Better be Slytherin
LXII
Flight of the Pureblood
The rustling of chains and the unmistakable chill were the first impressions that hit him when he appeared in one of the two fireplaces of the distant, mid-sea island along with his Ministry representative. Even thought the Dementors had fled after the Dark Lord's downfall, their unnatural cold and mist lingered, probably because they had for so long inhabitated the place. The contrast from the brightly lit and clean Ministry of Magic office to this dark and gloomy place hit him instantly. Theodore could smell sea air and despair.
"This way, Mr Nott," said Robert Browell, the Ministry employee who had been assigned to accompany him on this visit, and motioned out the room. They walked down a stone passage lit with torches that were so far inbetween they barely shed any light.
He could already hear the wails.
He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as they ascended a staircase and were taken into a row of cells. Shabby men in dirty rags, old bones and iron bars was all he could see. And, oh Merlin, the smell.
He cringed and swallowed. It smelled of death. They walked along a few cells. Prisoners were crumbled on the floor in their own excrement or else clinging onto the bars, calling things at them, reaching out hands, their arms merely flesh and bone. One threw himself at the bars like an animal when they approached and made Theodore jump.
"Just down there, sir," said Mr Browell, nodding his head towards the cell at the very end. There was a tiny window and outside he could see the vast black sea. He dreaded this, walking slowly to his goal. He peered around and in through the bars and there was a silhouette on the stone surface they called a bed. A jolt of anxiousness went through his insides.
"Father?"
Slowly, the silhouette turned to look at him from where he was sitting. And then a croaky voice, "Theodore?"
"Yes, father," he said, swallowing harshly again and moving closer to the bars. Mr Browell stepped back respectfully to give the two space to speak. "It's me."
A silence. Then, "Why have you come?"
Annoyance filled him instantly. Couldn't he at least pretend?
"You're my father. You've been sent to prison," he said, almost impatiently. "Is it so strange for a son to want to visit his father?"
"You fled," Albert Nott said and he turned to look at Theodore. He felt himself cowering slightly under his father's gaze. He tended to have that effect. His matte hair was greying and his eyes drooping. He was in tattered grey robes and Theodore could see the Dark Mark on his arm.
"Of course I did. Do you blame me?"
A sigh. "I suppose you did what was best for you. Did you know they were coming?"
"I had a feeling. I told you they would come looking for you but you didn't listen."
"I suppose it was inevitable."
"I'm awaiting trial too."
At this, his father moved closer to the bars in apparent fright. "My son," he gasped. "You must flee."
Theodore shook his head. "There's no escaping. It's all done."
"Is the Dark Lord really... dead?" his father said. "I keep hearing whispers. It can't be true, can it?"
"Yes, he's dead. It's over. They've won the-"
Before he could finish the sentence, his father let out an angry sort of wail that made a crow outside his tiny window fly off in fright.
"Mudbloods and Bloodtraitors!" he cried. "Curse them!"
"And I'm in a shit situation because of it," said Theodore. "Why did you get in with the Dark Lord in the first place anyway? It's turned out rubbish. It's put me in a right foul situation."
His father's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that exactly?"
"I mean," said Theodore impatient now, "I'll be forever viewed as a Death Eater's kid! My friends hate me. I'll be branded, marked for life..."
"You want to talk about marked!" his father bellowed, holding up his left arm, and Theodore knew what was underneath the filthy old prisoner clothing.
His heart pounding, he couldn't help himself. "You're finished anyway! You're in here! I'm out there, have you any idea how hard it is?"
"You're actually complaining, you're actually comparing our situations-"
"YOU PUT ME IN THIS SITUATION!" he shouted, and he was breathing rapidly, "YOU marked me! You put it into my head that following the Dark Lord was the right thing. You manipulated me!"
Albert Nott looked at him with disgust.
"How dare you defy the Dark Lord. You're an adult. We all make our own choses. You chose it."
"BECAUSE OF YOU!"
"Do you want me to pity you?" his father sneered. Theodore loathed him.
"I wish I'd been born into any other family. I wish you werren't my father."
He was gasping for breath. Albert looked speechless for the first time.
"You defy the name of Nott...?"
"I defy you! I curse my mother for leaving me with you!"
Albert gulped. It was with outmost dislike he spoke next. "Don't you dare speak about her like that, she was the only good thing in this ruddy world..."
"Then you should've saved her! You could've done something to prevent it happening!"
"There was nothing to be done..."
"Oh sod off! You're the most cowardly man I've ever met. How you live with yourself is beyond me."
He turned to leave, there was no point in reasoning with someone that wouldn't ever understand anyway.
"Well I dont... do I..." his voice was suddenly weak, all haught and pride gone now, the only thing remaining was the shell of a dying prisoner. Theodore turned back to him.
"I suppose so."
After another minute's pause of the two staring at each other, Theodore breathing heavily, he spoke again.
"What did happen to my mother?"
Albert closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then let out a big groan and shook his head.
"You're never going to tell me are you?" Theodore almost laughed of frustration.
"My wife..." Albert mumbled and retreated back inside the cell. "She... The Dark Lord... She got in the way... One mustn't defy the Dark Lord..."
Theodore spat on the floor and he didn't look back as he left, even though he knew it would be the last time he ever saw his father.
By mid-August they received their NEWTs results. As expected, Draco's were decent at best. It was his worst year of Hogwarts. He'd actually performed quite well in his written Charms and History exams, giving him two marks of Exceeds Expectations. He had always found History interesting after all.
He didn't produce a sample in his practical potions exam which was a disaster, but his written test had gone surprisingly well and so all in all he ended up with an Acceptable.
Needless to say, his Defence Against the Dark Arts exams had gone terribly and he ended up with a 'Poor'. He had also failed both Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures.
Draco pinched the bridge of his the hell had he been doing all last year? It was all a blur, like trauma his brain had purposefully left out.
Pansy smiled childishly, "You could always go back and retake them."
She was, slightly smugly, waving her own results. Pansy, who had forced others to do her homework for her first six years of Hogwarts, had passed swimmingly, because she'd spent day and night revising for a month while House-Elves brought her snacks. How was that fair? Well, it would certainly be easier to focus if you didn't have an upcoming trial looming and taking up all your headspace.
Pansy knew Draco had an ongoing debate in his head on whether to turn Bletchley and the rest in. He had written down a list of their names, thrown it away, rewritten it after pressure from Lucius, only to throw it into the fireplace. It had been fished out by Lucius before it was too badly damaged however. Finally, Mr Malfoy had handed it to Mr Felstead and so Draco had inevitably, directly ratted out his friends. And so when Pansy ran into them at the pub, it was more than frosty.
"It will sort itself out," said Pansy nervously, stirring her gillywater.
"No, you listen to me," said Montague, pointing a finger in her face. "You get your boyfriend to take it back or I'll-"
"You'll what?" said Pansy defiantly, straightening out. "I don't control Draco! And I certainly don't control his father, nor his solicitor!"
"Do you realise what that wanker has done? He's going to send us all to prison, you stupid girl!"
"Shut the fuck up, Bletchley! Don't speak to me like that! I've already told you, I can't do anything about it, and you haven't even taken your Marks, I'm sure the Ministry-"
"Oi, pug-face," he leaned in closer, threatheningly, and lowered his voice. "Maybe your boyfriend wants to know how you snogged the face off my mate Bole last summer while you were supposed to be his good little girlfriend?
Pansy just stared at him, nostrils flaring and jaw set. "Don't you dare, Montague!"
"Then shut your mouth," he snarled, "and make sure Malfoy does too."
She didn't mention her encounter to Draco that evening as she didn't want to worry him further, she knew he had enough on his plate. She was on her bed in her Essex manor, her room candle-lit and the windows open, and she was watching him putting another Cheering Charm on himself. She reckoned he must be developing an addiction to both them and alcohol. He'd been drinking Fire Whiskey every day lately.
"I'm off," he said shortly. "Back to the manor."
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, she doubted he was telling her the truth. She tugged on the sleeves on her emerald green silk pyjamas nervously and said, "You probably shouldn't Apparate when you're drunk, you know, you might Splinch yourse-"
"I can take care of myself," he spluttered snappishly and Disapparated without giving a proper goodbye. She wasn't surprised anymore, not after this whole summer, but she could feel her pain growing like a big black hole. Growing a little bit more every time.
He appeared in muggle London. Chelsea embankment. The rain splattered all over the Thames. He turned and looked at Blaise Zabini's white skinny town house pressed in between the muggle ones.
He didn't know why he had Apparated here tonight. He just wanted to get away. He knew he was hard on Pansy. He didn't know why he took it out on her.
Perhaps he would ring the door bell? He didn't know why he felt the urge to see Zabini. He'd seen Goyle too much, and he saw Pansy all the time. Nott seemed to loathe him still and Draco wasn't sure if he loathed Nott too, or not.
Zabini was a reminder of the past, of innocent old school days, of days before he died…
Draco was now terrified of running into one of the Death Eaters who were still on the run, wanted by the Ministry. but he was equally frightened to bump into one of the Order of the Phoenix members, or indeed Ministry employees, or Hogwarts students. Anyone and everyone that was on the other side. Unfortunately for Draco, both sides were against him.
He felt like he had the entire world against him, and even debated in his mind leaving Britain and going travelling for a while or even move abroad.
Paris… Or Greece… Some peace and quiet, where nobody knew his white blond hair and grey eyes meant Malfoy or Death Eater or Pureblood. Yet he guessed his inevitable return to England would be even worse in a few years time, if he had run and hid on the continent like a coward.
Draco had believed him, followed him with blind and unwavering devotion, and his Lord had been wrong, taking Draco down with him. A Malfoy was never wrong.
What else had he been wrong about?
The rain soaked his hair and he looked down at his shiny dress shoes that would surely be ruined now. He apparated home to the manor, walked to his bedroom. He was dripping on the wooden floor.
He could not let Pansy in on the inferno that was going on inside him. It was his to live through, not hers, not to be shared with anyone, because sharing it would only cause her pain to. This was his burden, his enslavement in hell, and he had brought it upon himself.
He had always been her protector, and he didn't want to admit how weak he was.
The anxiety always came at dark. Maybe better to try and go to sleep and see whether tomorrow was any better. Normally, though, it wasn't.
"If they give me to the Dementors.,." he said in bed a few nights later.
"Shush! Don't say that!" Pansy gasped and put her arms around him.
"No, if they do," he repeated, "then you need to forget about me. Find someone else," even as he said it, he knew it was the most self-less thing he'd ever told anybody and meant, and yet it pained him to say it. He didn't want her to be with anyone else.
"Stop being silly, Draco!"
"I'm serious!" he grabbed her roughly. "If they send me to Azkaban, Pans, you can't wait for me. You need to find someone else to... to marry."
She stared at him - was he imagining it? - like he was insane.
He overheard her speaking via the Floo Network with Greengrass the next day. He peered inside the door and saw her sitting in front of the fireplace with a cup of tea, and Greengrass' head was sticking out of it.
"Draco's been acting weird since the battle," he heard Pansy say in a lowered voice. "He doesn't speak to me. He has nightmares. He just drinks. And disappears. I don't know where he goes. He goes to visit Crabbe's grave several times a week. Sometimes he leaves the room when I've asked him a question. I don't know how much longer I can take it." He heard Pansy sigh.
His heart was beating fast, seemingly pumping out anxiety into his veins.
"He doesn't think I notice," Pansy went on. "Maybe he just doesn't trust me... or he doesn't want to share things with me..."
"Don't be silly! Squeaked Greengrass in a shocked manner. "He fancies you to bits. Maybe he just wants to deal with it on his own. You know, he's a man after all. Theyre not much for speaking about their feelings are they?"
"I guess. But he's been so different since the war ended..." said Pansy. "There's something unspoken between us, and I don't know what it is. Maybe hes still mourning Vince, or he's scared for the trial... or he's regretting joining the Dark Lord.. I don't know what it is but whatever it is he's not telling me any of it."
She wasn't as stupid as everyone thought, Draco realised.
"It's probably a bit of all of the above," said Greengrass. Draco felt his cheeks go warm. Was he really that easy to read?
"It's weird... I didn't think he even liked Crabbe that much," said Pansy. "They've just been arguing non stop for the last couple years."
A late August evening he was drinking himself into oblivion again, this time at the Minister's Arms in Diagon Alley, when he noticed someone slide into the stool next to him.
"Pumpkin Fizz, please," said an airy voice that he recognised uncomfortably well. He frowned and glanced to his right. Through his damp fringe he saw dirty blonde hair, almost as light as his own, and colourful muggle clothes, a weird contrast in this dark, Wizarding pub.
When she had grabbed her drink off the barman and turned, their eyes met. It was Luna Lovegood. His old prisoner. He tried to straighten up slighlty - he must look a right sight, he hadn't showered or changed robes in a couple days and his hair was wet from the rain. For a moment their eyes were locked in a tense contact and he didn't want to be the one to speak first. He was too ashamed.
"Oh," she said. "Hello, Malfoy."
He cleared his throat. "Hello." He looked away, uncomfortable and guilty.
"Didn't think I'd see you here," she said lightly. "Don't you have a whole bar in your house?"
His eyes flickered between her drink and the bar, he avoided her eyes. "Nice to, er, get out of the house sometimes. The company... you know..."
"Yes, I can't imagine your parents are very happy," she said simply. He slowly turned to look at her.
"No..." he said carefully. "They're not. We've... It's all turned to shit for us, hasn't it."
"Well, maybe you got what you deserved," she said lightly and he looked down, that guilt and shame overtaking him.
"Yes," he hissed. And then, to soothe everything he was feeling, he forced himself to swallow his pride and say, "How are you feeling, anyway?"
She looked mildly surprised and sipped her drink. "I'm okay. Daddy's happy to have me back. And now that Voldemort is all gone he can start printing again."
Draco gave a snort without thinking, at the thought of that silly magazine of theirs. Then he forced himself to meet her eyes and say, "That's good news."
"And then I'm going back to Hogwarts in a few weeks. My last year."
He nodded awkwardly. "That's good."
"I hear your trial's coming up."
He inhaled deeply. "It is indeed. I bet you hope we get sent to Azkaban for life. I don't blame you..."
She blinked at him. "Maybe your dad. Your aunt was the worst. But... I don't think you deserve that."
A feeling of undeserving filled him and he turned slowly to look at her in disbelief. Why was she so kind to him? He'd kidnapped her off the Hogwarts express for Merlin's sake.
"I don't think your heart was ever in it," she said simply. His mouth was dry and he didn't know what to say.
"I remember when you grabbed me off the train," she said then.
He swallowed heard, he hated remembering it.
"Do you remember that?" she asked.
"Of course," he muttered.
"You didn't lay a finger on me."
He stared at her. "Of course not, you're a girl!"
"You just did what you were told. Your orders."
"But I shoulnd't have." He sighed deeply. This was a bizarre conversation yet it felt like the most profound one he'd had in months.
Luna looked ponderingly at him and then said, "I dont think you had much of a choice."
There was a pause when he looked away. He shook his head. "Doesn't excuse what I did."
But she ignored him and went on, "And on Christmas day when you came downstairs into the cellar and gave me food and something to drink."
He looked questioningly at her.
"I was down there for almost four months. You were the only person who ever did that. They put spells on me to keep me alive but they never brought me food."
Draco took a big gulp of his drink.
"Maybe that fact doesn't make you a good person but it makes you a lot better than the other Death Eaters."
He had never thought of it that way before. "So that just means I'm slightly more humane than the other assasins I was working with," he said rolling his eyes.
Luna gave him a look that was sort of encouraging and stern at the same time. She stirred her drink and took a sip.
After a long silence, she spoke again.
"Don't be so hard on yourself."
For some reason, her words lingered in his mind, and he believed her more than when Pansy said the same thing. Probably because she was his victim, and if she had forgiven him, maybe it was time for him to try and start forgiving himself. Once again, he had been shown a kindness he didn't deserve by people he had been brought up to hate.
Once again, he blamed his father immensely.
The day afer receiving her NEWTs results, Queenie hadn't wasted any time going to Diagon Alley to apply for a job. She pictured herself as a shop assitant for now, it was a decent job and she just couldn't wait to make some money. She hadn't decided on what she wanted to do yet, nor applied for university so she reckoned this was a good thing to be doing whilst finding out her goals. She'd found herself being offered a job as a barmaid at the pub the Minister's Arms and accepted graciously.
Not one week had passed until she spotted something both shocking and gossip worthy. She'd seen Malfoy with none other than that weirdo from the year below, Luna Lovegood. Naturally, she was inclined to tell her best friend straight away.
Mrs Parkinson looked surprised when Queenie's head appeared in their lounge fireplace, but called for Pansy and left the room.
"He's not cheating on me with Loony Lovegood," Pansy snapped as soon as Queenie had told her.
"How are you so sure?" said Queenie sceptically. "He didn't tell you he was at the pub, did he? And..." She cleared her throat apologetically. "He did have that, er, thing with Moaning Myrtle."
Pansy's eyes bulged and she snorted indignantly. "He did not have a thing with that stupid ghost!"
But, Queenie knew, Pansy couldn't explain that incident further, because Malfoy hadn't really explained it to his girlfriend. "He's... he's just depressed. From the war," Pansy said then, very decisively.
Queenie raised her eyebrows slightly. "All right."
She was only looking out for her friend after all.
As the days away from the trial became fewer and fewer, the Malfoys were getting more and more nervous. Draco's depressed state had worried his mother to the point where she was blaming herself, and Lucius, more. Now that everything was settling down after the battle and there was nothing to do but wait for the trials and see how badly her son had been affected, her anger was growing.
Her newly rekindled relationship with Andromeda hadn't exactly been beneficial towards Lucius either.
Narcissa had realised she was a coward to. Not only had her husband chose the Dark Lord over them, she had done nothing but silently accept it.
She told Draco all of this merely a week before the trial.
"I will always stand by your father," his mother said. "But he's made many mistakes. Mistakes I find it hard forgiving him for."
Draco knew his mother and father loved each other, and him. He knew his mother loved him more, though, and that she resented Lucius for choosing the Dark Lord. For getting them involved in the first place.
"Mistakes he is trying to rectify," his father's slightly drawling voice said from the door. He joined them in the upstairs parlour and Narcissa fired up at once.
"Look what he's turned into!" she snapped at him, motioning towards Draco who rolled his eyes. "He's in pain, Lucius. Look what you've done to my son!"
"He's my son too," said Lucius, sitting down in an armchair.
"Yet you put him in this position!"
"I'm trying to fix it!" He growled. "What more can I do? I can't turn back time, my dear."
"You put my son at risk," she snarled at Lucius. She was holding Draco's hand. Hard.
This time, he didn't try to deny it, like he had when Draco accused him.
"Forgive me," said Lucius. He was tired, exhausted, pale, waxy, and in real despair for the first time in Draco's life. "You are my world."
His mother was tall, upright, haughty, cold. The only one who put Lucius in his place. The one he turned to for adivce.
"Draco is my world," said Narcissa harshly. "And you put him at risk!"
"I love you, Narcissa."
Narcissa looked at him stoicly. She was in control.
It was very rare they said this to each other. Draco had only heard it once, when his father had come out of Azkaban.
"And you, my son."
Draco swallowed.
He glanced at his mother.
"Don't you ever dare putting us at risk again, Lucius." She held up a finger, pointing, accusing, daring. Narcissa frightened them both. "If the Dark Lord should return and you return to him. I swear I will leave you."
The silence was so tense Draco wanted to escape. He couldnt bear looking at either of them.
Finally, Lucius held up both hands, defeated. "No more, Narcissa. Never again. Malfoys first."
Narcissa's chin was high, and she still looked cold, but gave a content sort of nod.
He had never been so impressed with a woman before.
Later on, he told Pansy in bed.
"Your father is lucky your mother doesn't leave him," was her reaction.
"She wouldn't. They're married. And they love each other. But she's had enough of this now."
Pansy seemed to ponder this, chewing gum and turning a page in Witch Weekly. "Well," she snorted, "my parents are married too. I don't think they love each other though. How can you tell?"
Draco scoffed. He didn't think hers did either. "I just know."
"Like how you know I love you?" she giggled and threw the magazine away as she crept up to him over the duvet.
"Don't be sappy," he said but couldn't help but to smile slightly as she placed kisses all over his face and tickled him.
"I know youre scared about the trial," she said, "But crying about it like a little Hufflepuff is hardly going to help."
He raised his eyebrows in mock scorn. "Watch your mouth."
"You know what I think you need?" she crept up on him, and straddled him, and that teasing look was back. He felt his nether regions twitch.
He smirked. "No, what is that?"
"I'll show you," she said mischeviously and slowly began kissing down his chest.
He leaned back and sighed in relaxation. Pansy had been as patient as a saint with him these past three months and he was thankful. So he decided to show her that appreciation after she was done with him. He knew what she liked in bed - when he called her pretty and acted like he couldn't believe his luck for being with her. When he showed her his appreciation by going down on her and telling her how good she tasted. And when he told her he loved her during sex.
Afterwards, he held her for a change. "I'm sorry for being a dick," he whispered. "I need you."
Pansy finally fell asleep contently after months.
