For years, Draco had dreaded the thought of seeing his father again. He hadn't been to Azkaban to visit Lucius Malfoy since shortly after his eighth year concluded, long before Draco had even entertained the idea of entering the Auror's Office. And despite his mother's urging, Draco hadn't cared to learn his father's opinion on that matter.
He already knew well enough the sneering and disdain his father would present at the idea of Draco becoming an Auror.
Training to catch dark wizards like his own father.
Furthermore, there had been enough rampant suspicion through the department when he enrolled in training that the last thing Draco wanted was to be seen as a sympathiser to the Dark Lord's former supporters―family or not. It hadn't been easy to pursue a path that led directly away from his family's roots, but Draco had simply started moving and never looked back.
His mother had always been the sticky middle ground. Because while Draco loved her, she couldn't see why it mattered so much to distance himself from his father's teachings―and the further trappings therein.
Which included her outdated views on arranging a partner for him.
Although he had scarcely dwelled on the argument they'd had the last time they met for tea, he hadn't been able to forget the way he stormed out on her. Guilt flooded through him at so much as a flicker of recollection, but it hadn't been his mother's place to suggest. Not then, and not ever.
If and when Draco chose a partner to wed, it would be his decision.
Just the thought of such archaic practices sent a shudder of revulsion along his spine―a bitter reminder of the once-necessitated responsibility of leading a house of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.
And all the more reason to pursue a path of his own, instead.
As the week passed, Draco felt cold, unrelenting dread seep in through his skin, to the point where he couldn't stomach the thought of seeing his father any longer. Returning to the Manor had been one thing―seeing his father's cold disappointment would be another thing entirely.
But Healer Brooks and his team were still no closer to finding answers. When Robards informed Draco he had arranged for Auror transport to bring Lucius into a secure, magically-restricted ward of St Mungo's, Draco hadn't had a choice but to accept the offering and make the arrangement with St Mungo's.
If nothing else, his mother would be pleased.
Wand holstered securely at his hip, Draco waited for the transfer. Because father or not, Draco had been entrusted by the Auror's department to fulfil a role―and he made his choice long ago.
If Lucius tried something, Draco would have no option. He glanced at his watch, feeling a tremor of nerves pulse through him like a clatter in his soul. With only minutes to go, he ducked into his mother's temporary suite, finding her already awake and watching him. A weak smile curved her lips.
"You've done it," she said, her voice soft and a little hoarse.
Draco offered a crisp nod. "You'll have half an hour from the point when the Aurors arrive, and no more than that, before he'll be transported back to Azkaban." When his mother only clicked her tongue, Draco felt a flicker of irritation. "My superior had to pull some strings with the prison even to allow this visitation to happen today."
"Fine," Narcissa said, sinking into her pillows. "I am glad you have finally found your sense."
"I don't have a choice but to be here today." Draco squared his shoulders with another anxious glance towards his watch. "If I did, rest assured, I wouldn't care to see him."
His mother's disdain for the statement lingered on her face, but Draco didn't say anything more on the matter. Minutes later, the doors swung open, and an armed escort of three Aurors led his father in.
Draco couldn't have prepared himself for the sight before him.
The last time he had been to Azkaban, his father had still worn his indignant haughtiness like a cloak. His hair had been a little lank, eyes a little dulled, but he had still been as self-righteous and derogatory as ever. The man that Draco's colleagues led into the room wasn't instantly recognisable.
Lucius' long blond hair had been shorn close to his head; his cheeks were hollowed and gaunt, the last of the fire in his eyes almost entirely extinguished. His prison robes were dirty and ill-fitting. He looked as though he had aged more than a decade.
Draco remained against the wall, frozen and unable to move if he tried.
He didn't even know what he had expected. The man had been in a high-security ward in the wizarding prison for going on five years; of course, the incarceration had taken its toll. Lucius stuttered to a halt in the middle of the room, his gaze roving between Narcissa, bed-ridden and a waif of the woman she had once been, and Draco, stoic in his Auror's robes.
His father's pale eyes lingered on Draco for a moment longer, and he simply inclined his chin.
And through the pallor and the utter hopelessness that trailed along in Lucius' wake, his upper lip curled with a derisive sneer. As though he had never seen something so despicable. Draco hardened his jaw into a tight line.
Without a word to his son, Lucius strode forward to Narcissa's bedside. He walked awkwardly, his hands folded at his front, and Draco knew him to possess invisible bonds around his ankles and wrists.
Draco could feel heat burn up along his throat and into his face, and he met the stares of the Aurors who had been responsible for the transport. One of them followed his father while the other two lingered by the door.
All three of them were senior Aurors―Draco knew each of them, but not well.
Not well enough that he could control the swell of shame that radiated through him at the pity in their stares. Instantly, Draco wished he hadn't asked Robards for this after all―or that he had found a way to get out of it.
He didn't want his colleagues' sympathy, and he didn't want their condescension. He only sought to earn their respect, as he had done for years. One of them, a woman whose name he couldn't recall, simply nodded in his direction and lifted her chin, realigning her focus onto Lucius.
Draco didn't know what his parents were saying to one another. It wasn't his place, and if he was honest, he didn't care. His father's words had poisoned his mother for too long―had infiltrated Draco's mind as well―and he no longer had any room in his head or his heart for such drivel.
Several times during the exchange, Draco could feel his father's cold, unforgiving stare on him.
His heart clamoured in his chest, painfully tight, and Draco wished he could breathe deeply of the fresh air beyond the oppressive white hospital walls. The secure magic of the ward made the room feel even tighter, more overbearing, and it became more of an effort to draw breath the longer he waited.
For several beats, he scowled at the back of his father's head. Never had Draco seen him without a luxurious curtain of hair, and it almost allowed him to believe it wasn't his father.
He watched the hands tick forward on his watch.
At last, one of the Aurors in his father's escort clipped a sharp, "Five minutes." The words jarred Draco from the strange halfway reverie into which he'd been drawn. He sucked in a deep effort at a breath, straightening his shoulders against the wall once more.
His father's frail, malnourished form rose from the seat at his mother's bedside, final quiet words spoken between them, and he walked straight towards Draco.
Steeling his jaw, Draco fixed his expression into that of the contempt his father had sown.
He met his father's eyes, grey and uncaring; untold horrors danced within. But try as he might, Draco couldn't dredge up any sympathy for the man who had raised him.
"Never in my life," Lucius growled under his breath, "have I been so disgusted with you."
Draco's eyes tightened. "I'll take that as a good sign."
Hatred flickered across his father's face, and Lucius took another step closer. When the Auror escort moved for their wands, Draco simply lifted a hand without looking away.
"You can be disgusted all you like," Draco breathed. "I'm only going to accept the validation that I'm nothing like you wanted me to be. Because you and I both know I was never going to turn out the way you wanted."
"You never had it in you." Lucius' gaze roved the length of him with scorn. "Parading about playing at being an Auror―you'll never succeed at that, either. No matter what you do, you'll never be anything but a coward."
Draco blew out a careful breath, fighting the urge to recoil from his father's foul breath. "I don't care what you think of me if I hadn't already made that abundantly clear," he mused. "Your opinion no longer means anything to me―you're the one who's going to rot in a fucking cell."
"You have forsaken everything," Lucius hissed. "I did not raise you like this―with such disrespect and belligerence to your duties and your house."
Sneering at him, Draco drawled, "Well, thank fucking Merlin for that."
Lucius bristled when one of the Auror's stepped in, wrapping a hand beneath his elbow. His eyes darkened with a searing hatred Draco had never seen directed towards him, and he spat at Draco's feet.
Draco's eye twitched.
But two of the Aurors dragged his father from the room; his mother had already fallen asleep once again.
He drew in a level breath, releasing it carefully, and watched as the door closed behind them.
"Auror Malfoy," the third Auror―the woman who had watched him before―spoke sharply as she paced towards the door. "You're alright?"
Draco pursed his lips as he forced a swallow and dipped his chin into a low nod. "I'm alright, thank you. I appreciate your assistance today."
As though recognising something unspoken below the surface, the woman nodded in return. "Very well. Take care."
"And you."
She ducked through the door with the rest of the escort, and Draco blew out a long, rattling breath as he dragged a hand through his hair. The startling juxtaposition haunted him when he was left alone with his mother's soft breathing and the quiet whir of the assorted healing instruments in the room.
His hands shook with a barely contained tremor, and he tightly pressed his eyes shut as he sank back against the wall.
But moments later, the door swung open once more, and Draco straightened, meeting the bright eyes of one of his mother's young attending healers. The woman offered him a thin smile.
Unable to dredge forth any words, Draco lifted a hand in a half-hearted wave and shoved through the door into the stark white corridor beyond. Before he could even gather his thoughts, he was fumbling in his satchel and drew out his mobile phone.
Dialling the only number he knew, he released a breath and lifted the phone to his ear as he paced the corridor as fast as his feet could carry him.
"Hello?" Granger's voice clicked onto the line after several rings.
"Hi," Draco bit out, his breaths falling heavier as he traversed the labyrinthine hallways of the hospital. "What are you doing?"
A moment of silence hung, and she asked, "Draco, is everything alright?"
He wrenched a hand through his hair. "No."
Although she vaguely knew the circumstances around his relationship with his parents, the matter was simply too complex for him to have explained in any detail.
Granger released a quiet breath. "Come over?"
Draco bit down hard on his bottom lip, feeling panic engulf him as he slipped into the Apparition point and travelled home.
"Okay," he breathed, already yanking his robes off one-handed. "I'm not far. I'll be there soon."
Hot moisture spiked against the back of his eyes as he ended the call, his heart thudding painfully against his ribcage as he dropped into the sofa and buried his head in his hands. A low groan of defeat and agony fell from his lips, tears breaking at the corners of his eyes.
But he swiped angrily at the moisture, sucking in a difficult breath through his teeth. Dropping his head against the back of the sofa, he stared up at the white ceiling for a long moment as he forced his heart rate to slow and his breathing to regulate.
Exhaustion swelled within him, but at length, he forced himself from the sofa and into the kitchen. He drank a tall glass of water, planting one hand to the counter as he redirected his thoughts from the evening.
Even now, his father had a way of getting under his skin, whether Draco cared to indulge him or not.
Draco couldn't let him win.
The man had controlled him for too many years, and Draco had fought so damn hard to break from his father's shadow. He wasn't going to let that all fall apart now after such a brief encounter.
He paced into the bedroom, slipping into a pair of jeans and a hooded jumper, stowed his holster, and jammed his wand into his pocket instead.
Then he Apparated to Granger's flat.
The door opened almost instantly when he rapped on the door, her eyes wide; sadness danced in the lines of her face as he entered the flat. "What happened?" she breathed, searching his eyes. "Are you alright?"
Still raw and below the surface, emotion tightened in his chest as he stared at her. A knit formed between his brows as, for a long moment, he remained silent. A harsh breath fell from his lungs. "I'm alright," he muttered, pulling her into his arms.
The words carried an entirely different sentiment with her than they had when they were spoken to his colleague at the hospital.
But when Granger melted into his hold, peering up at him, Draco's heart raced, and he ducked in to meet her lips. Almost instantly, the air between them shifted, a searing intensity caught in the kiss that he hadn't felt with her before. As her arms coiled around his neck, her body flush against his, Draco kissed her as though he had nothing else to give, delving between her lips with his tongue.
His hands skimmed her spine, one rounding the curve of her hip as he backed her into the wall, and a whimper fell from her mouth against his when he kissed her still harder.
"Draco," she breathed against his mouth, tugging at his hair hard enough to sting. He drew back, only far enough to nip her lower lip with his teeth, their breaths mingling for a quiet moment as his heart throbbed a dull pulse in his chest.
He traced a trail of kisses along her jaw, lifting a hand to her cheek as she tilted her head to oblige him.
Granger's hands fidgeted with the hem of his jumper, slipping beneath his shirt to graze his abdomen, and he dragged his teeth along the curve of her jaw before hesitating. "Sorry," he whispered, brushing another kiss against her cheek, and pulled back to meet her stare.
Her eyes sparkled, a flush in her cheeks as her lips drew into a smile. "You don't have to apologise." Her hand slid back into his hair again, and she pressed one last kiss to his lips. "I'm happy to see you, too."
Draco was relieved she was receptive when he still wasn't entirely certain where they stood with one another. But he also didn't know how to broach the subject.
"Shall I put on a pot of tea?" she asked softly, curling her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck; Draco's eyes fluttered at the gentle ministration.
A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. "Please."
His pulse still raced as Draco followed her into the kitchen at a distance, watching as she went about preparing the kettle. He leaned against the wall on the threshold, eyeing her as she turned towards him and folded her arms.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Her voice was soft, undemanding, sadness lingering in her countenance—sadness for him.
Draco swept a hand through his hair, measuring the words. "My mother isn't doing well. She wanted to see my father, in case..." His gaze drifted to the ceiling, and he pursed his lips. "I had to call in a favour with my superior to arrange a visitation, and―"
"And you had to see your father today," she surmised quietly. When Draco only nodded, she took a step forward, lacing her fingers into his. "How did it go?"
"Miserably," he admitted. "About how I anticipated, though." He blew out a long breath, shaking his head. "For seventeen years, my only goal was to impress my father, to make him proud. And now I'm a disappointment."
Granger's eyes flashed. "You are not a disappointment," she whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. "You're making something of yourself and your life, in an arena where you can help people, Draco. It simply sounds to me as though your father doesn't care for you to chart a course of your own. And as far as I'm concerned, his opinion doesn't carry any weight in that regard."
Her vehement defence was startling, and his chest tightened at her words even as he squared his jaw. "Realistically, I know that. My colleagues put him in prison in the first place, so I'm not surprised. But it's still..." He shook his head again, words failing him.
"It's difficult to shake," she breathed.
"Yeah. I don't know―it's complicated."
Merlin, she didn't even know how complicated. A part of him wished she remembered the truth about his father, while another part of him wanted to protect her from the whole thing.
Granger gnawed on her bottom lip as though she meant to say something else, but then she relaxed the tension from her shoulders. "I'm glad you reached out to me."
"Is this alright?" Draco searched her stare. "That I called you―I didn't really know."
"It's alright," she whispered, giving his hand a brief squeeze. "I know I haven't been entirely forthcoming, and I appreciate your patience with me. But―" She sucked in a deep breath and blew it out. "I think if I'm going to try and put the past where it belongs, it shouldn't bother me whether we didn't get along as children. Even if I won't always know everything that happened between us, that doesn't matter. I like the man you are now."
Her words stung at his already raw heart in a way he hadn't anticipated, and he forced a swallow. "Thank you."
"I just need to know," she pressed on quietly, "that you're not pretending to be someone you aren't because you've got me at a disadvantage here―although I can't imagine what purpose that would serve. On the other hand, I can understand that our initial meeting was probably incredibly jarring. While I wish you had said something sooner, I've tried to put myself in your shoes over the matter, and I'm not upset anymore."
"My shoes are uncomfortable and fucked up," he breathed, a smirk pulling at his lips as he trailed his fingers along the small of her back.
A small, relieved laugh fell from her lips. "So are mine." Pressing up on her toes, she brushed her lips against his just as the kettle began to whistle. With a rueful smile, she drew back.
As he watched her prepare the tea, a belated grin dragged across his face. Draco took a sip from his cup as they settled on the sofa in her small sitting room, and Granger tucked her legs beneath herself as she turned to face him.
"Is your father meant to get out of prison any time soon?" she asked, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. "Or if you'd rather not talk about it―"
"It's alright." Draco took another sip of tea and set his cup on a coaster on the end table. "His original sentence was thirty years with good behaviour. So not any time soon, no. But even if he does get out one day, I know nothing will change. He was in a few years before, and as soon as he got out, he was right back at it."
Granger stared at him with wide eyes. "I'm sorry. I wish he had been a better role model for you."
With a grimace, Draco shook his head. "I thought he was when I was young. Bloody stupid."
"You aren't remotely stupid, even if you were misguided," she said quietly, dropping her face against the back of the sofa. Draco thought it was rather a generous assessment. "Did I ever meet your father?"
The question was as jarring as it was unexpected, especially when she had voiced an interest in distancing herself from the past and any further attempts to restore her memory.
Draco swallowed, uncertain how much he should tell her. "You did. You met both my parents, actually. But you didn't know them well."
In Draco's understanding, his father and some other Death Eaters had attempted to kill Granger and her friends at the Ministry of Magic in their fifth year. And of course, there was the case wherein her father would have gleefully handed her over to the Dark Lord when Granger had nearly bled out on the drawing room floor.
Although he braced himself for further questions, a bittersweet smile drifted across her face. "No memory of him. Probably for the best, as it turns out." Her fingers drifted across the back of his hand where it sat on the sofa, her expression taking on a wistful hue. "What's your mother like? When she isn't hospitalised or bothering you to marry a proper girl."
For a moment, Draco wondered where her sudden curiosity about his parents came from. The answer hit him all at once, rattling and sudden; she couldn't remember anything about her own parents.
"Honestly," he said softly. "She's wonderful. Stubborn but strong; exceedingly clever. Despite the dynamic between her and my father—and the fact that their marriage was an arranged one—she never let him push her around or take away her spark. She drives me bloody spare, of course, but maybe that's because we're quite alike."
Her face softened as he spoke, and she took a drink of her tea. "I'm sorry she still isn't doing any better."
"Thanks." Thinning his lips, he added, "For the amount we're paying for her care, so am I." His lips twitched with levity as she tittered.
But Granger only stared at him another minute; her lips parted as though she meant to speak. At last, she blew out a breath and looked away. "Did you ever meet my parents?"
Draco's entire body sank at the casual tone, veiling the deep curiosity in her face. "I might have seen them once or twice, but no, I didn't. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," she whispered. "I didn't expect you to have done."
Shame swirled within him at the words, but he didn't have a response. Even if he had seen her with her parents―in Diagon Alley or at the train platform―he probably wouldn't have paid them any mind.
Maybe he wasn't any better than his father. Certainly not as much as he would have liked.
He would never actually deserve her.
"I wish I had a better answer than that," he ground out at last, not entirely able to meet her stare. "Potter probably knew them. He would have more answers for you than I do."
"It's okay, honestly," she breathed, sinking into his side. "I meant it when I said I wanted to let it all go. I suppose there's just a part of me that's always going to be curious―especially knowing you remember me better than I do."
Distracted by the melancholy brewing within him―paired with the lingering strain from facing his father earlier―Draco only offered a stiff nod. He could feel her eyes linger on him, and he slung an arm along the back of the sofa, drawing her close into his chest. He tugged one of her curls between his fingers, letting the hair bounce back into place, and a smirk curled his lips.
"Yeah," Draco said, realising he hadn't responded. "I suppose you've always been curious."
She peered up at him for a long moment, a smile playing about her mouth before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. "Are you sure you're alright?"
Draco met her stare for a beat, his throat shifting with a swallow. "More than."
Author's Note: Hey everyone, a huge thank you for all the lovely birthday wishes, and thanks for reading the chapter! I hope you enjoyed it. Just a quick mention that this story is meant to be more of an emotional, character-driven fic than excessively plot heavy - though I recognise that isn't to everyone's taste. Adrift will likely wrap up at 45 chapters.
Alpha and beta love to Kyonomiko and FaeOrabel.
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