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+ Infest: A Harry Potter Song Fic by Canarde +
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+ Chapter Three: Broken Home +
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"I know my mother loves me,
But does my father even care
If I'm sad or angry?
You were never ever there
When I needed you;
I hope you regret what you did.
I think I know the truth;
Your father did the same to you."
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+ First Year +
At the train station, my mother hovers at my side with a hanky as she dabs at her eyes. She fusses over my robes and trunks and owl and looks at me as though she may never see me again. Perhaps she knows something I don't; more likely she's acting the proper mother and worrying over me to no end. When she tries to wipe a non-existent smudge from my cheek with her pristine hanky, I duck away.
My father stands at a respectable distance, close enough that people will know who his family is but back a step, as though he doesn't want to be associated with me. As I dodge the hanky and my mother, I glance at him, hoping he'll step in but knowing he won't. He watches with disdain curling on his lip.
The train threatens to leave, and Crabbe and Goyle, the massive sons of the men my father works with, arrive in time to haul my things into a empty compartment. My mother continues to fuss as I make for the train, but my father continues to watch the scene in silence.
His arms are crossed over neat black robes, his blond hair slicked away from his face. His sharp features are more obtuse without a fringe to offset them, and his eyes are blades slicing through the crowds.
I take a seat by the window and wave to my mother as she dabs at her eyes once more. My father turns on his heel and Disapparates without so much as a second glance. My mother blows a kiss and puts on a brave smile, more for herself than for me, and does not disappear until after the train pulls away from the station.
Taking a hint from my father, I do not look back.
+ Second Year +
I step off the train flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. They leave the school this year with less intelligence than they arrived with, if that is at all possible, but are still just as eager to avenge the injury of my toes, which have just been run over by another student's trolley.
"Do you want me to pound him for you?" the one on my right asks. The offender mutters something and wheels away, and I shake my head.
"Don't bother." I take my place beside my trunk and owl, who is as fierce as he looks. The bored look I have close to perfected masks my face as I look anxiously around for sight of my parents.
There are a great many adults waiting on the platform whom I recognize, mostly those who work under my father at the Ministry. That, at least, is how they've been introduced to me; but by the way they shield their left forearms from prying eyes, it's fairly obvious that they are Death Eaters like my father.
"Draco!" I glance into the crowd, which parts as my mother sweeps through.
She's an elegant woman, my mother, with curling blonde hair and pale blue eyes. She keeps her hair parted to one side and pinned back, with a thick bit in the front tucked behind her ear. Today, as she nearly suffocates me within her embrace, she is dressed in robes of pale blue to match her eyes. Her mouth is painted, and when she kisses my cheek I can feel the red smudge she leaves in her wake. This gives her an excuse to scrub my face with her hanky, and I let her fuss over me and my things while I search for my father.
"Mum," I say, my eyes roving over the crowd as though maybe he will appear from nothing, "where's Father?" She glances at me with those pale eyes and purses her lips.
"He ... wasn't feeling well," she says neatly, standing up straight and tucking away her hanky. "Come on, then, let's get you home and have some food put in you. You're hungry, aren't you?" I nod numbly and allow her to invite the house-elves she's brought along to tend to the trolley loaded with my things.
+ Third Year +
It's Christmas, and I'm going home. Tomorrow the train leaves, and getting away from this house of deceit would mean more to me than the world. Being a Slytherin entitles me to an easy Potions grade, but little more. My father has so tainted my name that it's difficult to find anything but loathing in this place.
The Great Hall is ready for the holidays. Professor Flitwick, it seems, has gone all out in decorating the cold stone of the Hall; twenty tall Evergreen trees are dripping with baubles and candles, and even the silverware on the tables is adorned with tinsel while sparkling icicles hang from archways and buttresses.
I have taken my usual seat at the Slytherin table, though I would rather be at even the Hufflepuff table than here. At least Hufflepuffs have friends who speak honestly, unlike the pack of lies Pansy Parkinson has fed me all term. But with the sharp features I inherited from my father, I can ward off the sickly attempts at kindness that these snakes feed me. No one crosses a Malfoy with a scowl.
Owls soar through the higher windows, their powerful wings beating the air as they circle, looking for the student to whom their envelope is addressed. A familiar hawk-owl dips low and drops a sealed envelope into my hands. The feminine loops of the writing tell me that this is from my mother; I tear it open at once and read:
Draco,
Your father has accepted a case which will send him to France for the Christmas holidays. Be proud, Draco, he is well respected in the Ministry! But, unfortunately, this means you will have to spend the holidays at school. I'm so sorry. I urged your father to change the dates of the trip, but his instructions are clear and cannot be altered.
Have a Happy Christmas; we'll forward your presents as soon as possible!
Much love,
Mum
Later, in my room, I burn the letter with flames from the wand my father gave me.
+ Fourth Year +
My father has not bothered to see me off this year. My mother came alone, dabbing at her eyes with her hanky. But this year, she is not crying for me.
My parents fought this morning before we left. I was packing my trunk, and even from where my bedroom is I could hear them shouting. The entire summer holidays they have been arguing, my father being the instigator of all of it. Usually I stay out of it, but this morning I slipped from my room, creeping along the halls until I found them in my father's study.
" ... I don't want to see him off, Narcissa," my father was saying. "I was there when he came home, why see him off again so soon?"
"He's your son, Lucius," she snapped.
"He's your son, too," he replied softly.
There was a long pause, and then my mother said, "You're too selfish to see it, but he wants you there. He needs you there! You never think about what he wants."
"Maybe it isn't about what he wants but what is good for him," my father said shortly.
"Let him decide. It's his life."
"Fine," his voice dripped bitterness. "Fine. Let him call all the shots around here; I'm only his father. I don't know the best."
"You're turning into Augustus."
"I am not my father!" There was a loud crack, and then silence filled the house.
Next moment, my mother came sweeping out, hands over her face. I bit my lip to keep from crying; it killed me to see my mother in tears, and more often than not lately she was.
At the platform, my mother fusses, as is expected.
"Mum, I don't want to go back." She looks at me sadly as she straightens my robes.
"Oh, yes, you do, Draco, you'll want to see your friends and professors," she says, putting on an airy facade. "And you'll want to go to the Yule Ball - what with the Triwizard Tournament and all." When told of the Tournament, I had been devastated; it took the place of Quidditch, my safe haven in the Slytherin house.
"What friends?" I say, pawing her away. "Why would I want to go to a ball?" She purses her lips, her eyes filling with tears. I try to take it back. "I mean, I - "
"Draco," she says softly, "please get on that train. Please enjoy your year and - " She breaks off. "And please don't hate your father."
"A little late for that," I murmur. I make for the train, but she catches my shoulder.
"Draco - " I turn back, expecting more advice or a lecture. My mother gives a watery smile, and she says, "Please don't hate him. He has never deserved it. He loves you." I force a smile and pat her hand encouragingly.
"Then you can tell him I said goodbye."
The train pulls away, and for the first time in four years I look back. My mother stands in the steam, waving her hanky as she cries, a brave smile pinned to her face.
+ Fifth Year +
I have not spoken to my father in over a year, so it is a great surprise that he is asking if I would like to take a trip to London. In my shock, I agree to it, and the next thing I know, I'm sitting on the train to London, talking to my father as though we've never been distant.
He tells me that he's a Death Eater, as though I haven't figured it out, and says, "We're going to a meeting of the Dark Lord's tonight." I gaze out the window, unsure of how to react. Hastily he adds that I don't have to return to the Dark Lord if I don't wish to. I don't wish to, but I look at him skeptically.
"But you aren't expecting me to turn it away, are you?"
"I have no expectations, Draco," he stammers, an unconvincing lie. "The choice is completely up to you - and don't let anyone else influence you, either. It's got to be your own decision." I nod knowingly and turn back to the window. I have a feeling he's going to try his hardest to influence me to join.
"How did you decide to become a Death Eater?" He smiles, though his smile is pinched and forced. He doesn't answer, so I add, "How could you trust the others enough to not turn you in to the Ministry?"
"You can never trust too much or too little. Never trust a man until you know he will not betray you, and never trust anyone enough to tell him your true intentions until you know he'll keep the business your own." It's the same lesson he always teaches me. I study his face; he's more nervous about this trip than I am. I wonder if he knows something I don't.
"Draco," he asks suddenly, "do you trust me?"
"Sometimes more than others," I say carefully, which is untrue; I've never trusted him. Not with the way he treats my mother. He nods and leans back in his seat.
"And when you do trust me, why?"
Humoring him, my answer reflects the lesson he has just reviewed with me. "Because you leave my business to me. You know how to keep a secret."
"As well I should."
I don't know how to interpret this, but the remainder of the train ride is filled with a cautious silence. The meeting of the Death Eaters is as uneventful; but it makes me realize that the last thing I want to be is loyal to the Dark Lord.
+ Sixth Year +
Returning to Hogwarts after Christmas is a miracle in itself. The school is so welcoming, despite the treacherous students within, and I no longer have anything to hide.
My father is responsible for my joining the Death Eaters for what must be a record for the shortest period of loyalty to the Dark Lord. He is responsible for my suicidal tendencies this fall. He is responsible for my freedom.
I study my arm in the common room. Smooth, pale skin, perfectly unbroken and unscarred, gazes back at me, and I'm near tears. The Dark Mark, over holidays, was removed, and I will never again be considered a Death Eater.
For the first time in my life, I love my father.
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Thank you A-Chan and hesperos.
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All characters used in this piece of fiction are property of J.K. Rowling and copyright Warner Brothers.
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Song lyrics are property of Papa Roach and copyright Viva La Cucaracha Music.
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Chapter Four coming soon to a fan fiction archive near you.