Fifth Year's creeping in y'all. What shall it bring?
The biggest shoutout to my beta-reader, string_pudding, who's been British-checking as well as English-checking my work!
And lots of hugs to everyone. Every day that passes is one day less until the end of this madness. Stay strong.
"I said no, Lucius! You'll put us all in danger!"
"Don't you see, you fool? He's stronger now. He's better prepared. He's going to kill the boy and we'll be right beside him, ruling it all!"
"And you're willing to put your own home, your own family at risk?" There was a long pause in which the full effects of Draco's parents' screaming match could be seen. Lucius had already exploded half a dozen ornaments in rage. Narcissa, on the other hand, looked devastated. Her skin was flushed and her eyes were red-rimmed; fighting back the traitorous tears that were unwilling to cooperate. Her coiffure, always pristine and perfect, was disheveled from the numerous times she'd run her fingers through her hair, scratching and pulling in uncharacteristic displays of inner turmoil. Raspy breaths cut through the tense silence; mutual evidence of tiredness.
His parents usually went to that very room whenever they had something important to discuss. Draco didn't miss the passive-aggressive comments nor the corresponding acidic responses from his mother and father, so he proceeded with his usual antics: first, he claimed to be feeling unwell and decided to go to bed early. Then, instead of going to his bedroom he headed towards one of the secret passages behind the walls and scurried through it to his real destination.
It was one of the first rooms that were built at the Manor, and one of the less tasteful ones. One of his ancient grandmothers loved the room so much that she placed a blood curse on it before she died. Since then, every single object or piece of furniture in the room produced a whole myriad of vile after-effects to whoever tried to remove them from there. Nobody knew exactly what curse the old bat had cast so now they were stuck with an out-dated tea room that had been used for centuries just for letting out steam. It was impossible to renovate and too hideous to entertain guests. To be broken and repaired was its only destiny.
Draco spied his parents from his little corner beside the chest of drawers. His heart ached at the confrontation. It was not often that they quarreled — they usually tolerated each other and more or less enjoyed their company. What were they exactly arguing about, anyway? Was a family member coming to visit indefinitely? And who, by Merlin's tits, was getting killed? Surely it was a figure of speech?
Draco clenched his fists in frustration. He answered the last question himself. He was not a boy anymore. He could not continue excusing his father much longer. Lucius had demonstrated, time and time again, that if he was talking about killing someone, he most certainly was going to kill someone. Wasn't that the fate that he had been trying to save Granger from, for all those years?
Deep inside he'd always known his innocence had been broken the moment his father had struck him in the cheek so hard it bruised. Since then, it had only got worse.
At last, his father inhaled deeply, his voice turning the coldest he'd ever heard it before. "I would put my very own son in danger if the benefits outweigh the risks."
Without so much as a glance, he left the room, leaving a sobbing Narcissa and a shivering Draco behind. He could've never suspected that his mother would never be the same after that.
Draco was used to having the weirdest Summers every single year. It was as if his parents had some sort of contest going on to see how much they could spoil his life, then come up with the most wonderful ideas. Tutors, girlfriends, torture...
That particular Summer, though, took the cake.
After their row, their parents decided not to speak to each other. That meant that either he was forced to sit through uncomfortable, icy meals with his parents or that he was forced to sit through uncomfortable, icy meals with only one parent.
Shortly after, the flow of visitors increased massively. Usually, he was included in at least part of the plans when they had people arriving at the Manor. Now, whenever the elves let them know of his father's friends at the door — especially when they were there unannounced — her mother became a wringing ball of nerves and suddenly remembered she had relatives to meet, dresses to buy or charities to upkeep — all outside of the house. And with him, for some reason. She wanted Draco out.
It didn't matter how many times he asked for an explanation, for there was no good one. "I'm in the mood for some tea with you, son." "What's wrong with visiting Pansy? You're due for a date with her anyway."
Things were so tense Narcissa wasn't able to practise Occlumency with Draco as much as she wanted. "Keep your guard up," she said. "Please practise on your own, too."
Then, during an unremarkable Saturday on the first weekend of August, Draco was shaken awake by his mother.
"Son, come quick!" she whispered in a frenzy, her long, cold fingers leaving his shoulders and turning to open cabinets and drawers. Draco, who'd barely got an ounce of sleep, rubbed his eyes as he absorbed the scene before him. Narcissa, who hadn't even bothered to put on neither a dressing gown nor slippers, was busy twirling her wand around as she packed a bundle of Draco's clothes.
"Come on, Draco!" she hurried him, snapping him out of his slumber and ushering him towards some clean clothes.
"What's going on?" he asked, puzzled, but complying nonetheless. He couldn't remember any previous appointments and judging by his mother's attire, she didn't either.
"There's no time to explain. I need you to pack. We'll go to the French Villa for the rest of the Summer."
Draco looked at her sternly, crossing his arms. He didn't appreciate being hurried along for some measly holiday, especially not at four thirty in the morning. "What do you mean? What about the lessons? What about Parkinson?" He was thrilled by the prospect of not seeing his girlfriend, but he was terrified of his father's reaction. He couldn't put his finger on his parents' strange behaviours and, frankly, he was getting worried for his mother's mental health.
"I already sent Tilly and Tally to get breakfast going. The house will probably not be very clean on such short notice but they'll take no time. I'll tell you all about it there." His bag closed with a heavy "thud!", and his mother moved on towards his toiletries.
"Sure, nevermind what I want to take," he huffed under his breath, quickly getting rid of his pyjamas now that his mother was busy running around in his bathroom. Then, he took a large leather satchel and threw as many books as he could inside. He made sure to remember to write a letter to Flourish and Blotts. He hoped a couple extra galleons wouldn't get in the way of his Pre-Release of The Crimson Keep. Draco briefly wondered if Granger was up-to-date with the story, too, before banishing any thoughts about her. "She's not safe in the Manor," he always said to himself.
"Alright, we'll take the Portkey from here. I can come back and get what I need later but we must go right now."
The Malfoy matriarch snatched a small object from one of the side tables and clutched it tightly in her hands. "Grab your things. Ready? On three." A white, bundled handkerchief rested on her now open palm. Inside there was half a knut, tainted a beautiful sea green with corrosion. "One, two, three!"
The all-too-familiar sensation of tugging he always got on his navel when they travelled via Portkey was not the pleasurable one he remembered. Before, his journeys were filled with anticipation, excitement and happiness. Now, he couldn't brush away the sensation that they were running away from something dangerous. So dangerous that his mother was willing to get an illegal Portkey to her family's unplottable Summer house.
As soon as their feet hit the ground, Narcissa's demeanor changed. The trembling in her hands stopped. Her posture straightened, the regality back in her presence. The sparkle in her eyes was back and she quickly fixed her appearance to look more presentable. With a couple flicks of her wand she had transformed her outfit, done her hair and even applied some light make-up. Draco took in all these changes in awe, now frightened himself. What were they running away from?
It was a short walk away from the edge of the Villa to the front door. When they crossed the wards, Tilly promptly met them at the entrance, taking care of Draco's bags. It was still cold outside, the crisp morning air forming puffs of mist out of his mouth. Although the surroundings looked like he was at home, the magic swirling in the air was completely different — lighter.
"Welcome Missus Narcissa, Young Master Malfoy," Tally bowed, opening the door to their safe haven. Draco's nose immediately picked up the smell of freshly baked pain au chocolat.
"Thank you, Tally. Tilly, take Draco's things to his room, please. Tally, we shall have breakfast at once."
Although more composed, his mother was still hesitant. She did her best to pretend she was casually looking through the windows when in reality, there was a slight tremble in her hands as she held her wand at the ready. She disappeared briefly, "just fetching for a pair of shoes," she said, ignoring that Tilly had brought her the ones she had specifically requested as soon as they opened the door. Draco was unsure about what she'd done, yet she wore a satisfied, determined look when she got back to the dining room.
The first minutes ticked by in silence. The table was set as if they were expecting a feast, when it was only the two of them. All of Draco's favourite pastries had been prepared to his heart's content, as well as plenty hot chocolate to drink. He entertained himself by drowning in sugar, sensing that by the time Narcissa mustered up the courage to tell him what was happening he wouldn't have much of an appetite left.
There was a tight, uncomfortable silence, much like the ones they'd been having when his father was around. Her mother hadn't even bothered to pretend she was eating. Instead, she barely sipped her tea as she took repeated glances at the grandfather clock or any of the windows. The soft drumming of her fingers on the tablecloth further exposed her uneasiness.
"Mother?" At the sound of his voice, Narcissa jerked out of her seat in fear, clutching her wand for less than a second before taking a deep breath and sitting down again. Her lips trembled, and then the subtle tightness of the muscles along her features betrayed the use of occlumency.
Narcissa gently held Draco's hand, caressing his skin as if it were the last time. The truth was — and Draco understood that later — she really didn't know if it would be.
"I will not beat around the bush, my son. But you must promise me that you will not tell anyone of this." Draco nodded, thinking that he'd probably tell Blaise and Theo anyway.
"The Dark Lord is back."
A cold chill went down his spine. His mouth dried. His ears rang as the morbid part of his imagination showed him a hundred possible scenarios of a dystopian future under the tyrant's rule. Hermione missing. Hermione tortured. Hermione dead.
Suddenly, it all clicked. The hushed conversations, the increasing meetings between Lucius and his friends. The fights with his mother.
"He's killing Potter, isn't he?" His voice, raspy as it was, came out as barely a whisper.
"Yes."
"And we ran away from father?" For once, he let his heart cradle more than an ounce of hope. If they had effectively escaped, that meant that they wouldn't have to be part of any war! Or if they had to, they could be part of — of the good side.
Narcissa bit her lip, pondering her answer. It broke her heart, but her magical marriage contract didn't allow her to run away. If she did…
She shivered. No. She'd think of a better plan in the future.
"Yes and no. He's staying at the Manor."
"He is what." Draco stood, pulling away from his mother in horror. "You let that monster— !"
"Perhaps you haven't noticed, Draco Lucius, but just in case you don't know, your father can do almost literally anything he wants and I have absolutely no say about it. His decision, whether I like it or not, is to invite the Dark Lord — and you will call him by that name if you wish to live — to hide at the Manor. I brought you here to keep you apart. You will be safe in Hogwarts, but in the meantime, stick to your occlumency and play smarter. Plan ahead," she admonished him in a fierce tone he'd only ever heard once or twice before. After having said her piece, she left her son staring at his own shoes with tears dancing on the tip of his eyelashes.
By the time they were finished shouting, the sun had begun to rise. The bright fire dancing next to Draco was supposed to keep him warm, but he'd never felt so cold.