It was early: Draco could tell from the sleepy, waking birdsong fluttering through the deep shadows of the bedroom and the first faint sprays of light spreading across the blanketed sky outside the window. It was late last night when they had come back to their humble home and by then a tired stupor had more or less taken over Draco's senses. He hadn't slept since before the rescue mission in Norfolk on Christmas Eve, and the exhaustion had settled into his bones and finally forced him to sleep.

He batted his eyelids open, shifting his stiff body into a sitting position. He ached: new strains and pulls layered over more distant ailments which made him feel a lot older than he was. Beside him, Amelia was turned away from him, her hair splayed over the pillow like intricate spiderwebs. He could tell he hadn't disturbed her from the lazy rise and fall of her middle.

It was the first time in a long time that he had slept through the night. And even the sleep itself, it was empty; void of any monsters or twisted memories. Perhaps it was the mixture of exhaustion and alcohol. Either way, it was undeniable though that his chest felt lighter today than he remembered it being in a long time. The healing magic of having Amelia and this small tented sanctuary to rest from the burdens of his past, perhaps.

Feeling wide awake and keen to let Amelia continue to sleep, he slipped from the bed, carefully pulling on trousers and a sweater. His eyes, with specks of silver reflecting the fading early morning moonlight, stayed on Amelia but she didn't stir as he pulled on shoes and grabbed the small silver tin on the bedside table.

Outside was only just lighter than inside the tent and it didn't take Draco long at all for his eyes to adjust to the fuzzy, shadowed outlines of his surroundings. The air had an early morning dampness and carried the leftover woody perfume of small bonfires from the night before; a smell that he knew for the rest of his life he would associate with this place and these moments. If he was lucky enough to see a life outside of this place, that was.

He tumbled over the events of the last few days in his mind. Yesterday had felt strange, different to any other previous day in the resistance. It was as if he had belonged – was actually welcomed. There were no side-glances as he had walked through crowds in the dining hall, no uncomfortable shifting or cutting off conversation as he came to sit amongst others. He made a mental list of what he'd done for the resistance since arriving: he'd given them piles and piles of information on the Death Eaters, hand drawn maps of the ministry and Malfoy Manor, helped to rescue Amelia and now five other Order members. Perhaps most importantly to the others, he'd done all this with sincerity and without sabotage. Was it possible that he had finally managed to prove himself to these people? He rubbed his left arm absently – a bad habit – and wondered silently if this could be the beginning of him shedding his past, like a snake leaving it's old skin behind.

The Dark Mark beneath his skin tingled, as if aware of his thoughts. Was all of this help he'd given enough to balance out the dark stains of his past? What did he need to do, what did he need to sacrifice to feel he had paid the right price for what he had been a part of in the past? The very thought exhausted him. He turned Amelia's words over in his mind again as he parked up on a stubby tree stump in a small clearing at the end of the tent rows, taking the silver tin from his pocket and rolling a cigarette. His fingers twisted and folded the tobacco into the paper with mechanical muscle memory; he gazed straight ahead as he brought it to his lips.

"…those demons are just your own thoughts, and that does not make them true."

An image of Charity Burbage being killed on a long wooden table right in front of him flashed before his eyes like a bolt of illuminous green lightning slicing through a clear sky. The dull, heavy thud of her body hitting the table echoed through his ears. The scratchy sliding sounds of Nagini gliding towards her lifeless form with eyes hungrier than Lord Voldemort's in that moment.

The guilt began to rise in him, bubbling up like acid from the pit of his stomach. He drew in the smooth, thick tobacco. Exhaled. Not your fault, not your fault, not your fault. He repeated it to himself, clenching his eyes shut and his fists tightly.

"You're up early."

The voice behind him startled Draco; he whipped around, his instincts making him paranoid. For a fleeting but horrifying moment he thought that Bellatrix Lestrange had infiltrated the resistance and his wand hand flinched, but the eyes were kinder, the features softer.

"Well spotted," he said, his lips curling in a scowl of their own accord. He felt his ears burn at being caught in a private moment. "So are you."

Andromeda came to sit on another tree stump opposite him, exhaling a long breath as she did so.

"A lot has happened in the last few days. Hard for the mind to keep up, and to sleep apparently…" Andromeda said, though Draco had not invited the opening of a conversation. He shifted uncomfortably, sucking once again on his cigarette and shoving his other hand into his jacket pocket. "At least Teddy is sleeping well," she mused, half to herself.

Draco looked over at his aunt with slitted eyes; she was looking past him into the distance, a faraway glint in her eye.

She clearly wasn't going to leave, and he had to admit that he was curious about her. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Is he… your kid?"

Andromeda dragged her eyes to her nephew, her mouth forming a faint smile. "My daughter's – your cousin Nymphadora."
The name was vaguely familiar to him. "And why are you on fulltime babysitting duties?" His voice was still bitter, though he didn't even mean it to be now, but he found small talk grating at the best of times.

"She was killed – in the Battle of Hogwarts. Teddy was very, very little then." Her eyes became glassy for a moment and Draco scolded himself, unable to keep her gaze and choosing to look at the ground instead. Idiot, he should've been able to guess that this was the case.

"Oh – sorry," he mumbled, hoping that his aunt didn't start having an emotional outburst.

"Don't be, you didn't kill her," she said, the small smile reappearing on her face as she winked at Draco. The comment did nothing to dissolve the strange but familiar guilt bubbling within him once more.

They sat in silence for a moment. Then, "How long have you been here then?"
Draco looked up from staring at his shoes to Andromeda. It looked like she was going to be persistent in having a conversation after all.

"A few weeks," Draco replied.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I didn't realise you were so new. I assumed, seeing you with Amelia Collins that perhaps it had been a long while…"

"That's not new."

She nodded, though he knew it was a cryptic comment. Didn't care.

"So, I assume you've separated yourself from your family. Tell me though, does your mother still follow the Dark Arts?"
A grumble formed but died in the back of Draco's throat. "Is that any of your business? You haven't had anything to do with each other since before I was born."

"Perhaps you're right – perhaps it is none of my business. I only hoped, since you have clearly had some sort of awakening, that maybe it was she who had inspired that."

He knew that all she wanted was a hint that one of her sisters had a heart after all, but Draco was too defensive on the subject of his family to be able to cater to this. "I came to my own conclusions a long time ago. I wasn't inspired by anyone," he growled in a low voice. A hint of disappointment clouded his aunt's face for a moment and something inside Draco lurched quietly. "But, I do think she has become… disillusioned with the Dark Lord."

Something sparked behind Andromeda's eyes and she sat forwards slightly. Draco knew how it felt to hold on to tiny fragments of good news in such bleak circumstances, so perhaps that was what led to him continuing. "She actually helped me get to the resistance," he said in a low voice, still uncertain of the stranger before him.

Andromeda didn't push this subject. "It's good to know that her thirst for the Dark Arts did not overpower her love for her son. Who knows, maybe if we all survive this, she and I could… never mind," she trailed off and Draco brought curious hooded eyes up observe her. His instinct was to retort the veiled insult about his mother, but he resisted. The sadness etched into his aunt's face was too much to argue against, apparently. He looked at her then, properly for the first time. Though she deeply resembled Bellatrix, Andromeda looked older, although he knew that she was not. The deep lines in her face mirrored those that the war had carved into his own mother, and he tried to appreciate what this woman before him had been through. Abandoned by her family so many years ago, only to have her own daughter killed years later. And here she was, keen to talk to Draco – a product of her hateful family – and trying to find a way to forgive his mother. Maybe there was some light within his family after all.

"Why would you want to see my mother again? They cut you out years ago," Draco asked, his curiosity masked by the interrogative tone in his voice.

"That's true. And believe me, if I were to see my sister Bellatrix I believe I might kill her for what she did to my daughter." Draco's throat tightened – Merlin, her own sister had killed her daughter. There was an urge to say something, offer condolences, but instead he just opened his mouth slightly only to close it again. Andromeda seemed unfazed by this. "Did your parents ever speak about me as you grew up? Did they ever tell you what happened?"
Draco shook his head. His stomach fluttered uncomfortably – did he want to know any more awful things about his parents?

"I grew up with parents who believed that above all else, blood status was important. Mostly because, we were pureblood. So, we were told we were superior to everyone: at school, it was us three sisters who were the cleverest, even when our grades didn't suggest this; it was us who would be keenly sought after when we graduated and went into the wizarding workforce. We were simply better than everybody else, and especially those with muggle blood. Well, I believed all this and quite enjoyed the self-imposed status given by my family: it was like having the name 'Black' in my title was going to open any door necessary throughout the rest of my life. Now, though I admit that in school I enjoyed this, it was Bellatrix who became completely drunk with power. She would start fights with younger students at Hogwarts from other Houses, based purely on their blood status. She would accost muggle-borns in the grounds, encouraging her Slytherin peers to tease and ostracise them. I think that's when I began to see the ugly side to this – I was fine with being important and powerful, but even when I was young as fourteen, I didn't like the idea of others being oppressed in order for me to gain this power."

Draco was a captive audience as his aunt spoke, and it was difficult to ignore the similarities between her life and his.

"Cissy was always very beautiful, even when we were young. The boys in Slytherin all fancied her – I remember being very jealous. But it was one boy, Luscious Malfoy, who caught her eye. Now Draco, I assume you are aware of the 'Sacred 28?' The families within our world who have retained a completely pureblood status for all of their years." Draco nodded, knowing that he was indeed part of this 'Sacred 28', something he used to be unspeakably proud of when he was in school. "Well, the Malfoys were famously part of this exclusive title, as were the Blacks, so a potential union between these two pureblood families was obviously keenly supported by both parties. It furthered their mission you see, their dangerous desire to breed out any muggle blood in our world. So, our parents focused all their energy on this relationship, and soon after she graduated, your mother married your father. Around the same time, I met a muggle born wizard, Ted Tonks, with whom I fell almost instantly in love. He was brilliant and clever and kind and I began to question everything I had ever been taught. Things I had already been sceptical about up to this point, now made absolutely no sense to me at all. Unfortunately, my parents did not see things this way and I was told that if I were to marry Ted, I would be completely disowned by the Black family. So, I walked away; to me, a family who cared so little about my happiness and so much about something as arbitrary as blood, were not a family worth staying for."

Draco could tell from her expression that this was a painful memory for her to relive. He stayed completely silent as she spoke.

"Bellatrix, the oldest of us sisters, was awful when I was disowned. Called me a blood traitor, told me I was as good as dead to her, that one day she would make me pay for the embarrassment I'd brought on the Black family. Perhaps killing my lovely daughter was her enacting this vow of revenge… Young Cissy though, she was silent. I can still remember her as my parents told me to leave their house – her mouth was tightly clamped shut and she couldn't look at me. I don't know if that was because she was disgusted by my decisions, or perhaps she was pained to lose a sister, but I swear to this day that I saw her wipe a tear away. I'll never know though, because of course we haven't spoken since. And then next time I knew of Bellatrix, after she was imprisoned and escaped Azkaban, she killed my only daughter."

"And Ted, your husband?"

Her eyes were glassy now, shimmering in the sparkle of the sunrise. "Killed, as well."

Draco's chest constricted, fucking hell.

"I'll never be able to truly thank him for dragging me out of that toxic family. This obsession with blood and purity, it has killed so many; has destroyed so much."

Draco slowly nodded.

"And I had lost faith in my family; I had long accepted that my family only consisted of little Teddy now. That was, until I saw you standing in that medical room yesterday. I admit, Draco, there is no one I would have expected less to be part of the resistance. I hope you don't take offence to my saying that…"

Draco looked up at her and met her gaze. He had sat and listened to her every word, and it had been like a mirror held up in front of him. All along, there had been someone who might've understood.

"I'm not sure if I'm the best person to put your faith in," Draco mumbled despite himself. "I don't think I'm exactly redeeming everything my family has done."

"No one can undo their actions, Draco, and to make that your mission would be setting yourself up for great disappointment. I used to feel the same, this shame at who my family was and what they were doing in our world. But all I can do is push against that by doing the right thing, and know that I made the choice to be separated from all of that. It is not our responsibility to try and redeem anything anyone else has done."

"And what if I've done things? Bad things," Draco asked, almost challenging his aunt.

Andromeda considered this. "It matters so much more that you are no longer doing them." This answer surprised Draco and he felt his eye twitch as he looked away, unconvinced by this statement. Andromeda seemed to sense this as she leaned forward, trying to catch her younger nephew's eye once more. "I understand how hard it is to break away from what you have been brought up to believe your whole life; I understand the long and gruelling process of unlearning those beliefs and feeling you are betraying those who you love – or perhaps, loved. And it is a lot harder than for people who are simply brought up to believe the right things. It takes a lot of strength – believe me, I should know."

He began to roll another cigarette – this was too much to take in, to listen to. A lump grew in his throat; his hands shook as he folded the tobacco into the paper.

"I can see that you've seen awful things in this war, Draco. And perhaps you feel responsible for those. But you must forgive yourself. So few of us in these situations make it out, and you owe it to yourself now to live a good life and move on from your past. It is difficult, I know. The Death Eaters – my family – took everything from me. But if I festered in anger for them and self-hate for the person I once was, I wouldn't be living the life that was robbed from my husband, my daughter. I owe it to them to live for them. And so do you, Draco."

He glanced at her, there was tears still forming in her eyes and the emotion continued to rise in his own throat. He took a drag of the cigarette and allowed it to soften the tightness inside of him. He was afraid that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn't be able to speak.

To his surprise, his aunt stood up. The movement showed her age; she was stiff and slow with getting up and Draco thought fleetingly of his own mother, aging by herself in that cold and lonely Manor.

"Teddy will be stirring soon," she said, coming to stand before Draco who still sat on the tree stump, unable to move. "Perhaps we don't need to go on without family anymore, Draco. I know I would like that…"

He dragged his eyes to look up at her and managed the faintest of smiles from his taut lips. He felt her hand, frail and shaking, rest on his shoulder and squeeze him and felt a warmth spread over him. Knowing that he might regret it later, and scolding himself for showing this vulnerability to a stranger, he placed his hand on top of hers, just for little more than a second. He watched over his shoulder as she walked away from him, back down the rows of tents.

He looked up, a prickling behind his eyes threatening to release the swirling emotions moving deep within him. The sun had risen now, the birdsong was louder, and he felt lighter.

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A/N: Hello!

If you've stuck with me this far - THANK YOU! And I hope you're enjoying the story and how it's developing. Let me know your thoughts! :)