It had been raining for three days with no give when Friday finally came. The unrelenting pelting sounds of heavy droplets had been persistently bouncing around the walls as they hit the windows of the Malfoy Manor, and a whistling wind whipped through each room from the cracks under the door. All week Draco had gone about his business at work and at home, awaiting Friday night with an indescribable mixture of tensions.
Friday night was like any other at the Malfoy Manor: dinner was eaten in mostly silence, with Luscious, Narcissa, Pansy and Draco sitting almost comically far from each other, the clinks of cutlery against china the only sound that hinted at life within the cold and shadowed dining hall.
"How was work, Draco?" His mother pressed. This was a usual question which would come just as a house elf would clear the plates, and Draco was thankful that she was playing into the routine.
"Fine," he replied, barely raising his head as he spoke – again, in what was a typical fashion for their interactions.
"I think I will retire to the lounge. Good evening," Luscious said while Narcissa still ate, before abruptly standing and exiting the room. While obviously quite rude, this was his usual exit from the dinner table.
For the first time ever, with the information he had now, Draco saw a coldness glaze over his mother's eyes as she watched her husband go. He'd noticed it at every meal that week – something he'd completely overlooked before as he was too consumed by his own hatred.
"I'm going to freshen up before bed. Are you coming, Draco?"
Draco had almost forgotten his wife was in the room. Her expression was somewhere between a sternness, and hope.
"Soon," he replied curtly.
Pansy made sure he saw her roll her eyes, before flashing Narcissa a smile and turning her heel.
"I do feel for her, I must say," Narcissa mumbled quietly once Pansy's footsteps had died out.
"She's not exactly a saint," Draco said dryly, before adding, "but I do as well."
"Phillips is meeting your father soon. They will drink in the lounge – he usually stays about two hours. My signal will come at midnight. Make sure you are ready," she said, her voice clipped and quietly urgent.
She stood to leave, her jaw fixed.
"Mother – are you certain you want to do this?"
She turned back to her son. "If it results in your happiness – then yes. Yes, I am very, very certain of this."
His heart ached for her as she left the dining hall.
As soon as Pansy was asleep, Draco cast a quick spell around their bed to keep out any noise, and began to pack a small bag. He was reminded of doing the same thing years ago at Hogwarts, after Snape had warned him of the approaching Death Eaters. He remembered the urgency in his fumbling fingers as he had clumsily stuffed clothes into a rucksack, completely unsure of what the future held. Now, he felt the same perseverance and urgency, but did not feel panicked. This felt right – everything about it felt like the universe was finally giving Draco a stroke of well-deserved luck.
It was five minutes past midnight when the gentle knock on the bedroom door came. Draco had been sitting in the armchair by his bed, anxiously watching Pansy as she slept and hoping that she didn't stir. He stood up, grabbed his jacket and rucksack and took a sweeping look around the room; the bedroom he had grown up which had been a prison cell for years. He hoped he never set a foot inside it again.
"I'm sorry, Pansy," he mumbled, taking one last look at the wife he never asked for. He felt an awful pang of guilt for her. She was a Death Eater who, like most of them, had done despicable things, but he often wondered if, like him, she had been given no choice in following her family's path for her. They had had almost identical upbringings – perhaps if she had been offered the same hope that Draco had at Hogwarts through Amelia, her life would've been different. Either way, he took no joy in abandoning her like this.
"Is it done?" He whispered as he closed the bedroom door behind him.
His mother stood, lit only by the dimmed candles lining the corridor, so that a dark shadow was cast across her features.
She nodded. Draco could hear the rattles in her breath.
"Was it –
"A droplet of poison into his firewhiskey. It was quite sudden, but without any unnecessary pain." Draco could tell she was swallowing a lot of emotion.
"What if they suspect you of anything?"
Narcissa smiled. "Draco – have I not been playing my part convincingly? You needn't worry about me. I know these people and I know what I am doing. You must go – you must get far, far away from here. It is you they will suspect."
Draco had known this already. It seemed a small price to pay for freedom, but nonetheless certainly added to the immense pressure of the situation that every Death Eater would suspect him of committing patricide.
"Come with me," he said abruptly. "We can flee - together."
Again, Narcissa smiled, and Draco felt a shaking, cold hand take his. "I have chosen my life, Draco. I made that choice a long time ago. It is you who had no say in any of this."
He nodded slowly, suddenly aware that this could be the last time they saw each other.
"Are you sure? I don't want you to be implicated in this…"
"I want your happiness. Your freedom. That is all I care about. You will understand one day when you are a father."
He pulled his mother into an embrace, squeezing her tight as if trying to imprint the moment directly onto his heart.
"Thank you," he said in a cracked whisper. There was so much more he wanted to say, but didn't know how.
"I am just so sorry it has taken me this long to finally do right by you." The emotion was creeping into her voice now, and Draco felt her suppress a sob as she, too, tightened the embrace between them.
"We will see each other again. I promise. In better circumstances than these…" He said as he finally parted from her.
"Be safe, Draco," Narcissa said, urgency returning to her voice.
He nodded and quickly turned his heel. He ran, unable to look back but feeling his mother's sad gaze on him as he fled, to where the nearest secret passage was. The Malfoy Manor was full of them; hidden tunnels that led all around the property. He knew from childhood that this one led him underneath the gardens and out to a nearby field, where he could apparate from.
He took the spiralling stone stairs of the passage two at a time, nervous that someone already knew he had ran, though the house was still and sleeping when he left. Once at the bottom of the steep stairs, he felt more confident in brandishing a dimly lit wand as he ran cautiously through the winding tunnel underneath the Manor. The air was thick and damp and the hollow echo of his desperately hurried footsteps bounced around the low ceiling. He envisioned the scene when the sun came up on the Malfoy Manor the next morning: Pansy waking to find Draco gone, his wardrobe half empty and his pillow cold and unused. A house elf discovering the body of his father, presumably still sitting upright in his favoured high-backed leather chair, looking into the wilted fireplace, his skin beginning to grey and his eyes lifeless. His mother playing the perfect widow; gracious but heartbroken in mourning. The bottle of poison long since discarded. He figured he had until mid-morning until they began hunting for him. They'd connect him to the death straight away – probably assuming Draco had threatened a house elf to do his bidding so that the Unbreakable Vow was broken in a tidy fashion.
The musty air in the passage was cold, but Draco's heart was on fire. His head felt a muddle of conflicting emotions: fear for his mother, a strange and detached sadness knowing his father's body was barely cold somewhere in the house, and the driving force which helped his legs gain speed – soon, he would find Amelia.
Two months later:
It had been two months since the Daily Prophet photo of Draco and Pansy's one year anniversary had shaken Amelia. A refreshed sense of anger, of loss and betrayal had all bubbled to the surface and consumed every moment of her day. She was sure her friends noticed a change in her behaviour, but if ever they queried her, she brushed it off with a small smile and a quick redirection of the conversation. Every night her dreams were plagued with visions of him; his face clear and crisp against a blurred backdrop. Dreams where she'd find herself frantically running down empty corridors of Hogwarts, to finally arrive at the sight of him dead on the floor, covered in blood, his Dark Mark gleaming triumphantly from his skin. Dreams where she'd find herself in the bed of her small tent, surrounded by the neighbouring tents of the Resistance members, with him beside her, looking at her with inquisitive eyes, a small smirk appearing on his face as he pushed her hair from her face. Dreams where she was suddenly back in her Hogwarts uniform, running through the Forbidden forest as the sounds of war carried on the wind, Draco's hand firmly grasping hers until they'd bump into a smug Pansy Parkinson, who Draco would passionately kiss before the two of them laughed endlessly at Amelia.
She always woke up feeling hollow.
It was an overcast day and Amelia wiped her brow as she and her brother Henry came out of some duelling practice to have dinner. They were debating their favourite topic: quidditch. They'd grown up as big fans of Puddlemere United and their father had always taken them to watch their team in the summer, and now with no quidditch tournaments during the war, they would turn to exciting debates over certain players from different teams.
"You're forgetting though, that he is left handed, so as a Beater, the angle he hits is going to be less predictable for the other team!" Amelia was saying animatedly.
"Well, I'm guessing that if you know he's left-handed, then every coach in the league is probably going to know," Henry objected.
They were interrupted by Harry Potter sprinting past them, mumbling a 'sorry' as he bumped into Henry.
"Oi! Potter! What's got you moving so fast?" Henry called out. Henry was one of those who started the resistance immediately following the Battle of Hogwarts and Amelia was almost willing to bet a thousand galleons there was no one out there who wanted justice more than him or Harry.
Harry quickly turned. "Sorry – Neville and Seamus just got back –
"Are they okay?" Amelia interjected as her and Henry hurried towards Harry, their quidditch debate now long forgotten. Whenever anyone left the shanty town haven they'd created, despite it being a frequent occurrence, a tension sat in the air until they returned.
"They're fine. It's who they brought with them that's interesting…"
"Who?"
Harry re-adjusted his glasses. Amelia couldn't work out his expression.
"Draco Malfoy."
Her heart plummeted from her chest to land somewhere in her stomach. Harry and Henry were continuing the conversation, but their voices had become fuzzy. She'd stopped in her tracks without realising it and suddenly her whole body felt suddenly unfamiliar to her. Her hands shook and her knees felt as if they might buckle.
"Amelia?"
At her name, her head shot up to where Henry was standing a few metres ahead.
"He was in your year, right? You don't want to come and check out how they captured him?"
Amelia swallowed deeply and tried to rearrange her expression so as not to look as if she'd just been hit by a truck.
"Actually – I just remembered I'd help Ginny make some dinner. I'd better go…"
Before Henry could answer her, she turned the other way. The tents lining the makeshift grassy path passed in a blur as she stumbled as quickly as possible towards her own.
She paced the length of her living space, electric panic buzzing through her hands and legs, curling her fists into balls. Here. Only metres away. After all this time. After everything that had happened. Out of all the possible Death Eaters... it was hers they had captured.
Not yours, she corrected herself with a frown. Was never yours.
Unable to make sense of anything, she sat on her sofa, her fists clenched so hard she felt her nails may pierce her palms. She analysed the air... the atmosphere… surely it should've been different. Surely she should sense a change if he were here?
Hours passed as she sat on the sofa, angry tears falling and drying untouched on her face, her entire body tense as if poised for battle. She was in between running to him and hitting him with every curse she knew, and crumbling in a sobbing heap, or fleeing from the shanty town completely. All her energy was spent stopping herself from doing any one of these.
Was there even a word for when you hated someone you love this much?
"Amelia!"
She grabbed her wand and spun on the sofa, her arm extended and ready.
"Woah, easy there. Who were you expecting?"
It was Seamus Finnigan.
She lowered her wand and sat with a frustrated sigh. "Sorry…" she tried, running a hand through her hair and gulping down her heartbeat.
He sat opposite her, observing her with a hint of caution.
"How've you been keeping?" He asked, again with thoughtfulness.
"I'm alright. Same as everyone else here," Amelia replied, managing a smile. "I heard you had a big day?" She tried to sound conversational, but an image of Draco being caught flashed into her brain and forced her to stumble on her words.
"Yeah – strange day, really," he said, adjusting himself on the sofa as he appeared to revisit the day he'd had in his mind. "It's actually what I came to tell you about."
"Oh?" Genuine surprise.
"You heard we caught Malfoy? Draco – no doubt you remember him from school?"
She felt like he was watching for her response. "Yeah, he was a twat."
Seamus puffed out a small laugh. "Yeah. Still is, I'll wager. Anyway, we caught him today… and it's the weirdest thing, and probably nothing – probably him clinging onto something tiny, trying to weasel his way out… who knows…"
"What is it?"
Seamus had been looking at his feet, but now his gaze pierced hers. "He hasn't stopped asking for you since we brought him in."
Amelia balled her hands in her lap. She bit down on her tongue. Swallowed her reaction. Her name, on his lips. Why?
"F-for me?" She managed, arranging her face to look completely unknowing.
Seamus nodded. "D'ya know why that'd be?"
He was searching her again, she could tell. She ran shaky hands through her hair and pressed her fingers to her lips as if in prayer as she feigned contemplation. She shook her head. "I have no idea," she said.
"There wasn't something between you in Hogwarts – something he might try and use to bargain with now? Or a reason he'd want to target you – hurt you?"
"I mean – we were Potions partners for a bit in seventh year… but surely that doesn't mean anything, right? How desperate can he be?"
Seamus shrugged. "I dunno – desperate is exactly the word I'd use. The weird thing is… I dunno what he's desperate for, y'know?"
Amelia frowned. "What do you mean?"
Seamus stood and glanced behind him, as if scared the person they were discussing was standing watching. "I mean… it all happened pretty quickly… but I swear – it was as if he wanted us to find him. Almost as if… this was him handing himself in to the resistance."
There was surely no way that Seamus couldn't hear her screaming thoughts, or see them on her face as she desperately tried to keep it straight. "But why?"
"Who knows? It's Draco Malfoy. You remember what he was like – always hedging his bets, always doing whatever he could to keep his hands clean. Maybe his luck's run out, eh?"
"That must be it…" she said absently, her head spinning.
Asking for her? Repeatedly? How could she hide their past if he was here, clearly prepared to blurt it out to everyone. She'd kept it a secret for so long. What if they all thought she was a Death Eater – what if he told the resistance that she was working for him, had been from the very start... No. They wouldn't believe that – how could they? She'd been through so much with the resistance. She trusted them. They trusted her.
He was going to use his past with her to try and make some sort of deal. He was scared of what they'd do. That had to be it. Had to be why he was saying her name.
She had no choice – she had to go and see him.
