Chapter 48: Our Fathers
Christmas was approaching fast.
Madeline could hardly believe it was almost December. Halloween had passed with a small celebration in the Slytherin common room, with Evie Sterling teaching everyone how Muggles carve pumpkins. Even the snobbier Slytherins had joined in, actually enjoying the Muggle activity. They'd binged on halloween candies and had a long, comfortable night in the dungeons.
The first Quidditch game was long forgotten to everyone, except the Gryffindors who still clung to their one victory in an attempt to intimidate the green-tied students. It didn't work, of course. And it seemed now that Ron Weasley had managed to get himself a girlfriend; none other than Lavender Brown. In Madeline's opinion, they were a perfect fit. And no, that was not a compliment for either of them.
Things with Draco were great. Honestly, great. But Madeline's suspicion hadn't wavered one bit. Despite Draco's various excuses for missing Quidditch practice and no longer being interested in the game, Madeline had a feeling that something was off. It was an uneasy feeling. She wasn't blind; she could see Draco changing right in front of her eyes.
His eyes now bore dark bags, a little too sunken in to be healthy. His skin was starting to take a greyish tinge to it. Whatever was happening must've been stressing him out, because he now seemed to be lost in thought more often than not. Madeline had caught him staring off into space multiple times a day, something the old sharp-witted Draco Malfoy never would've done.
She'd asked him if he needed help with his workload. Had even asked him about his dad, to which he seemed absolutely dead-set on not talking about. It was kind of like watching a flower wilt, and Madeline was getting worried.
At first, she thought it may be another situation like Fred, in which Draco was having doubts about their relationships. But he was just as charming and engaged with her as always. He made an effort every evening to steal at least an hour away with her. Sometimes, they'd sit and play chess or talk about whatever book Madeline was reading at the time. Other times, they'd lie on the common room carpets when everyone was in bed, talking nonsense. About nothing and everything at the same time.
And she was happy. Really, really happy. But when she thought about it too much, she'd remember that her story wouldn't end with a happy ending, because she was prophesied as 'The Girl Who Died'. And here she was: kidding herself into happiness instead of confronting the fact that one day - a day that seemed to be sooner rather than later - she would be dead.
And in reality, could she do that to Draco? Could she stand tall with her hand in his and tell him with absolute certainty that she wasn't going anywhere? No, she couldn't.
It was a cold Monday evening when he opened up.
They'd manage to sneak a few minutes in his dorm room before dinner. Everyone else had cleared off, meaning they could sneak more than a few kisses in the meantime. Madeline had slipped into one of Draco's jumpers the minute she stepped into his icy cold room, sitting on his bed while he slipped his shoes off and tidied up his desk. Surprisingly, he was a very clean person, especially when it came to his room.
All the other boys seemed to have some sort of personality to their little areas. Even Crabbe had pictures of his family taped to the wall, but Draco had… Well, nothing. It was almost clinical in a way, and she would've been worried if it wasn't for the fact that she knew what it was like to grow up in a family like the Malfoy's.
However, for the first time, Madeline spotted something. It was poking out of the bottom of his bedside table, as if he'd dropped it and never bothered to pick it up. She leant down, picking up the dusty piece of paper; a family photo.
A photograph of his family. Him, his mother and his father. His mother was gorgeous, had always been from what Madeline remembered. But his father, even in photograph, was gloomy and snobbish, clear by his upturned nose and the way he seemed to be trying to fill the room. Draco was stood between them; he must've been no older than eleven. But even as a young child, Draco wasn't smiling.
"This is sweet," Madeline called over her shoulder, "I haven't seen this before."
Draco barely looked up from his dresser as he loosened the cuffs on his shirt, "Oh, that old thing."
"It's sweet," Madeline repeated, "Your mother is gorgeous."
Draco smirked, loosening his tie, "Yeah. She knows she is as well."
"So that's where the narcissism comes from," Madeline grinned, looking at the photo again, "Your dad looks… Intense."
At the mention of his dad, Draco visibly stiffened. He turned back away from Madeline, putting his tie in his trunk, "He can be, yeah."
Madeline bit her lip. It was now or never, "Do you miss him?"
Draco took a while to reply. The silence was almost deafening as he rolled his shoulders, still not meeting Madeline's eyes, "Sometimes."
That… That was a start. Madeline dared to pry further, "Is it hard?"
Draco scuffed his heel on the floor, "I have no idea what you mean."
"Is it hard to see him talked about on the Daily Prophet like that?" Madeline tried.
Draco snorted, "Like a Death Eater? Kind of doesn't phase me when that's all I've known him as."
Well, he'd said it. That was more that she'd expected from him. She waited for him to sit down next to her, but his guard was up. He didn't look at her, his hands stuffed in his pocket and his shirt just that little bit wrinkled.
"It sounds complicated," Madeline tried again.
"You have no idea," Draco sighed. Eventually, he sat next to her, slightly turned away and still not quite looking at her. He was close, so close to talk about it with her. One last push, surely.
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked slowly, her hand moving towards his on the duvet. He didn't reply, but she watched as his hand slid closer to hers, fingers brushing over hers before simply resting his hand on top of hers.
"Not really," Draco sighed, rubbing his forehead with his other hand, "I never want to talk about my father."
"That sounds unhealthy."
Draco snorted, blinking a few times and looking up to the ceiling, "That's one word for it, yeah."
The two sat in silence for a while, their hands on top of one another. It could have been hours before Draco spoke again.
"My dad is intense," Draco relented, "I don't remember the last time he ate at the dinner table with us. He never did when I was a kid either."
"Rough house?"
"You could say that," Draco muttered, and that was it. That was all Madeline was going to get from him, and she knew it.
He'd revealed a little about himself. It wasn't much, but it was heaps better than just a few months before. And so, Madeline knew she had to play it safe. Had to make him feel comfortable. She rubbed her thumb over the top of his hand.
"My mum still writes letters to my dad sometimes," Madeline confessed, "She thinks we don't know. She never sends them because, well, she has no one to send them to. But I guess that's the way she's keeping him alive in her heart, you know?"
Draco was silent. He still didn't look at her as he gave her hand a squeeze.
"I get it," Draco muttered, and that's all he said. All he needed to say, really. Perhaps, all he knew how to say.
They stayed like that for a while, and Madeline felt that for those few minutes, Draco had revealed something important. He trusted her, somehow. Even if it was just a childhood observation.
She was willing to wait for him.
It was Theo that tipped her suspicions over the edge.
They were sat in the library finishing off Slughorn's latest essay. Despite the numerous amount of times Madeline had wowed him with her impressive knowledge of anything and everything potions related, he had yet to invite her to a Slug Club meeting. Madeline wasn't necessarily offended (she was definitely offended), but it was (more than slightly) frustrating. Nevertheless, she was relentless in churning out essay after essay of brilliance, Theo not too far behind her with his own essays.
"This is so boring," Madeline groaned, massaging the cramp out of her hand from the last half-hour of writing, "It feels like our days are just essays and homework right now."
Theo snorted, "You've only just noticed?"
"We haven't done anything exciting in weeks, Theodore," Madeline complained, "Isn't your brain rotting from all those books you've been reading?"
It was true; recently, you couldn't find Theo without finding him with his nose buried in a book. He'd always been an avid reader, but Madeline thought it was simply getting ridiculous. The majority of the books he'd been reading had to do with magical artefacts and mending, which was odd considering he'd never had an interest in the subject before. But it was Theo; and Theo's first rule in life had always been that knowledge meant power. Honestly, Madeline sometimes wondered if the Sorting Hat had allowed him to pick between Ravenclaw and Slytherin.
"Whens the last time you read something substantial, Bisset?"
"I'll have you know that Draco and I have been reading through the entire poetry collection in the Hogwarts Library, thank you," Madeline huffed primly, "Some of it is bollocks, but it's quite nice to hear him recite it instead of my grandmother."
Madeline was awaiting a snide comment about how boring they were for spending their time reciting poetry to each other, but it never came. Instead, when Madeline looked at Theo, he seemed to be deep in thought biting his lip as if he was contemplating something.
"You and Draco," he began, "You're… Steady, right?"
Madeline frowned, "Yes, we are Theo. Wheres this coming from?"
Theo seemed to hesitate, "Just… Don't get hurt, yeah?"
"Theo, you're making no sense."
"We're just not the same people we were three years ago, aren't we?" Theo began, rubbing his temples, "I don't want you to think that he hasn't changed more than you realise."
"What do you mean?" Madeline asked, placing her quill down, "You're confusing me Theo."
"I just need you to be careful, okay?" Theo sighed, gathering his things together. He packed up his bag, sliding the strap over his shoulder, "Just… Be careful, Bisset."
And with that, he was gone. Madeline watched as he stomped away, rubbing his arm with his back to her. He didn't seem angry or upset, but the encounter had unsettled her. He'd all but warned her about Draco, and for what reason?
Madeline hadn't had the chance or need to confront Fred about what Sirius may have said to him for weeks after her talk with Harry. Hell, she didn't feel like she needed to. After all, regardless of Sirius or not, whatever Fred's choices were had been made by Fred himself. She was not about to give him room for excuses, thank you very much.
However, she couldn't help herself when she saw Fred sat on his own in one of the many small courtyards Hogwarts had to offer, shielding himself from the bitter cold under one of the few alcoves. She couldn't help herself when there was only a week until she left for Christmas, and there was absolutely no way she was spending any time over the Christmas break thinking about a Weasley. And so, with her big-girl shoes on, she stomped over to the twin, determined.
"What did Sirius say about me?"
There. Straight-forwards. Easy enough, right?
Fred furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at her in a mixture of shock and disbelief, "You what?"
"Harry said Sirius got in your head about me, and I want to know what he said," Madeline explained plainly.
Fred snorted, going back to the parchment between his hands, "Why do you care? Aren't you with Malfoy now?"
"My personal life isn't any of your business-"
"It is when you start dating a Death Eater!" Fred huffed, shoving his parchment to the side and standing up, now towering over her, "Don't you see it?! You're proving everyone right!"
"Proving who right exactly, Weasley?" Madeline snarled back, "Because right now, you're showing me exactly why we broke up."
"Don't spin this on me."
"I'm asking you a question, Fred. And I want the truth," Madeline stepped closer, "I deserve that, don't I? Or are you going to keep lying to my face, like you have been for Merlin-knows how long."
"I never lied to you-"
"Ah! There you go again!" Madeline laughed sarcastically. She knew she just had to get under his skin, "Just because you wear a red tie, it doesn't mean you're anything special, you know?"
"That's not what this is about?"
"Then what is it Fred? What am I not seeing?" Madeline continued, "I deserve the truth, don't I? Or do you still not trust me?!"
"Any Bisset is bad news," Fred exploded, "That's what he told me, alright? Alongside a bunch of other stories about your precious little family all-but worshiping He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named-"
"Things you knew already," Madeline interrupted, "Because I told you exactly what my family stood for, and how I felt about it. You knew I wasn't like them-"
"Then you've proved yourself wrong," Fred finished, gathering his things hastily before turning to her one last time, blazing anger in his eyes, "Ever wondered why Malfoy hasn't been turning up to Quidditch practice? He's planning something, and he's using you-"
"What on earth do you think he's using me for?!" Madeline shouted back, "Has a Bludger hit you in the head?! I have nothing Draco can use me for-"
"I know about the curse. Sirius told me," Fred interrupted stoically, yet the anger still burned in his eyes, "You didn't tell me, and you knew. That's what he's using you for! Don't you see it?!"
Madeline froze, eyes going wide, "I have no idea what you're talking about," she lied smoothly, reaching for her wand in her pocket, "But if you don't walk away right now, I swear to you Weasley that I will hex you into the ceiling."
Fred looked like he was about to say something. Instead, he shook his head, looking more disappointed than angry, and stormed off without a second glance.
Madeline stood with her wand pointed to the wall for a long time, thinking. That was not the reply she thought she was going to get, but maybe it was what she needed to hear.
Madeline Dearborn had known that her father was known to be brave.
He was an inventor. He was smart, perhaps the smartest. He'd fallen in love with a woman who's family believed in everything he was against. He was loyal to her despite this, because he believe their love would triumph. In fact, he believed in himself so intently that he created a Rebound Curse, something to finally end the war. But he'd made his own daughter into a weapon. He'd painted a big red target on her back, and Voldemort was going to be the first to get a hit at her.
But he wouldn't as long as she could make people believe she had the curse.
That was the very basis of her plan that she'd conjured that evening in her bed. She'd been lying awake for hours, staring at the ceiling in the dark emptiness of her room. Sirius Black had known about the curse existing, and so had Fred, probably before Dumbledore had even told her about it. By now, she'd memorised the note Dumbledore had given her only a few months back;
To Albus Dumbledore,
For years, I have searched for my dear friend. I believe now that he is no longer with us, but I am of the understanding that he has a daughter.
His plan was for her to have a better life. Instead, he has cursed her with the one thing that could have protected her.
Please, deliver this information to Madeline Dearborn. Tell her this is from a friend;
He fears you, because you can do what banished him.
~M.M
Dumbledore had been wrong. He'd told her that only himself, Voldemort, and the person who'd written the note had known this information. But Fred knew. Sirius knew. And she was certain her family knew. Did Draco know? Who else was watching her like a ticking time-bomb, waiting for her to explode?
Her grandmother had traded her for power. Her aunt had told her as much. If she signed as Head of The Family, she'd have no choice but to follow Voldemort in whatever he wanted. Her whole life had been a trap.
Was Draco just another trap? Had Fred been right; was he using her?
That night, she fell asleep with doubt clouding her dreams.
FOIRGHOIEHGOEHGEOHOEHFOEHOGHEGBRUIBVIYIOHIRHIEWIGUIEGIEGIOHIRHIEWIGUI
"Come to Slughorn's party with me."
"I beg your pardon?" Madeline huffed, crossing her arms, "I'm dating your best mate, Blaise."
"And I need someone who won't talk my head off all night," Blaise begged, the two lounging across the sofas in the Slytherin common room, "Please? It's only an evening. I'm allowed one plus-one and no one else has said yes."
"Oh great, I'm a last resort."
"And you know potions," Blaise added, "Like, better than half of the people who were actually invited to his party. I was going to bring Malfoy, but he's nowhere to be found."
Madeline bit her lip. Usually, he'd be brooding around the castle somewhere, but Madeline had been avoiding him since her talk with Fred. She had little to no idea where he could be.
"Alright, fine," Madeline relented, for no other reason but to divert the conversation away from her boyfriend, "When it is?"
"In a couple of days, I dunno," Blaise shrugged, "Look nice, will you?"
"I always look nice."
"Not your boyfriend, not my place to comment," Blaise held his hands up in mock surrender, standing up and dusting off his trousers, "Tell him I'm looking for him if you see him, will you?"
"Will do," Madeline waved Blaise off, relaxing back into the couch as she watched him walk up to his dorm.
She was confused; very confused. She didn't want to believe that Draco might be using her to get her closer to the Dark Lord, but quite frankly, it was something he almost-certainly would've done only a few years back. But things had shifted between them since then; hell, she was certain that the dance they'd shared at the Yule Ball had meant something even then, let alone their relationship now.
Her head hurt, and there was only one person she wanted to talk about it to. Or, well, could talk about it to. Her aunt.
But she had to wait till Christmas to see her, for fear of their letters being intercepted any time before that. Merlin, she was a mess.
And she had a whole party to get through before she could clear her head again.
