Part Four of Five
To the Child-
There is one thing of utmost importance that you must know before you go on: be warned that I am not one to give in to emotions at any given notice. I, as any other Malfoy, pride myself on control. Do not think that I am not one for laughter or passion or hate, for I certainly am and it's gotten me into quite a lot of trouble. History can attest to that. The truth is that from a young age I was taught the value of holding oneself back until the appropriate time and I have mastered it.
However, I feel this is the appropriate time.
There is a battle coming in a few short hours. Not many know of it, but that's the beauty of a surprise attack. We catch the enemy unaware and that small advantage can be all it takes to win the battle. To win the war.
I'd like to tell you that you'd be proud of me, but seeing as you'll most likely be raised by the Great Scarhead, Harry Potter, you'll then most likely designate me as the enemy. That suits the situation just fine. It's not as if I didn't try the other side for a short while. It just didn't satisfy, is all.
Well, it's not all and there's much more to say on the subject, but I'll get to it in due time.
I do mean it, though, you being raised by Potter (gods help you). The Dark Lord is quite intent on winning and I am not foolish enough to tell him that he'll likely be on the dead end of the wand, sooner rather than later. Maybe even tonight. But, no, I wouldn't say it if I had the chance. I may be impetuous at times, but I'm not an idiot.
I wonder if you'll be like me in any way. Perhaps it's best not to think of that yet.
I should introduce myself: Draco Malfoy, son of Lucius Malfoy and his wife, Narcissa. There's little hope you'll get a normal name in the end (Your mother's name is really Ginevra, did you know? Ginevra.), but don't blame me if people snigger behind your back your entire life. I've paid my dues and you must pay yours.
My Father is a great man; he works as the right hand man of the Dark Lord and makes all the appropriate advances for the intent of getting Muggles out of our hair. My mother, Narcissa, is a supporter as well and her efforts include hosting parties and trying to marry me off. Needless to say, you'd probably hate the thought of both of them. Feel free to do so; sometimes I do.
At this moment in time, I have less than two months left before I leave the halls of the dreaded Hogwarts. I really wish Mother had let me go to Durmstrang after all; I could have avoided all of this messy business. Then again, had I gone I would have avoided all this messy business and one can't change what one has experienced and I wouldn't be who I am. So I best not whine. I've been informed it's useless, anyhow. Besides, this letter and its recipient would be nonexistent if I'd gone to Durmstrang, so it's in your best interest not to use a Time Turner and make this all better for my sake.
…
I've tired of my attempt to be amusing. In all honesty, I simply don't want my mind on what is coming very soon on these very grounds. Lives are going to end tonight and I am unable to find any justification for going such lengths in order to keep our bloodlines pure. Surely it can be done without as much bloodshed, both pure and not. (Damn this growing conscience; it feels a meter short and a minute late.)
You'll be a pureblood; Malfoy and Weasley are as pure as you can get in Britain without entangling yourself with inbreeds by the names of Parkinson, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle. The situation was assisted by the animosity between the two families; needless to say, your conception would come as a surprise to many. So, yes, you're a pureblood. I've accomplished this much with my life.
Your mother is a beautiful girl and I've no doubt she will be a beautiful woman. I will not stand the stars in yours eyes that dream that I loved her. I did not. I liked her, for she was a nice distraction from the war of our age and amused me at times. I know she did not love me either, but one does not need to be that far gone to be hurt by another. And I hurt her very badly.
I suppose I should just say why.
There was a battle. Not the one that is coming tonight, but rather just under three months ago. In it, Dumbledore died. You've heard of him by now, no doubt, so there's no reason to go into the circumstances of the combat. Up until that time, I'd grown tired of my father's agendas and the Dark Lord's continuous failed attempts to topple Potter. I'd thought to myself that I'd rather be on the winning side and it didn't take a wizard of irrefutable grade to see that Potter's side was stronger. For one, they're more loyal than Death Eaters. Those twits in hoods are more likely to turn our wands on each other in anger than those of the Order of the Phoenix. Hell, they do it when they're excited and can't find another way of entertaining themselves.
While the Dark Lord's side is assisted forward by the relentlessness of those among it, they are hindered by the squabbles between the ranks, the pursuit of power and the smell of fresh blood.
Regardless to say, I grew tired of it. I decided to see what else there was.
Snape helped me convince Dumbledore enough to let me into the edges of the Order. The headmaster didn't trust me one bit, of course, and he had no reason to. In fact, I esteem him a small amount for being that shrewd. He allowed me entrance to a few gatherings within the castle walls and therein I came across your mother. It was at those meetings that I stood at the end of her wand and I'm not ashamed to admit that her magical power is astounding. I constantly found myself resorting to my most Slytherin of measures to win a practice duel. Her capability even against those did not escape my attention or anyone else's.
Potter was already staring at her with those damn obvious eyes of his and I knew that he was contemplating an approach of his own. It was only natural that I would compete. We always have and I've constantly come out on the losing side. This I wanted to win so much, I felt as if victory was already mine.
To woo your mother is one of the most difficult things any man can set out to accomplish. She's a prickly little thing (are you surprised?) and there are several walls one must go through and obstacles one must go around before she loses that sharp tongue of hers. To this day, I have no idea how I convinced her to at least give me a chance. Her brother was livid, Potter wounded and I was pleased. Very pleased.
She certainly didn't like that I stood by – and continue to stand by – my beliefs on the wretchedness of mudbloods and half-breeds. But she did take into account that I didn't want to go around killing people for the hell of it, so she gave me a chance to see things her way. A clandestine Hogsmeade visit, some handholding and a good bit of snogging in unseen places later, we were a semi-solid pair. Not many knew and we preferred it that way. I was beginning to actually like her for her and I know she felt the same despite our differences. But then Dumbledore died.
Your mother went to that battle, do you know? She and Potter and Granger and a whole mess of Weasleys. I stayed behind because I didn't know of it; had I known, I would have probably still refrained. I was still in that in between spot of wanting victory but not sure I wanted it with the Order. If I'd been there, I daresay I would have stood in the middle watching each side until I felt one was gaining ground and then gone over with them.
I will never deny I'm of a selfish breed, never ending in my pursuit of pure satisfaction. Nothing ever satisfies, it seems. I thought for a time that your mother would. She came close, but it wasn't enough.
That night I sat alone in my quarters after hearing the news of Dumbledore's passing. There was weeping in the other houses to be sure, but most of Slytherin was quietly celebrating. It would not do well for the festivities to be heard. Dumbledore stood for many things that we as a whole hate, so that reaction was predictable. What was not predictable was my desire to stay away from it.
What was not predictable was your mother owling me in the middle of the night, asking me to let her into my room. I've never known what to do with crying women, but I imagine she had to get away from everyone else who was with the Order that night; she never gave me an explanation. I did attempt to control myself, but she was looking for as much comfort as I was though I wouldn't have named it such at the time. That was the only night we were ever together and that's all it took for you to become.
That night I stared at my ceiling as she slept and I knew I wanted to do the right thing. But, Merlin help me, I don't know what that is. All I've ever known, been taught, is to seek out power where I can get it and use it; it's not about good or bad, wrong or right. It's about me and what I want. It's about control. That's all I know. I like it that way.
Do you understand?
Shite, I don't even understand.
The Order was not the life for me; I realized that truth during the night. What they were searching after I simply can't draw up from myself. I like power, I like having it over others and damned if I was going to give that up for them. If the only place I could find it was by joining the Dark Lord, so be it. If that side loses, well, I would have felt lost with the Order anyway.
All this came to me while I your mother slept beside me. While you began to form inside of her without my knowledge.
I don't even know how to say I'm sorry. To you or her. Is there even anything to apologize for? All I've done is to follow through on my own nature. She should have been wise to that fact from the beginning.
Our relationship ended the following morning, amidst your mother's accusations and my decided indifference. She assumed at first I was in it to pull one over her, to get a good shag out of it. I didn't contradict her. What else could I do, tell her what was going through my mind? Even now I don't know how to completely explain it. Besides, it's not as if she had – or has – a right to know.
She spent a lot of time with Potter after that and the few who knew we'd been together assumed she chucked me for him. I let them think it because by then I wanted to be as far from them as I could be. My time in the Order became regarded as a foolish phase to sort myself out and I carried it on in other ways, with other people.
It became quiet. Though I expected a good hexing between the eyes as soon as I blinked, your mother never raised a wand at me. I moved on. She moved on. After a while, I thought nothing of it even though I knew Potter was simply biding his time to move in on her. Merlin knows I was as shocked as the rest of them yesterday when she disrobed in the Great Hall and showed you off, in an addition to the ring on her finger.
Saint Potter. There's no way in hell he's laid a hand on her by now. Even if Snape hadn't confessed, I would have had no doubt that you were my child. Besides, it's just like Scarhead to act all noble and marry the girl who got herself mixed up with a confirmed Death Eater.
Yes, I am. That's the last I'll write of that.
A part of me thinks she understands my decision now. There was something about the way she looked at me when I walked into Snape's classroom this afternoon, something that told me she knew exactly what was trying to make itself known in my mind before I knew it myself. She's an intuitive woman. I'll miss that much about her.
It is time to get to the point of this whole letter writing business. The time is coming near for my march with the other men. Little do they know that I have no intention of fighting for them, none at all. It's an inconvenient time to have finally found a purpose, yet here it is. You see, there's a very small pureblood out there, the smallest and purest of purebloods and I have every intention of letting it see the light of day.
You. You will live. I probably will not.
Because Potter will win tonight, of this I have no doubt. And I simply cannot live in such a world. I don't wish to see my fellow men fall for insufficient reasons and then watch my child raised by someone else. Particularly Scarhead.
There are other reasons, of course. Some are much more substantial than the ones I just gave you. But maybe I'm just tired.
I think that's it. I'm tired. This is too much of a life lived by 18. Too many people have died for reasons I have yet to comprehend. Maybe I don't want to. I fear I'll be a much smaller person for it; I'm not willing to experience that for the sake of knowledge. Ask Granger if you're really all that curious, but for Merlin's sake don't tell her I told you to.
Perhaps your life has been less eventful. I hope it is. If it is not, then I hope you are stronger than I ever was. Perhaps being half Weasley will help you there. They're a stubborn lot. I don't even want to think what will come of you being raised as a Potter.
This is my hello, child. It is also my farewell. I intend to have it reach you on your 20th birthday, as that is the day all Malfoy's receive their full inheritance. If Snape makes it, as I hope he does, he'll know enough to give it to you then. There may not be much in Gringott's 20 years from now but whatever there is, it is yours.
That's all I needed to say; it may not be a great imparted wisdom, but perhaps it'll give you some direction. You're half Malfoy and that is justification enough for me to at least try. I wish you well and much better luck than I ever had.
-From the Father
Draco Malfoy
P.S. I've changed my mind. An intricate name will do you some good during your lifetime. One can only hope that Snape will dupe Potter enough to give it to you. If not, at least you know what I would have given you if I'd truly had the chance.
Goodbye, Bronwen.
A/N: Sorry for the wait between chapters; standard disclaimers remain. Any reviews and construcitve criticism are welcome.