Chapter 9: Cypress and Phoenix
Draco decided not to wait until the last minute to deal with his wand. Half of him wondered if Ollivander had just forgotten to write, since surely it didn't take this long to diagnose why a wand no longer wanted to work.
Friday came with bustle in Diagon Alley, but Draco also noticed a certain draw of attention for himself. The pitying variety had thankfully dried up. Now that all Dagmar's immediate friends and family had been informed of her return, that she was alive had also hit the Prophet. They had to rescind their obituary from December. What concerned Draco was the inability to keep a cap on the fact that Voldemort had possessed her—and still continued to. The Ministry hadn't explicitly confirmed it, but rumours were sufficient to everyone's understanding at this point. There were a lot of 'reliable sources' at Hogwarts that had been there during the siege.
Draco feigned disinterest in the hopes that everyone around him might follow suit. So long as they didn't try to ask him anything, they could stare all they liked. Surely they wondered not only about Dagmar, but him too. Among the rumours flying around in whispers through Diagon Alley (and rags like Witch Weekly) was the knowledge that Draco, Luca, and Potter had been cornered by Voldemort down in the Chamber of Secrets. Nobody could decide on who saved whose life, which amused Draco. The only concrete information from the Ministry had been that Draco's father, Hildegard, and Snape had turned the tide against the Death Eaters in the Great Hall before tipping the scales in the Chamber.
Luca's name caught Draco's eye. It was typed large on whatever special edition Witch Weekly had released, the magazine wondering What did You-Know-Who want with Luca Parasca? Witch Weekly Speculates Inside.
They even managed a photo. It was taken in Hogwarts' library. Luca was bent over a table working on something, his left hand in his hair. Draco looked away out of respect. It angered him that some student had clearly snuck up on him to take it, violating his privacy for a couple of sickles.
Ollivander's shop was thankfully empty. The quiet almost hurt Draco's ears. He hadn't realized just how loud the rabble was in the street. Draco appreciated a moment just to relax while he waited for Ollivander to find him in the shopfront. He nodded at him when he emerged from the back.
"Ah, Mr Malfoy," Ollivander greeted him in his usual mysterious way. "I daresay you've come in regards to your wand."
"I have." Draco approached the counter. "I don't mean to rush you on it, but Sunday is fast-approaching."
"Not a worry. I don't believe one more day of inspections would've told me anything I haven't already found. I'm sorry to tell you this, but your wand is dead."
Draco blinked. "I didn't know wands can die."
"On rare occasion." Ollivander looked about as grim as Draco imagined he might be if he broke the news about a person instead. "Very rare occasion. I imagine that were I to open your wand and expose the core, all I would find of the unicorn hair is ash. You must have noticed that the hawthorn is shredded, even if it attempted to self-heal."
"Yeah." A sentimental type of anxiety bubbled up in Draco's chest. That had been his first wand. "What would you suggest I do, then? I don't suppose there's much to do other than buy a new one."
"That would be my recommendation, yes."
Draco had brought money for it, just in case, but he'd hoped to spend that toward a repair instead. He sighed. "All right."
"Come to the back, and we'll get started."
While measuring tapes assaulted Draco, Ollivander left him to fetch the first stack of wands intent for him to try.
"There are many stories circulating about you in Diagon Alley," Ollivander spoke upon return. "Normally I wouldn't pay any attention to such things, but I attempted to hear some sort of inkling as to what might have triggered such grievous injury in your wand."
Because it was Ollivander, Draco merely hesitated rather than shut him down or feign ignorance. "I'll tell you if it stays between us."
Ollivander gave him a look, practically offended that Draco inferred he might contribute to the rumour mill outside.
Draco lowered his voice anyway, in case the walls had ears. "I deflected a Killing Curse from Voldemort."
He had to avert his gaze from the intensity of Ollivander's wide eyes. "What were the circumstances surrounding that?"
Draco exhaled long. He hadn't really thought about what happened down in the Chamber, since he couldn't pinpoint another moment in his life when he'd been so terrified. He tried out a few different wands that Ollivander handed him while he gathered his thoughts.
"There was a smell," he finally said. "It started after Voldemort entered the room that Potter, Luca, and I were hiding in. I know it was my wand for sure. It was dripping something almost like shoe polish. It smelled like rotting flesh. Death."
"Hm."
"Potter and Luca said it happened to theirs too," Draco kept on. "We all have hawthorn wands. Well—had, I guess, if mine is toast. I know Luca's core was dragon heartstring, courtesy of Gregorovitch. We noticed not long after we first met that we had the same wood, so we were comparing. Potter has thestral tail hair core, he said?" Draco looked at Ollivander to see him nodding in a mindless sort of way. His brow was furrowed. Even though he busied himself sifting, he was listening hard. "Voldemort meant to kill Potter. I stood between them. Voldemort warned me he'd go through me to get to him, then. . .he tried. And I deflected it."
"Did you do anything special?"
"No. A Shield Charm, just out of reflex."
"Curious. Anything else you can tell me?"
Draco ran his bottom lip through his teeth, thinking where the limit was on what he could or should say. This was Ollivander he spoke to, though. Not a gossip rag. "You've perhaps heard Voldemort was possessing a former student from Hogwarts, as well as that my fiancée came home. It's one in the same. So Voldemort cast the curse through her. He was also wearing this black armour. Dagmar told me it was a death golem."
"Hm."
Ollivander left it at that as he and Draco carried on trying to find a suitable wand. Draco didn't say much, for he could see that Ollivander was in overdrive. He caught snippets of mumbling, "A real death golem?. . .bolstered by the thestral, perhaps. . .sacrificial. . .the unicorn would gracefully abide. . ."
He left the back room. Draco heard him rifling around before he returned with a single wand box. "Try this one. Cypress and phoenix feather core."
Draco was hardly surprised that magical warmth spread up his right arm as soon as he took it. He didn't need to produce a wash of sparks with a quick flick of the wrist for Ollivander to see that he'd made a correct guess.
"Cypress always tends well with those who are self-sacrificing. That goes double if one is willing to die a hero's death." Ollivander organized some of the boxes they'd already gone through. "It's little stretch of the imagination that it would latch onto a wizard who's already been through such an ordeal. As for phoenix feather, well. Phoenixes have a mercurial relationship with death to begin with, do they not? Add on that the wand you deflected it from also had a phoenix feather core, and it's an obvious fit for you, Mr Malfoy."
Draco studied the light wood. "I suppose."
"Would you prefer to take your old wand as well?" Ollivander asked. "It deserves a proper disposal, if you should dispose of it at all. I don't believe it was exclusively responsible for saving your life, but it certainly had a hand."
"Yeah, I'll take it," Draco immediately replied. "I certainly won't be disposing of it."
The moon-like quality of Ollivander's eyes softened thanks to a warm smile. "Excellent choice."
"So what do you think happened then?" Draco asked. "How did I survive?"
"I believe you were a very lucky man." Ollivander's gaze turned ethereal again. "My best guess is that there was a catch in the midst of so many different kinds of magic, and you happened to find yourself in the centre of it all. Death golems are ancient myth, some say holden only to the divine. You say your wands reacted to it when He Who Must Not Be Named entered the room you were in? I theorize that the thestral tail hair in Harry Potter's wand may have reacted to the golem. It cut his wand to amplify its innate qualities, which must have had an area effect against similar woods. Your wand core was exposed as well through the process, and took the brunt of the Killing Curse."
Draco thought he'd be satisfied for the entire thing to be explained, but he had to fight to keep his expression passive. His nose wanted to wrinkle, his brow wanted to furrow, and his lips wished to press. "That's a close call."
"Like I said. If my theory is correct, you were very lucky."
Draco didn't really feel like it. He felt more nervous than anything. Every breath he'd taken in the last week was in thanks to sheer luck. He didn't want to think about the state of everyone if things had been even slightly different. This would've ruined his parents. Dagmar would have had to live thinking she had caused it. Potter would certainly do the same because he could never be dissuaded from blaming himself for the suffering of others.
Having paid and left, Draco entertained keeping all of this between himself and Ollivander. Didn't Dagmar and Potter deserve to know, though? Who knew, maybe it would help them feel less anxious about the whole thing. Draco wouldn't have survived if Voldemort hadn't repurposed a death golem, which Dagmar had little choice being involved in. Draco might not have saved Potter's life if Potter hadn't been paired to a wand that returned the favour.
Draco opted to tell them. Dagmar he simply couldn't keep it from because she explicitly asked if Ollivander had anything to say about it. She had a similar reaction to Draco, going quiet as the possibilities all played out in her mind. It at least led to a nice afternoon spent together in as near of proximity as they could manage. They decided while discussing what Ollivander said to keep it quiet from their parents—for now, at least. It had already upset Draco's mum enough that he came so close to death. She didn't need to know the specifics of it.
The only detail Draco kept from Dagmar was what Ollivander said about death golems being held to the divine. Did he mean gods? As in they were living, breathing things?
When Draco allowed himself to entertain that, his cheeks felt suddenly flush with hot realization. That death golem had come from the island where Hildegard and Dagmar used to live. Hildegard had some pretty interesting magical abilities. She kept a secret from Voldemort that might make him want to stick around in Dagmar's body.
Draco figured he could put some meat on those bare bones if he really thought about it. He could just as easily ask Potter while writing back and forth. Draco knew he wouldn't be able to keep that a secret from Dagmar, even if she was aware he did, so he would see in time what Hildegard had to say for herself.
He resisted studying Hildegard at dinner, as if the answer might somehow be written on her. Draco would have a better opportunity to look at Dagmar like that instead. The two of them stood up to excuse themselves after dessert, although Draco hadn't made it a step toward the dining room stairs when his name was spoken.
It was his father. "Seeing as you're busy tomorrow night and then back to work after that, I'd like a word this evening."
"Now?" Draco suggested.
His father nodded. "We could go to my study."
Dagmar touched Draco's wrist on her way to sitting back down. "I guess I'll take that wine after all."
"I'll find you," Draco said before following his father out of the dining room.
Although Draco had a pretty good idea what they were meant to discuss, he experienced a small flurry of nerves. Speaking to his father in his study hadn't always been a positive thing for Draco. When he was young enough to receive discipline, this was where it had happened. Draco couldn't help but linger closer to the door, hands in his trouser pockets, as his father moved around to the other side of the desk. Draco lifted his chin in curiosity when his father set two tumblers out.
"I appreciate you returning my liquor store," his father said with a quirk of an eyebrow. "Come sit."
"Scotch ended up too classy to drink on Dagmar's birthday," Draco replied as he took one of the chairs in front of his father's desk.
His father chuckled and poured a few fingers into each of the glasses. He brought them both around the desk, handing one to Draco on his way toward sitting in the chair beside him.
Draco held off taking a sip while his father did. "I don't think you should apologize for hitting me, if that's what we're here for."
His father's brow furrowed, and he lowered his glass prematurely.
"I get why it happened on this side of things, is all." Draco shrugged. "I see what you were trying to prevent, and I can say it on good authority that nothing less was going to make me budge from the drawing room. I would've kept on resisting you too, had Voldemort not shown up."
His father studied him, gaze searching. Truth be told, even if Draco wasn't authentic, he didn't feel particularly willing to hold grudges against anybody anymore. It was too exhausting—too trivial.
His father quietly sighed. "I still regret it. I had already in hindsight grown to despise that I disciplined you as a child with corporal punishment. It's one of many things I wish I had known better in regards to, as I grow older. Yes, perhaps it forced you to behave as I believed you should. As you grow older, I only see that it made you more partial to your mother than me. There's always been more of a formal air between us. I forced you to respect me. I don't know that I ever fully earned it. I certainly didn't after that night in the drawing room."
"I won't lie, I didn't after that." Draco idly swirled his drink. "Up until recently, really. It's unfortunate that sort of had to be by design for the sake of backing Voldemort into a corner. I trust that Mum wouldn't have given you a second chance if you hadn't done only what was necessary. I also don't believe you would've consented to an interview with Madam Bones if anything you've told us turned out not to be the truth."
"No." His father's mouth worked. "The time has come to take responsibility for the things I've done."
Draco studied him. "Are you concerned about your trial?"
He'd noticed ever since his father sat down with Madam Bones on Sunday that he'd turned quieter. Draco preferred to believe it had to do with the sheer exhaustion of reliving so much. He didn't feel he had the sort of relationship with his father where he could just ask. His mum had come out of her interview on Friday seeming lighter, but had taken a lot of kips this week. Everyone had, as everything caught up to them.
"I think we all are," his father hedged with a glance in Draco's direction. "It's only natural to. I believe your mother and Dagmar will be all right. Neither of them would be involved had they not been dragged in. Hildegard has caused a lot of damage, but she was more the Dark Lord's vehicle than the actual cause. Wes and I both lied back in '81 that we were under the Imperius Curse, so we'll have to see what comes of that. The reasons why may not matter. We'll just. . .have to see what happens."
A knot developed in Draco's stomach. "I hope you don't go back to Azkaban."
His father idly nodded. The only hint of a shiver was a slight shudder of the shoulders. "I really don't want to."
"What you did at Hogwarts has to count for something, right?" Draco asked. "Potter, Dumbledore, Madam Bones—they were all doing the same thing you were. They understood that Voldemort had to give his informed consent to be removed from Dagmar. There was no chance of tricking him. He needed to believe that he had won, and that Hildegard was removing his soul from Dagmar on good faith."
"Intention differs from action."
"But you did that too. What about taking the Great Hall back from the Death Eaters? What about coming down to the Chamber?"
"It could easily be argued that I only acted as an opportunist."
"Why?" Draco brought his glass to his lips. "Voldemort had Hogwarts. He'd killed Dumbledore. What opportunity was there?"
"Severus told the three of us after things settled that you were still in the castle. I could have only decided to go along because your life was at stake."
"But you knew Voldemort wouldn't survive the transfer," Draco maintained. "You don't even have to factor me in, or how our family's involvement had changed through the last year. It's simple logic. There was no point to you falling in line behind Voldemort if you knew there would be no victory for him in the end. The only thing you stood to gain from going along with him was our safety. Right?"
His father's nod was hardly perceptible. "There's still the question of why I went to the Little Hangleton graveyard when summoned. Fear is hardly sympathetic. I knew I would be hunted down if I didn't, like Karkaroff was. That Potter was there. . ." He shuddered again. "I'll admit I had no soft feelings for the boy, but a boy your age in that situation. . .and not a thing to do, for stalling the Dark Lord by inquiring upon his return showed he felt no need to rush. He knew nobody would come."
"Did you think Voldemort was going to kill him?"
"Yes."
One side of Draco's nose wrinkled. "You weren't going to do anything to stop it?"
"There wasn't anything I could do." His father shifted in his seat, leaning more on the arm closer to Draco before taking a new drink. His hand shook, and Draco wanted to look away when their gazes met. "I would never be a match for the Dark Lord. I also could never expect a dozen other Death Eaters to aid me in such a thing. I would have died before Potter."
"No, you wouldn't have," Draco said. "I don't think Voldemort would have given you the satisfaction of a meaningful death in front of him. He would've waited until he killed Potter before he tortured you for a while first. It would make an example for the others."
"It matters little what measures of self-preservation I took for a later higher purpose," his father replied. "It will all be laid out in front of the Wizengamot. They'll look at it all with the same hindsight. Moments I could have acted, but hesitated. Moments I explicitly chose not to act. Moments I acted purely in the Dark Lord's interest. One does not stay close to him without looking the other way when necessary. It doesn't matter if I was instrumental to the outcome we reached. I have done great wrong."
Draco couldn't argue that. Coming into this evening uncomfortably aware of his mortality, he had a fresh appreciation of what sacrifices had to be made. Thing was, they still didn't even know if it had all paid off. Dagmar remained stuck. Voldemort was still alive, and as free as he could be at the moment. Living at Malfoy Manor hardly counted as punishment.
"I want to say I'm noble enough to go to Azkaban and pay my debt, but the truth is that I'm not," his father continued. "I don't want to go. I miss what our life was like before the Dark Lord returned. I'd hoped to have that back someday. On this side of everything too, I don't want the work your mother and I have been doing on our marriage to amount to nothing in the end. I want the chance to find out what sort of man you've become."
It was perhaps a strange time for Draco to realize that he and his father were now the same height. In fact, Draco was bigger than his father, taking muscle mass into consideration. Aunt Bella had told Draco and Dagmar while at their cottage that part of growing up was seeing your parents more as people. Draco had started seeing his mum more as a woman after her departure last March. It happened now with his father, almost jarringly so.
"I didn't figure you'd be much fussed to know me, to be honest," Draco said. "Like you said, our relationship was always more formal. I used to wonder why I called you Father while everyone else said Dad. I remember you cringing once when I was young and called you Daddy. I'm pretty sure it's one of my earliest memories."
"My time in Azkaban offered little else to do but think," his father replied with a mirthless chuckle. "I am truly my father's son. He raised me much the same way I did you. I didn't have the luxury of a warm mother to provide balance. I still struggle to. . ." his father gestured his left hand between them while he sought the right word, "connect."
"You never seemed to have a problem doing that with Mum."
"She's my equal. You're our child." His father paused, then used that break in the conversation to fetch the decanter. He offered more to Draco before pouring some more into his own. "Your mother and I have had our struggles. I think to deny that would be imparting unrealistic expectations for what your own marriage will be like."
"Hard to say, honestly. Dagmar and I get along so well, it's hard to imagine us having any major issues." Draco chewed briefly on his bottom lip. "I guess the things you and Mum have dealt with aren't the sort you could've seen coming when you were my age."
"I certainly never imagined your mother would leave me, even if it only turned out to be temporary. I earned that, unfortunately. I'm not entirely happy that the only reason your mother came to empathize with my position was because she became involved in the Dark Lord's affairs. I wish she could have stayed out of it, but this is another situation where the selfish part of me is relieved we were able to reconcile."
"It is what it is." Draco shrugged. "If you can't change anything, there's no point dwelling on how things could have been. We're all here now. That's something worth being grateful for."
"Indeed."
Draco hid new hesitation behind a sip. "Aunt Bella told me that you and Mum tried to have more kids."
"Why am I not shocked she did that?" Following a light scoff, his father returned to seriousness. "Yes, we did."
"Sorry." Draco turned awkward in the silence to follow. "I know that's not really something you're supposed to ask about. I just. . .I don't know. You ought to know she told me that."
"I've made peace with it." His father met his gaze. "I wouldn't mention it to your mother, though. I don't know that she's ever fully gotten over it. She still talks about the possibilities sometimes, and that makes her feel bad because she loves you more than anything. I hope you don't interpret that as that you weren't enough for her."
"I'd be a prat to complain about how spoiled I was."
His father laughed. "You would be."
"I think I'm old enough to get it, anyway," Draco said. "I wondered too what it would have been like to have a sibling or something, after Aunt Bella said that. I guess I might now with Theo, if you, Mum, and Mr Nott are that kind of serious."
"That's going to depend on the outcome of our trials." His father's brief amusement faded away. "We discussed it, but that's all anything can come to at the moment. Things are in limbo. It's not a fun thing to wonder after. Your mother has my blessing to carry on in whatever capacity with Wes, should I be incarcerated and he goes free. She's concerned that should the positions be reversed, Wes will make it easier for us by bowing out. If we're all free. . .well. It's perhaps too close a view of your parents' marriage for you to hear this."
Draco hummed. He wasn't embarrassed or mortified, really. "I'm kind of curious how something like that works. It's not something I'd want for myself, but I remember when you and Mum first told me about my arranged marriage to Pansy that she and I would figure out what works for us. When Dagmar and I first talked about the switch, she said something like that we'd make sure we were both happy if we didn't wind up compatible. We weren't completely sure at the time what fidelity would look like to us. So it was on my radar that it can be different than what marriage traditionally looks like. I didn't think Dagmar would ever be interested in me. I couldn't even imagine her letting me kiss her."
"Clearly that didn't wind up a problem."
Growing warm in the face, Draco managed an airy laugh as his father elbowed him. "Yeah. . .sorry. There was definitely a time we would've made more effort to be private. It's a little hard when—you know. It's still sinking in that she's all right."
"After spending two months sharing a house with twenty people, we're all accustomed to living in close quarters." His father shrugged. "You're just lucky Bella isn't here. She would tease you mercilessly if she spotted you and Dagmar snogging out on the terrace. Let alone anything else."
"Oh, I know. She already did. 'Sound carries through the floor, you know'," Draco said in a mocking voice, which made his father laugh in a way Draco hadn't really ever heard as result of something he said or did. It was something more reserved for his father's friends at a function. "I do not miss her, I'll tell you that."
"Nor do I." His father still held a grin, although it faded slightly. "Your mother does. She knows she shouldn't, but Bella's still her sister. I think she'll feel better if Bella ever reveals her to Andromeda. I don't think she will. There is no underestimating how vindictive and petty Bella can be. That's not even taking into account how sore she becomes when the Dark Lord is involved."
Maybe siblings really weren't all that great, Draco caught himself thinking.
"Aunt Bella told me about Mum and Mr Nott too," Draco said. "I wasn't completely sure if she was serious. Mum never mentioned it when she came to visit, not that she ended up being there long."
"Bella pokes and prods when she's bored."
"Yeah. So what made you decide that was all right?" Draco asked. "I honestly would've thought you too proud a man to go for something like that. You weren't. . .humiliated?"
"At first." His father sounded hesitant, which Draco attributed to him being unsure about discussing his marriage with his son. If that stemmed from the humiliation, surely his father would just shut the topic down. "The first thing I did after arriving on the island was find your mother to see where we stood. I hadn't realized that she actually planned to leave me, nor that she had done so the night everything went wrong. When you left Azkaban, did you experience that feeling of the entire world being pulled out from under your feet? Like everything changed while you were busy standing still? You must have."
The sentiment caught Draco in the throat as unwanted anxiety curled into existence in his chest. He felt the crushing blow all over again of stepping into the sideroom after his trial, only to find Auntie Andie waiting for him. No Dagmar, no parents.
"Yes," he said, voice tight.
"I thought Bella had just taken your mother somewhere safe—" his father inflected that word with the barest hint of sarcasm, "—after things went terribly at Ramstad Manor. It felt as though I'd been away for a lot longer than ten months when we crossed paths again. She and Wes weren't together at the time of the Azkaban break, but she informed me they'd been involved in the interim."
"They broke up, or what?"
"Wes called it off when he heard I'd be returning. He wanted your mother to give our marriage a go at fixing."
Draco nodded slowly. He could see the potential for a tit-for-tat at face value, but his father and Mr Nott were too friendly for such a cold formality.
"Of course, your mother had become aware of certain things by then," his father continued. "Namely, everything to do with Dagmar. She understood what had been at stake, so perhaps for her it wasn't much stretch of the imagination to start seeing my intentions. She understood why I had to keep it to myself. I didn't have much left to explain, although I did so anyway. I think she wanted to see how what I said lined up with what she already knew."
"Yeah." Draco was doing the same thing.
"Anyway." His father waved a dismissive hand. "We sorted things out. The question then came regarding Wes. Because your mother and I reconciled, the obvious connotation was that what happened between the two of them amounted to little more than an affair. There was more nuance than that, though. Your mother intended to end the marriage, so I couldn't say that she'd been unfaithful. Wes resisted it to start out of respect for me. He'd ended it out of respect for us. They still felt for each other and it didn't bother me as much as you would think it's supposed to. It was just. . .easier, this way."
"I guess I get it." There still remained a massive mental block if Draco attempted to empathize too strongly.
"And, erm. . ." His father tapped a fingertip idly against his glass, other hand stiffly holding his chin. "I suppose to be completely blunt, your mother and I had prior arrangements in place. I'm bisexual."
Draco's head snapped toward his father. He studied him with wide eyes beneath a furrowed brow, trying to see that he wasn't taking the piss. No way would his father look so anxious for his reaction if he was. Draco's gaze softened as he tried instead to see his father through this new lens. He supposed it made sense in the same way it had when he found out about Blaise and Luca, and yet. . .
"So. . .hm." Draco looked down at his drink, then raised it to his lips as almost a second thought. "I guess that's pretty easy to hide when you marry a woman, yeah? I didn't think—I mean, sorry, it's just hard to imagine you with other people since all I've ever known 'til now is you and Mum."
"I haven't," his father was quick to say. "It was always just an option."
"What about you and Mr Nott?"
Draco had to suppress an amused smile when colour seeped up into his father's pale cheeks. "He's aware."
"And?"
"That's it." His father shrugged, casting him a sharp glance.
"So defensive," Draco mused.
"Quiet."
Draco snorted his way into a laugh. The tone hadn't changed in commanding quality, but the authority certainly had. He might have felt anxious to go against something his father told him to do if he didn't join in after a few seconds with a restrained chuckle. It ended with a sharp elbow in Draco's shoulder.
"It doesn't bother you, then?" his father asked when they'd both settled.
"Bloody hell, Dad, no." Draco scoffed. "My two best friends are gay. What's there to care about?"
"It might be different when it's your parent."
"You and Mum have worked it out, so not my business. I see you differently, yeah, but not any differently than when I found out about Blaise and Luca." Draco tilted his chin up, lips pursed. "Actually, that's not true. I wish I only found out about them by being told. So you've got that going for you."
"Ah." His father chuckled again.
"I caught them snogging in the dorm. Good thing I wasn't delayed fetching a new ink from my trunk by ten or fifteen minutes."
The laughter beside him sharpened into a snicker.
"And I mean. . ." His father being so honest compelled Draco to want to return the favour. "Last year at school, Dagmar and I had to brew Polyjuice Potion from scratch for a project. We took the opportunity when we had to test it. It's really not a big deal."
"Well now."
Draco cursed the heat in his cheeks. Maybe it was a bit too much to admit to, but it served the purpose of taking an uncomfortable spotlight off his father. He seemed to appreciate it, considering the new calm that draped over the study. Draco wasn't even sure how long they'd sat here. He'd lost track of time. He'd certainly lost track of how much he drank. His head swam a little.
"Things are going to be different," his father eventually said. It sounded more to Draco like a musing, and reminded him of Ollivander's dreamy tone.
"Very." Draco gave his father a pointed look when their gazes met again. "When you and Mum went away, I was the one left in charge. The meaning of the Malfoy name has changed. Malfoys have changed. The days of us sneering down our noses at everyone else—at each other—are over. You'd be best to embrace that."
"I suppose I would." His father turned serious. "If the Wizengamot doesn't send me to Azkaban, I'm sure I'll be watched very closely regardless."
"Yes, you will be. And I won't have you embarrass us with snooty posturing. I won't have you undo all the hard work I've done to drag our name back from the bin."
His father idly nodded, which annoyed Draco a little. Was it such a difficult thing to commit to? Draco had done all the hard work, after all. His irritation didn't have a chance to develop when he realized that wasn't the issue. His father dwelled again on the fact he might not even have the chance. The most he might ever be able to do was serve the time sentenced to him in Azkaban.
It was a sobering realization to make all over again. While Draco believed his father couldn't possibly go back there, he had no choice but to admit his bias. He had to acknowledge the potential bias that might also exist among the Wizengamot.
"Anyway." Draco lightly cleared his throat. "Dagmar's probably wondering what I've gotten up to."
"I certainly didn't mean to waylay you for so long," his father replied. "I enjoyed this, though. It's a little strange to look at my son and see something more like a friend I didn't know I had."
Especially in the wake of such uncertainty, that sentiment touched Draco. Perhaps too because he was no longer sober, it felt like something close to second nature to pull his father into a tight hug when they'd both stood up. His father seemed a little stunned, patting Draco on the back sheerly in reaction before settling into it with a mirrored squeeze.
"Things are going to be different," Draco said.
His father didn't reply, but Draco felt him nod against his shoulder.