Hey guys, I'm so horrible, I know. Bad Cindy. Things have been more then crazy in my life, that's the only excuse I can give you. To make up for my absence, I have 5 whole pages for you! Yay!
Thanks for the reviews, I honestly don't have time to go through you all individually. Hopefully you aren't offended.
Basically I've decided to make a "rule" that if you want more story, I need reviews. Tell me what you don't like and what you like. Come on, I know you want to. Without further ado, here is chapter 13.
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Chapter 13: Returning Home and Accepting Destiny
The more Draco thought about Ginny's farewell comment, the more it bothered him. He thought about it as he finished packing and all when carrying his trunk down the stairs. What she said was knawing at him like a rat nibbling at a fraying piece of rope. There was no good in him! How could such a seemingly intelligent girl say something so blantantly wrong?
How could she think he was good? After tormenting Ginny all these months, using mind games on her, finally sleeping with her and then kicking her out with no promise of a future—Draco was far from the proverbial "good." Shaking his head, Draco muttered "Motor Trunk" and watched as his trunk rose gracefully off the ground. Now it was over and he wouldn't have to think about Ginny Weasley again Draco grinned as he headed for Dumbledore's office, per his instruction.
The raging fire within him, pushing Draco to obtain her, was finally quenched. No more staring at her from across the Great Hall; no more sleepless nights with images of the redheaded girl prancing through his mind. Yes, life would be much simpler without her occupying his every thought.
Before the promise of a life free of the Weasley could sink in, Draco found himself in front of Dumbledore's eery stone protector. "Gummy bears," Draco muttered, glad no one was around to hear him say such a juvenile password. "Stupid old coot," Draco added vehemently under his breath as he allowed the newly appeared stairs to take him spiraling upward.
Uncharacteristically, the professor's doors were opened, and Draco hesitated before entering, gliding his trunk in behind him. Dumbledore was at his cluttered desk, stroking his beard in obvious contemplation while a man sat in a chair before him, his silvery hair cascading over the back of the chair like a waterfall of snowy fabric.
"Ah, Draco," the old headmaster said, pushing his half-moon spectacles up his crooked nose and rising to his feet.
Draco looked around, for some reason he felt like there were hundreds of eyes peeking at him. But there was no one.
The other man stood and turned to face him. "Professor. Father," Draco nodded with cringing courtesy and setting his trunk on the floor.
"I was just telling the Headmaster, Draco, that two weeks for merely acting under provocation is hardly just and that the Ministry, I'm sure, would be quite interested in learning of his cruel new wave of punishment," Lucius Malfoy said, swooping to the side of his son, holding his serpent staff tightly, as if restraining himself from using it on the frail man before him.
"Lucius, I'm sure the board will understand when they see the injuries Harry Potter sustained," Dumbledore answered calmly, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly.
"Can Draco help it if he is a better dueler? It is certainly no reason punish him. He was only reacting to that damned Harry Potter and his taunting. Draco has a name to uphold and…"
"Draco confessed to starting the fight, Lucius," the wizard interrupted, his visage of serenity starting to flicker.
Lucius' gaze shot down at his son. Draco hated how his father could make him feel so small, weak, and guilty all at the same time, with one of his perfected disapproving looks. Without warning, Lucius wolloped Draco soundly on the back of his head with the snake adorned staff. Draco's hand shot up swiftly in instinct, covering the nape of his, now sticky, neck from another one of Lucius' blows.
"Lucius," Dumbledore said sharply, voice elevated as he stepped forward and grasped the end of Lucius' raised staff. "There is no reason for violence. Your son honorably told the truth!"
Lucius locked eyes with the Headmaster and gritted his teeth. "Don't tell me how to handle my son old man," he threatened, bits of siliva shooting out of his perced mouth and strands of hair tumbling over his shoulders as he leant in to leer at Dumbledore.
For a second, Draco almost thought his father would strike the old man for having restrained him. The fact of the matter was that Draco wouldn't have mided much, at least his father's aggressions would be handed to someone else. It was incredible, Draco thought, it hadn't even been 5 minutes and already, blood had been spilt. Welcome to the Malfoys.
Lucius' face suddenly went loose and a look of forced placedness washed over him as if he had suddenly slipped into a peaceful coma. Draco could almost hear Lucius' mind telling him to conduct himself with calm, it was the same type of voice that spoke to Draco. All Malfoy's had one, Draco supposed.
"Come Draco, I'll see to your trunk," Lucius said with a sneer, grasping Draco by the back of his collar and pushing him towards the fireplace. Lucius pulled out a handful of glittering green sand and threw it into the hearth, gesturing for Draco to step in.
"Malfoy Manor," Draco muttered, rubbing the back of his head after giving Dumbledore's office another look. Instantly, his body was sent speeding into the floo network, back to a world where the title 'Lord Voldemort' was reveered, death eaters were treated like kings, and the name 'Weasley' was forbidden from utterance.
The spinning suddenly stopped. He had arrived. Draco stepped out of the giant hearth, without ducking, and found himself in the Malfoy entryway. The room was cavernous and lavish, with vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers casting rainbow patterns on the green and silver draped walls, intensifying the grandeur of the expanse.
A house-elf scurried down one of the marble stairways with an armfull of soiled clothes, tripping on one of the steps as he noticed the youngest master for the first time. The bundle of clothes flew out of his bandaged hands as he tumbled like a snowball rolling down a hill from momentum. Finally the elf landed with a thud at the bottom of the staircase and immediately jumped to his feet, piling the garments in his stick-like arms again.
"Be careful!" Draco snapped, stepping forward to aim a kick at the ugly creature's head.
"Thim-… That is…Harry is sorry, young master," the elf squeeked, closing its eyes and drooping its ears like a dog that was just swat on the nose.
Draco suddenly smirked to himself after hearing the small elf's quivering voice. He had almost forgotten! Even though the elf said his name was Thimble, Draco had changed it to Harry. This particular elf was the ugliest one Draco had ever seen and it only seemed fitting to match it with the most hideous name Draco could conjur. When the elf learned he was named after the famous Harry Potter, his orbbed eyes filled with threatening tears and he hiccoughed in gratitude. After Draco dealt him a beating or two though, the elf had learned to hate the name, just like his master did.
Lowering his foot, Draco unhooked his soot-covered cloak and dropped in on the floor infront of the house-elf. "Clean that and bring it to my room," Draco ordered.
"M-mistress says to b-bring young Malfoy to her chamber when he arrives, sir," the house-elf said hesitantly, looking at the towering figure in front of him, hand drawn over his irregular-shaped skull protectively.
"You useless piece of filth, why didn't you tell me at once?" Draco roared suddenly, clenching his fists threateningly and not allowing the small creature to respond. "I've got half a mind to beat your wreched face in!" With that Draco stomped up the perfectly polished stairs, leaving ash and soot with every step.
Draco rubbed his temples as he climbed the never-ending staircase. "Sometimes house elves are more trouble then they're worth," he muttered angrily under his breath. "Ginny is lucky she doesn't have to…" Draco cut himself off, and whipped his around, half expecting his father to be their ready to punish him for uttering her name in the manor. What was SHE doing in his mind?! He had re-entered a world where the Weasleys were not a topic of discussion. Draco had thought, or hoped rather, that crossing the threshold back into the dark world would automatically end all ties he had established with the youngest Weasley at Hogwarts.
Straightening his collar, Draco gritted his teeth and approached the door to his mother's private bedroom. There was no question about it, Ginny had no right to be in his thoughts. Draco would not allow his mind to wander there. Their previous night together was dangerous enough, but thinking about her, dwelling on such a disrespected wizarding family member—it was fatal.
Raising a pale hand, Draco knocked on the beveled, cherry-wood door.
"Come in," a sickeningly sweet voice rang out like a small bird, chiming the hour.
Pushing the large door open, Draco stepped into the room positively glowing from the combined light the dozen candles. Immediately Draco was overwhelmed by the intense scent of lavender coming from the floating lights.
"Oh Draco honey!" A woman's airy voice called from one of the lounge chairs apolstered with fine gold material.
Draco's eyes fell on the elegant woman sprawled in the chaise as delicate as a feather. Her silver hair lay calmly over one shoulder, but covered little of her thin white dressing gown. Wide child-like blue eyes smiled at Draco as if she had just been presented with a new toy and found it utterly curious. Observing her, Draco thought she looked very much like a spring white lily, opening to greet the sun for the first time after many seasons of staying closed.
"You're finally home my son," the flower spoke, rising from her bed of comfort and gliding over to place slender arms around her son's neck.
Draco felt his mother's hand slide over the base of his neck and, reactively, the woman tensed in his arms.
"Wh-what is this Draco?" Narcissa Malfoy asked, withdrawing her arms and inspecting her reddened fingers.
"A welcome home present," Draco grunted, surprised the woman even asked. She did not reply, but silently walked to the wash basin on her nightstand and cleaned her dirtied hands.
"Your father told me about that nasty fight you had with Harry Potter," Narcissa said, staring at the basin as if it would speak at any moment.
"Did he?" Draco said, not really expecting a response.
"I don't blame you," Narcissa said suddenly, after several minutes of silent contemplation, "for fighting with that boy. I know it was not your fault." She placed the towel she had been using to dry her manicured hands on the nightstand and turned to face her only son. Narcissa's well-featured face was tight and strong as she said, "his kind do not understand our kind. We're practically another race, a superior race. We should not mix with the likes of him. He doesn't understand our kind," she said again with an even, reassured tone, as if she were reciting a prominent Shakespearean monologue.
Draco's steely eyes searched his mother's puerile face. "You're right mother, we shouldn't mix with his kind," he said finally, before turning and walking towards the door. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to unpack and get as settled as I can, before…" Draco trailed off.
"Of course darling," Narcissa said, snapping back into her gentile, well bred, sickening tone. "You had better get ready for this evening."
Draco nodded and turned to leave once more.
"Draco?" Narcissa called before he could escape. Draco turned and stared intently at his mother, waiting. "Happy birthday son."
Without a word, Draco disappeared out his mother's chambers and walked the familiar path to his own room.