Second chapter. Same disclaimer applies.
mugon no namida kurushimi fukaku taekirezu ni hana wa chiru yuku watashi wa hitori
Draco sat in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, alone. He had told Crabbe and Goyle he needed to be by himself, and for once they had understood and let him be. It might have been the perfect expressionlessness of his face, hinting of a deeper pain that outward emotion could not convey. Whatever it was, Draco was grateful for the space. He could not deal with other people at the moment. It was taking all of his strength, all of his reserves of endurance to just present a façade of normality. He could not let anyone see the depths of his bottomless grief, so deep and painful he teetered on the edge of sanity itself. It would soil her memory if he let anyone peer into his soul, poking and prodding and trying to 'make things better'. He would not be made better. She would not be brought back. And yet he would still go on.
His composure was shattered a little as the door to the compartment opened. He quickly got control of himself again, and focused on who was invading his solitary mourning.
Exactly who he did not need to see at the moment.
"Malfoy." sneered Ron. "Where are your little cronies? Have they abandoned you?"
Draco felt himself begin to crack.
"Please leave, now." he replied softly, gently.
'Oh? And how are you going to make us, without your henchmen to do the dirty--" he was interrupted as Draco smoothly got up and shut the compartment door again. He stood there, leaning against it, head on arm, until he heard receding footsteps, one set more reluctant than the other. He never thought he'd be grateful to Harry Potter before.
And he slid down until he was crumpled on the floor, and did not cry.
Walking through the Hogwarts corridors, barely noticing the crowds of people surging around him, pushing, shoving, shouting, happy to be back, he held his head high in the Malfoy tradition and tried not to come in contact with any of them. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to politely brush the person off.
"Will you come to my office, please, Draco?" asked Dumbledore, concern and pity showing in his eyes. Draco knew why, and did not wish to go, did not want to face it.
Mutely he nodded, and followed the headmaster.
"I have heard about what happened over summer, and I am deeply sorry for your loss." Dumbledore watched Draco with compassion in his expression. "It was a heart attack, I heard from your father?" He phrased it as a question, almost as if he did not trust Lucius's account.
"Yes, it was a heart attack." Draco confirmed, letting nothing show in his eyes, as the memory rose against his will. His mother, his dear, sweet mother, his only source of comfort and love in his life. His only salvation, strung from the ceiling in her room with a scarf, a beautiful scarf that Lucius had given her. His beautiful mother, not remotely beautiful anymore, with her eyes bulging from their sockets, swollen tongue, discoloured face. His father, coldly cutting her down, stating that she died from natural causes. A heart attack seemed appropriate, considering her frail constitution.
Dumbledore paused a moment, studying Draco's expressionless face.
"Draco... if you wish to talk about anything, anything at all, you can come to me at anytime. I hope you know this. Anything you say will of course be kept private unless you wish it otherwise..."
Draco nodded civilly. "Thank you, Headmaster. I will remember this."
Dumbledore hesitated a moment longer, then sighed. "Please do. I am really not an ogre. In the meantime, if you start feeling depressed, Madame Pomfrey always has a supply of chocolate on hand."
"Thank you, sir. May I go?"
"You may go."
Draco stood, and left the office.
"Oh, Draco! I'm so sorry to hear about your mother!" exclaimed Pansy the moment Draco sat down at the Slytherin table. This set off a round of condolences through the length of the table, each one more empty than the next. Of course no-one really cared; however, it would be in bad form not to at least pretend. And so Draco acknowledged them, knowing they weren't meant, knowing he didn't care, only going through the motions so dear to the well-bred. For if he left off the motions, what would be left of him? He was merely a wind-up toy as it was, stripped of emotion in one instant as he saw his mother dead. If he stopped performing what was expected of him, he might merely cease to exist. He would be a cast-off shell, a shell of a human being. An empty shell.
**
"Did you hear about Malfoy's mother?"
"What? She /died/?"
"Heart attack, I heard."
"Heart attack? What, did her husband catch her without makeup on or something?"
"I bet it wasn't a heart attack. I bet it had something to do with.... "
"Don't say it! You know all that stuff last year wasn't really for real.... You-Know-Who can't /really/ be coming back, Dumbledore would crush him!"
"...Yeah...."
The news spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, the death of the wife of someone with as much influence and power as Lucius Malfoy being a hot subject of gossip and rumour, suspicions and theories, fear and debate. For, after all, there hadn't been any warning. People remembered the year Cedric had died, remembered that Lucius most likely had connections with Voldemort, and slept a little bit more uneasily in their beds thinking of death, destruction, terror. No matter how much they reassured themselves, Voldemort had planted that little seed of doubt with the death of Cedric Diggory.
Draco heeded none of this. It being his mother that had died, and he and his father alone who knew the true nature of her death, he ignored the rumours and concentrated on winding his spring every day so he could make it through. Occasionally the soul-crushing grief that his mind had locked away in self-defense threatened to surface again, and it took all his self-control to squash it and save his sanity. Imagining himself as a wind-up toy seemed the best defense, and so he went through his days mechanically, not thinking, not feeling, not hoping.
And he made it through.
saa watashi wo okashite ki ga sumu made papa no mono yo
Christmas Break came.
And with the coming of Christmas vacation came the breaking of Draco's soul.
Draco stared vacantly down at the sheet of parchment held in his hand, not seeing the words written on it anymore, lost in his own memories.
"Draco? Is anything wrong?" Pansy again, seeming little concerned.
"Oh, no. Just wool-gathering for a moment there.... I'll be going home for Christmas."
"Oh, good. It would be awfully depressing to stay here, what with everyone else leaving."
Draco nodded, forcing a smile, telling himself not to dwell on the future.
Not to dwell on the future.... at home, with his father, without his mother to keep him sane, to keep him from ever feeling the absolute worst. With his mother there, he always had that one ray of happiness, no matter how slim or how few his chances to be with her alone were. He always had something to live for.
But now.
He couldn't dwell on it. He had to be strong, had to endure for the sake of his mother watching him from above (above, in the sky, not above, strung from the ceiling). He had to endure. He didn't want Narcissa to be disappointed in him.
"You're sure you'll be alright, Draco? You're welcome to stay here, you know."
Draco had been summoned to the headmaster's office for a second time.
"I'll be fine, sir. Please don't worry about me."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Okay. But remember, you'll always have a home here at Hogwarts."
"I'm sure I will. Thank you, sir." Ever polite.
"....Alright, then. You may go. I wouldn't wish you to miss the train..."
"Thank you, sir. I'll see you next term."
**
Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express, not ready, but willing to face Christmas vacation at home.
Yay, the second chapter. Took me long enough, but yeah, with school, work, Christmas shopping, I haven't been writing much. Maybe the third chapter won't take so long, but then again, maybe it will.
mugon no namida kurushimi fukaku taekirezu ni hana wa chiru yuku watashi wa hitori
Draco sat in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express, alone. He had told Crabbe and Goyle he needed to be by himself, and for once they had understood and let him be. It might have been the perfect expressionlessness of his face, hinting of a deeper pain that outward emotion could not convey. Whatever it was, Draco was grateful for the space. He could not deal with other people at the moment. It was taking all of his strength, all of his reserves of endurance to just present a façade of normality. He could not let anyone see the depths of his bottomless grief, so deep and painful he teetered on the edge of sanity itself. It would soil her memory if he let anyone peer into his soul, poking and prodding and trying to 'make things better'. He would not be made better. She would not be brought back. And yet he would still go on.
His composure was shattered a little as the door to the compartment opened. He quickly got control of himself again, and focused on who was invading his solitary mourning.
Exactly who he did not need to see at the moment.
"Malfoy." sneered Ron. "Where are your little cronies? Have they abandoned you?"
Draco felt himself begin to crack.
"Please leave, now." he replied softly, gently.
'Oh? And how are you going to make us, without your henchmen to do the dirty--" he was interrupted as Draco smoothly got up and shut the compartment door again. He stood there, leaning against it, head on arm, until he heard receding footsteps, one set more reluctant than the other. He never thought he'd be grateful to Harry Potter before.
And he slid down until he was crumpled on the floor, and did not cry.
Walking through the Hogwarts corridors, barely noticing the crowds of people surging around him, pushing, shoving, shouting, happy to be back, he held his head high in the Malfoy tradition and tried not to come in contact with any of them. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to politely brush the person off.
"Will you come to my office, please, Draco?" asked Dumbledore, concern and pity showing in his eyes. Draco knew why, and did not wish to go, did not want to face it.
Mutely he nodded, and followed the headmaster.
"I have heard about what happened over summer, and I am deeply sorry for your loss." Dumbledore watched Draco with compassion in his expression. "It was a heart attack, I heard from your father?" He phrased it as a question, almost as if he did not trust Lucius's account.
"Yes, it was a heart attack." Draco confirmed, letting nothing show in his eyes, as the memory rose against his will. His mother, his dear, sweet mother, his only source of comfort and love in his life. His only salvation, strung from the ceiling in her room with a scarf, a beautiful scarf that Lucius had given her. His beautiful mother, not remotely beautiful anymore, with her eyes bulging from their sockets, swollen tongue, discoloured face. His father, coldly cutting her down, stating that she died from natural causes. A heart attack seemed appropriate, considering her frail constitution.
Dumbledore paused a moment, studying Draco's expressionless face.
"Draco... if you wish to talk about anything, anything at all, you can come to me at anytime. I hope you know this. Anything you say will of course be kept private unless you wish it otherwise..."
Draco nodded civilly. "Thank you, Headmaster. I will remember this."
Dumbledore hesitated a moment longer, then sighed. "Please do. I am really not an ogre. In the meantime, if you start feeling depressed, Madame Pomfrey always has a supply of chocolate on hand."
"Thank you, sir. May I go?"
"You may go."
Draco stood, and left the office.
"Oh, Draco! I'm so sorry to hear about your mother!" exclaimed Pansy the moment Draco sat down at the Slytherin table. This set off a round of condolences through the length of the table, each one more empty than the next. Of course no-one really cared; however, it would be in bad form not to at least pretend. And so Draco acknowledged them, knowing they weren't meant, knowing he didn't care, only going through the motions so dear to the well-bred. For if he left off the motions, what would be left of him? He was merely a wind-up toy as it was, stripped of emotion in one instant as he saw his mother dead. If he stopped performing what was expected of him, he might merely cease to exist. He would be a cast-off shell, a shell of a human being. An empty shell.
**
"Did you hear about Malfoy's mother?"
"What? She /died/?"
"Heart attack, I heard."
"Heart attack? What, did her husband catch her without makeup on or something?"
"I bet it wasn't a heart attack. I bet it had something to do with.... "
"Don't say it! You know all that stuff last year wasn't really for real.... You-Know-Who can't /really/ be coming back, Dumbledore would crush him!"
"...Yeah...."
The news spread like wildfire throughout Hogwarts, the death of the wife of someone with as much influence and power as Lucius Malfoy being a hot subject of gossip and rumour, suspicions and theories, fear and debate. For, after all, there hadn't been any warning. People remembered the year Cedric had died, remembered that Lucius most likely had connections with Voldemort, and slept a little bit more uneasily in their beds thinking of death, destruction, terror. No matter how much they reassured themselves, Voldemort had planted that little seed of doubt with the death of Cedric Diggory.
Draco heeded none of this. It being his mother that had died, and he and his father alone who knew the true nature of her death, he ignored the rumours and concentrated on winding his spring every day so he could make it through. Occasionally the soul-crushing grief that his mind had locked away in self-defense threatened to surface again, and it took all his self-control to squash it and save his sanity. Imagining himself as a wind-up toy seemed the best defense, and so he went through his days mechanically, not thinking, not feeling, not hoping.
And he made it through.
saa watashi wo okashite ki ga sumu made papa no mono yo
Christmas Break came.
And with the coming of Christmas vacation came the breaking of Draco's soul.
Draco stared vacantly down at the sheet of parchment held in his hand, not seeing the words written on it anymore, lost in his own memories.
"Draco? Is anything wrong?" Pansy again, seeming little concerned.
"Oh, no. Just wool-gathering for a moment there.... I'll be going home for Christmas."
"Oh, good. It would be awfully depressing to stay here, what with everyone else leaving."
Draco nodded, forcing a smile, telling himself not to dwell on the future.
Not to dwell on the future.... at home, with his father, without his mother to keep him sane, to keep him from ever feeling the absolute worst. With his mother there, he always had that one ray of happiness, no matter how slim or how few his chances to be with her alone were. He always had something to live for.
But now.
He couldn't dwell on it. He had to be strong, had to endure for the sake of his mother watching him from above (above, in the sky, not above, strung from the ceiling). He had to endure. He didn't want Narcissa to be disappointed in him.
"You're sure you'll be alright, Draco? You're welcome to stay here, you know."
Draco had been summoned to the headmaster's office for a second time.
"I'll be fine, sir. Please don't worry about me."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Okay. But remember, you'll always have a home here at Hogwarts."
"I'm sure I will. Thank you, sir." Ever polite.
"....Alright, then. You may go. I wouldn't wish you to miss the train..."
"Thank you, sir. I'll see you next term."
**
Draco boarded the Hogwarts Express, not ready, but willing to face Christmas vacation at home.
Yay, the second chapter. Took me long enough, but yeah, with school, work, Christmas shopping, I haven't been writing much. Maybe the third chapter won't take so long, but then again, maybe it will.