcissa hurried to stand and accepted the baby carefully from her sister, looking like she almost couldn't believe it. Draco felt an instant fondness for her mother, he could tell how much this meant to her.
Another uncomfortable and awkward half hour went by, where they silently had tea. The second time Andromeda got up to make them another cup, she handed the baby to Draco.
"Oh," he said, surprised and reluctant, "No, really, mother, why don't y-"
But his aunt and mother protested and he was handed the baby to his dislike. He wasn't particularly interested in the baby nor did he know what to do with it. Was he meant to feel something now? He wanted to roll his eyes. He hoped the baby wouldn't spit up or shit in his arms. Yuck, he never wanted one of these things.
Narcissa beamed at him, like she was dreaming for the future.
"Mother, you take him," he said at once Andromeda had lef tthe room and he started moving closer to hand the baby over, but Narcissa didn't budge.
"No, Draco," she said in her chilly voice, but it was amused. "It's good pracice."
Draco scoffed. "As if. Don't get your hopes up."
"Don't be silly. You wouldn't deny me the pleasure of becoming a grandmother. Besides, your father would never forgive you."
He knew she was joking, sort of, but he felt an anger rise inside him anyway. His father had no right to demand anything off him ever again - and it was Draco who would be doing the forgiving. He said nothing however.
"Mind his head," Narcissa said then.
"I am bloody minding his head. I don't even want to hold him."
"He's your cousin, Draco."
"No, he's not," he frowned derisively. "His mother was my cousin."
"He is actually," she quipped, "he is your first cousin once removed."
He rolled his eyes. That didn't bloody mean anything, he thought. "I don't know him. I didn't know his mother. I don't know any of the people in his life."
"That's what we're rectifying here, isnt' it," she snapped. And then she turned to look at him with a small curl of her lip. "Actually, you know someone in his life."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"His godfather."
"Who is his godfather?" he asked impatiently.
"Potter."
"You're joking?"
Narcissa smirked, amused.
"No."
He groaned out loud. One bloody happy family.
"That doesn't make me... related to him, does it?"
Narcissa chuckled. "No, darling." She wiped some drool off Teddy's mouth with his bib.
He wasn't sure how he felt about the fact that this small baby with its ever-changing hair colour was godfathered by his former school enemy. He realised suddenly that this meant that he and Potter would be linked together for more years to come, If Andromeda remained civil with both both sides.
"Please take him off me," sighed Draco.
She slapped his hand. "No, Draco, don't be rude, your aunt gave him to you."
"And she's been gone for ages. Is the Muggle way of making tea extra slow or something?"
"I cannot believe you were once this tiny," Narcissa said, ignoring him. Then she took her eyes off Teddy and looked up at her own son. "You've grown up so well."
She touched his cheek lovingly.
He felt instantly abashed so he looked down onto the baby in his lap for lack of other things to do. Teddy had found his finger and now wrapped his own tiny hand around Draco's index.
He didn't agree with his mother. He'd done many things he was ashamed of.
This baby however, was completely innocent. Teddy didn't even know there had been a war. Lucky bastard. For a second, he wished he could turn back time until he was a baby, and start over. Go right the first time. Not end up in this mess.
"Thank you mother," he said anyway. She put her hand on his and Teddy's.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered.
He couldn't help but to wonder why in the world she would say that.
