He looks as good as I can possibly make him look when the Aurors come. He has schooled himself into an icy, aloof composure that almost reminds me of the man he once was. He is still that man, somewhere deep inside.
He doesn't speak very much, neither to me nor to the Aurors. His behavior stings my pride a bit, but I deserve it. I never should have yelled at him like that. For Merlin's sake, he was in Azkaban for almost two years! Lesser men have gone insane in two days. There are demons in his mind, demons that can produce the negative pain he spoke of. I suppose I always knew; I'd seen both agony and fury in his eyes one night when I went to the loo and found him shivering and drenched in a cold sweat. But at that time I had been as fooled as everyone else by the illusion of Malfoy perfection. I had merely thought him ill, and nothing more.
Still, it hurts when I realize that he is not going to say goodbye. My jaw clenches, and I fight a barrage of emotions – fear, grief, anger, indignance – all vying for dominance in my mind. Two Aurors escort him out the front door, and I close my eyes against the tears that threaten to spill.
But I do not hear the door click shut. I open my eyes, glancing about in confusion. There is still one Auror standing by the door, looking at me expectantly.
"Well?" he snaps.
"Well what?" I almost snarl back.
"Are you coming, boy?"
"Coming…?"
"To the airport," he says slowly, rolling his eyes.
* * * * * *
The airport is a thousand times worse than King's Cross. It's huge, with high ceilings that make me feel as if I'm inside some domed, boxed-in world. There are people everywhere, all rushing about like crazed hippogriffs. Some are shouting into their cellular phones, others pushing their way through the crowd, and more still staggering under the weight of too much baggage. It's absolute chaos. I hate it instantly.
"So," the obnoxious Auror says, slapping my father viciously on the back, "where to, Malfoy?"
My father's lips purse slightly and his nostrils flare – two small but definite signs that he is becoming angry.
"Lourdes," he says, not looking at the Auror.
"I don't think so," the supercilious Auror says. "Too close to Beauxbatons."
"Bordeaux, then."
The Auror snorts.
"So you can sit on your arse and sip wine all day? I don't think so, Malfoy. This isn't a vacation. It's exile, you daft fool."
I can't stand this man's condescending treatment of my father.
"Your job is to escort him to the flight to the city of his choice," I speak up coldly. "You have no right to rule out any of his destinations. Nor do you have any place insulting him."
The Auror completely ignores me.
"As a matter of fact, I'd say all of Western Europe is off limits, wouldn't you, boys?" he says smugly. The other two Aurors agree, just as smugly.
My fists clench in anger, and I am about to say something more when my father raises his hand slightly. I know that gesture well. It means I should hold my tongue. I bite my bottom lip furiously. I would hex these bastards into next week if I could.
When my father speaks again, he says something none of us ever expected.
"Alaska."
"What?" I blurt.
The Auror gives him a crooked look and then shrugs.
"It's your funeral, Malfoy."
I am still staring at my father, dumbfounded, when the lead Auror dispatches the other two to find a flight to Alaska. Alaska, of all places! He might as well have chosen Siberia!
The Auror looks down his nose at us.
"You can have some private time, if you wish," he says. "But remember, I'll be watching you, so don't get any ideas."
I give him another dirty look and then take my father by the elbow and lead him towards a sitting area.
"What are you thinking, Father? Alaska?!"
He simply gives a little shrug.
"I've seen pictures. I always wanted to visit."
"You hate the cold! You'll freeze!"
"Winter isn't for another few months."
"Father, can't you go somewhere where you have the faintest clue how the people live?"
"They won't let me stay in Europe."
"America, then!"
"Alaska is part of America."
I growl in frustration.
"I've made up my mind, Draco. And just because I go to Alaska doesn't mean I have to stay there."
I sigh, dropping my head into my hands. He's right, but I can't shake the feeling that he's chosen the place that will kill him the fastest.
"Promise me you won't just…go there and let yourself waste away."
"What does it matter to you, Draco?" he says, standing abruptly. "I'm not your father anyway."
And with that, he walks back towards the Auror. I can only watch his retreating figure and wish that I had never lost my temper.
* * * * * *
"It's time to go, Malfoy."
I watch as my father nods curtly and stands. The Aurors hand him his bag; it is no larger than a knapsack and contains only a few pairs of muggle clothing and enough American currency to get him on his feet in his new life. He slings it over his shoulders and accepts his ticket from the smug Auror.
The public address system crackles.
"Air Alaska Flight 92, to Juneau, Alaska, now boarding rows 21 through 40."
Nine two. My birthday again. I frown and whip around to look at the giant electronic board that displays flight numbers, destinations, and statuses. Lourdes, France. Bordeaux, France. Juneau, Alaska. All three are flight number 92 for their respective airlines.
A tremendous lump rises in my throat. He didn't choose Alaska to let it kill him. He chose it because it had my birthday attached to it. I turn back to him, hurting more than I have ever hurt in my entire life.
"I let you guide me, Draco," he says softly. His eyes are bright and glassy, and he holds his head high. "I love you."
He turns away and moves toward the desk where the attendant will check his ticket. Tears spill down my face. Even after I said such horrible things to him…even after I hurt him…he still trusts me and loves me.
The woman checks his ticket, and before he walks through the door, he turns back. He smiles at me sadly and mouths,
"Au revoir, mon fils."
Something snaps within my mind, and everything spins out of control. I feel my hand slip into my pocket to grasp my wand, and I hear my voice say,
"Au revoir, mon pere."
And then, close on its heels, comes another utterance.
"Avada Kedavra!"
