Notes: Thanks for reading! I appreciate your interest in this winding tale.
WARNINGS: Brief mentions of canon violence, torture, etc.
34. Thou Art Thy Mother's Glass
The courtroom is dim, the faces lining the gallery grave.
Draco imagines he looks no different. He's dressed in black from head to toe, formal wizarding robes hanging heavily from his shoulders. He hasn't dressed as anything but a nondescript Muggle for so long the robes feel foreign.
In fact, he feels like a complete fraud as he stands in the back row. There's no way he can blend into the crowd—the platinum hair is too distinctive. Even if he could, the observers surreptitiously search the room until they find his face. He may not be the one facing the Wizengamot, but he is hardly free from scrutiny.
Kingsley Shacklebolt presides over the courtroom, his keen, dark eyes cutting through the observation gallery. He nods sharply when his gaze falls on Draco before continuing his perusal.
Draco feels a hand close over his. The tingling thrill the touch evokes tells him it's Tom. He squeezes his fingers around the other boy's. He could bear this by himself, but he's thankful there's no need.
"We're here," Hermione murmurs softly.
Draco nods absently. He can't look away from the defendant's platform.
She looks worse than when he saw her in Azkaban. It's no surprise. Narcissa Malfoy has been a prisoner for almost two months and she was already a ghost when she entered Ministry custody.
Shacklebolt waves a hand and a hush follows.
"We are here today to decide the fate of Narcissa Malfoy, known Death Eater and host of Voldemort."
His mother swallows, but remains otherwise stoic. He's proud of her, even as he pities her.
As the parade of witnesses address the Wizengamot, Draco never looks away from the frail woman on the platform. He already knows her ugly array of deeds; he was there for the majority of them.
Narcissa stares straight ahead as the witnesses speak. He wonders if she can see him in the back or if he's obscured by the crowd. He wonders if seeing him would make any difference at all for her.
Although she allowed his comfort in the depths of Azkaban, their parting words were not ones of kindness. She will never forgive him his father's death just as he will never forgive her the choices that landed them here.
He may no longer be a comfort to her. She is certainly not a comfort to him.
He leans back against the stone wall and tries not to listen to the horror spilling from a hundred lips below. It's all the same story. Perhaps a different curse or manner of death, but it's all the detritus of the Death Eaters. The legacy his father forced upon them.
Draco sinks further into himself, keeping his gaze sharp even as his mind wanders. Perhaps one day he can save her, but this won't be that day. He's not even sure he wants her to go free. But he doesn't want her to rot in Azkaban either. He wants her to have woken up years ago. To have realized she married the villain, not the prince.
But Lucius Malfoy was as charming as he was cold. She never allowed herself to know the other half of the man she loved. Not even when he made her bleed.
Draco's nails cut into skin and it takes him a moment to realize he feels no pain. He jerks his head down and finds rivulets of blood weeping from Tom's pale flesh. Draco opens his mouth to apologize, to beg forgiveness, but the intensity of Tom's azure gaze clogs the words in his throat.
The dark boy squeezes Draco's trembling fingers and runs his thumb along the line of Draco's wrist until it rests just above his thundering pulse. The motion evokes an altogether different shudder, but his visceral reaction is easy to ignore here.
Draco turns his attention back to the platform. His mother is the same, her once platinum hair hanging in dirty ropes as her hollow eyes stare blankly outward. She doesn't react as the latest witness steps down. It's not clear she even knows this is her trial.
The appointed ministry official certainly isn't fighting terribly hard for her. And why would the man? She's clearly guilty of her crimes.
"Astoria Greengrass."
Draco chokes and surges forward, inadvertently pulling Tom with him. Hermione is on their heels as they stumble to the front of the gallery.
His jaw drops and stays as he watches the slim figure take the stand. He'd hoped and prayed to anything that would listen. He'd imagined her whole and safe. But he can barely believe his eyes.
Not only has she survived, but she appears hale as she climbs the witness platform. Their gazes snag and hold for a second as she takes her seat. Her mouth forms an "O" as she stares up at him. He forces his lips into the semblance of a smile. She blinks and he realizes the expression is more grimace than smile.
Shacklebolt says something and she tears her honey gaze away.
Draco sags against the rail, thankful Tom had the foresight to pull Draco flush against him. His head drops to the taller boy's shoulder.
"I didn't expect you to be quite so overcome by her presence," Tom murmurs softly against his ear.
Ruining his friendship with Astoria never meant Draco stopped caring for her. He can barely believe she sits across from him, visibly unscathed. Of course, Draco knows better than to judge her trauma by her appearance. Hermione seems the very picture of health these days.
Draco leans into Tom. "Did you know?"
"I saw her earlier, when we arrived. I assumed you had as well."
He'd been so focused on his mother he'd missed Astoria entirely. "I was… distracted."
He can see the look Tom gives him without turning his head. It's a mix of fond exasperation and honest annoyance. "Just because no one is actively trying to kill you doesn't mean you can shut your brain off, Draco."
"Yes, thank you for that little gem, Tom," he hisses back.
Hermione pokes her head around Tom's shoulder. "Maybe we should head back up?"
Draco becomes abruptly aware of just how many eyes are watching the three of them and not the proceedings of the Wizengamot below. He nods emphatically and follows her back to their row.
He doesn't hear the questions Shacklebolt asks Astoria. He doesn't comprehend her answers. All he knows is the warm lilt of her familiar voice as it washes over him.
She's alive.
He never dared to imagine no matter how ardently he hoped. She's alive and based on the looks of her, not in Azkaban. Her family were never adamant Death Eater supporters and he knows she never took the mark herself. That she was at Malfoy Manor often was a function of her pureblood and their marriage prospects, not Voldemort.
His heart is a skipping beat of anticipation as she speaks. He knows he should care what she says, that his mother's fate is on the line. But Narcissa Malfoy signed away her life the day she threw her lot in with his father.
Astoria, on the other hand, is innocent. She's the product of a family that believed too strongly in the purity of blood, but had the sense not to go to war over the matter. Not for the first time, Draco wishes his family was more akin to hers.
He lets out a low scoff, ignoring the looks Tom and Hermione cast him. Family. He has no family now. His last name is more curse than gift in this new world.
Draco sat down with Tonks and her mother Andromeda a handful of occasions, but they're still a long way from being family. Too many bridges were burned by Narcissa and her deranged sister. It will take more than a few handshakes and shared pots of tea to make up for the damage done.
Which leaves him with Tom and Hermione. Two people he loves. Two people he would die for. Whatever the mess between him and Tom, he is closer to the other boy than he has been to anyone in his life. They've seen each other with blood on their hands and neither has run screaming.
And Hermione. She had every reason to turn her back on Draco, to hold his cowardice against him, but she chose to let it go, to find a place in her heart for him. She's not quite like a sister—you definitely never kiss your sister like he's kissed her—but she's warmth he never knew he craved, an acceptance he's hungered after for as long as he can remember.
The rest of the witnesses become a blur, lost to his desperation to see Astoria.
At last, Shacklebolt stands in front of the Wizengamot and reads their decision. Draco's on his feet, anticipation momentarily suspended, as the towering man proclaims his mother's fate.
"On the count of aiding and abetting the crimes of Voldemort, the Wizengamot finds Narcissa Malfoy guilty."
Her pale face doesn't change. Her dead eyes barely even focus on Shacklebolt. Pity stirs in Draco's gut.
"On the count of being a Death Eater, the Wizengamot finds Narcissa Malfoy guilty."
Aside from Draco's erased mark, it's nearly impossible to escape that particular charge. His mother tilts her head up and for one torturous heartbeat their gazes lock. Draco expects rage or at the very least disappoint to flicker within those familiar pale eyes. But Narcissa doesn't react. It's as if she doesn't even know who he is.
Maybe she doesn't.
An entirely new form of nausea turns his stomach. Anger, disappoint, he could have dealt easily with those. He's faced them his entire life. But this absence? This total lack of acknowledgment? It makes him sick.
Draco stands when they lead her from the courtroom, but she never looks back, never searches for her son in the crowd.
Tom's lips are cool against Draco's skin. He drops his deep voice low, until only Draco can hear him whisper, "I'm sorry. I know that's not what you wanted for her."
Draco has no idea what he wanted for his mother, but Tom is right. He certainly didn't want this.
"If you go now, you can catch Astoria," Hermione interjects, hand waving toward the petite girl making her way into the observation gallery. Tom gives an encouraging jerk of his chin and Draco fumbles his way across the sea of clearing seats.
He catches up to her a few paces before the broad doors. Her head is down, her sun kissed hair falling across her eyes. The expression on her face ties knots around his chest, squeezing the air out of him.
Draco has to fumble through several incoherent syllables before he can conjure her name on his tongue. She looks up at once, her honey eyes clouding over, a shroud pulled between them.
"Draco Malfoy."
He honestly isn't sure whether she's glad to see him or not. "Astoria… I've missed you."
The laugh that escapes her delicate lips is far from joy. "You missed me?" She shakes her head. "You bloody died, Draco. I fucking grieved you."
Even at the time, he'd known it would be a particular cruelty to her. One that perhaps she shouldn't forgive. He reaches out to catch one of her hands worrying the hem of her robes. She flinches away before he can make contact.
Swallowing down his mounting shame, Draco endures her burning stare. "There was more at stake than my own life, Astoria. It was not a kind choice and I am sorry you ever had to believe that I was truly gone, but it couldn't have gone any other way. I had to truly be dead as far as everyone was concerned."
Her focus catches beyond his shoulder. "All for Hermione Granger, Draco?"
"For all of us," he retorts. "For Harry and Hermione, but also for the world. Isn't this better than what it was?"
Her gaze softens at the mention of Harry. "I was sorry to hear about Potter. I know how much he mattered to you."
Draco blinks, brow rising until he realizes what she means. He lets out a low chuckle. "I'm sorry about Harry too, but my… feelings for him evolved as we got to know each other."
"I guess that's a relief," she murmurs, gaze speculative. "You seem different."
He feels like a different person entirely. The boy who almost married her existed several lifetimes ago. When he last saw Astoria, he'd only just met Tom. He was entirely unwilling to risk himself to free Hermione. He was still drowning under the mantle of the Malfoy name and his father's impossible expectations. He was still willing to let others bleed for him.
He was nothing but a scared coward.
Draco doesn't know what he is, let alone who he is, now. But he does know fear no longer rules him.
He gives Astoria a tired smile that tries convey all he cannot explain. "Would you come with me? I have a few people I want you to meet."
Her shoulders become a rigid line under her maroon formal robes and he's sure she's going to refuse. But she nods stiffly and replies softly, "I think I would like that."
They move together, closing the gap to where Tom and Hermione are leaning against the wall, fingers twisted together as their eyes dart to each other's lips every few moments. Draco barely stifles a groan. The two of them couldn't be more obvious if they tried.
He's not sure if he's annoyed because he finds their unfettered affection irritating, because he can do nothing but imagine Tom's mouth on his when the other boy has that wicked glint in his eye or because he still feels inordinately guilty for what he and Tom did that night on the moor. Most likely it's some combination of all three.
Whatever it is, he doesn't hide his reaction quickly enough. Astoria is looking at him too keenly, her honey gaze missing nothing.
Draco clears his throat, giving himself a moment to recover and Tom and Hermione the necessary motivation to stop making eyes at each other.
"Astoria Greengrass, I'd like you to meet Hermione Granger and Thomas Devereux."
Astoria gives Hermione a tight smile and takes her hand. When she turns to Tom, however, her lips curl into a predatory smirk. "Pleased to meet you, Thomas. There's a good drama here, I think."
How she can possibly have discerned all of that in less than thirty seconds is beyond Draco. Tom rakes his eyes over Draco and smirks back at her. "Indeed there is. If you're a good girl, I might tell it to you someday."
Hermione groans and smacks him. "Seriously, Tom?"
"Would you rather I told her about our sordid love triangle now?"
Astoria's interest grows from a sputtering flame to a roaring fire. Draco has half a mind to punch Tom himself. What the bloody hell does the other boy think he's playing at?
"Ignore him," Hermione interjects, giving Tom a withering stare that would topple lesser men. Tom merely smirks down at her, a promise Draco knows all too well in his eyes.
Astoria's lips press into a line. Draco can't tell if it's to mask her annoyance or her amusement. "Clearly things have changed. The last time I talked to Draco he was in love with Harry Potter."
Draco is immensely grateful this isn't news to either Tom or Hermione.
"Draco's become a real man since then," Tom drawls with a wink in Astoria's direction.
Sweet Merlin. What in the world has Draco done to deserve this? Hermione seems to agree. She gives Tom a sharp glance that has no vestiges of humor in it. The dark boy swallows.
Hermione turns her attention to Astoria. "How are you doing? I'm not sure I know what you're up these days."
This is likely the most the two girls have ever spoken, but Astoria answers without hesitation. "My parents aren't forcing me to marry Adrian, not that they're in a position to make me do anything these days. My sister and I are getting the family's affairs in order. Although my parents never actively supported the Dark—Voldemort—we did collect more than our fair share of dark magic objects. The condition of our continued freedom is the return of all such artefacts to the Ministry of Magic."
A tendril of surprise works beneath Draco's skin. He assumed the Greengrass family simply walked free. It's disconcerting to realize they're paying a price. He shouldn't be surprised. Of course, the Ministry isn't simply letting known associates of Death Eaters—no matter their official affiliation—simply walk.
"Do you have any plans for yourself? I imagine you might want to finish school."
Draco never even considered that option. Granted, he only missed his final year. Astoria has more than a year left of her Hogwarts curriculum.
Astoria nods at Hermione. "I've considered it. I think it depends on how many opportunities require me to go back. I've been thinking about trying to apprentice as a healer. If I do that, I may not have to finish. But If I want a Ministry career… well, you know."
"I think being a healer is a very noble choice," Hermione murmurs and her guard slips just the slightest bit. Astoria doesn't notice, but knowing what Hermione's endured—what she still endures—it's impossible to miss.
"How about you?" Astoria asks, polite to a fault.
There's a moment where all he sees in Hermione's cinnamon eyes is panic. Then she pulls herself together and smiles at Astoria and he almost believes the terror was a figment of his imagination.
"I'm trying to figure a few things out. I'm not really sure what direction I want to go anymore."
The shorter girl lets out a choked laugh. "I never thought I'd see the day when Hermione Granger didn't have all the answers."
"Neither did I." Now there's no mistaking the agony splintering Hermione's façade.
Tom slips an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into him. Draco doesn't feel even a modicum of jealousy. All he wants to do his put his arms around her too. To assure her he's just as lost as she is.
Astoria, ever sensitive to the emotions of those around her, swivels her gaze between them.
She pastes a neutral smile on her face, even as her warm gaze oozes concern. "Perhaps it would be better if we caught up later? I find I have too much free time these days. Maybe I could stop by for a cup of tea sometime?"
Hermione surprises Draco when she offers Astoria a feeble smile of her own. "I think we'd all appreciate that."
"I'm at the Lake Country Manor, Draco. Floo anytime," she tells him. "Nice to meet all of you. I hope you won't be strangers."
She stands on her tiptoes and presses a warm kiss against Draco's cheek before turning her heel. They all watch her go.
"I like her." Hermione shakes her head. "I think we might have been friends, in a different life."
"You can be friends now," Draco offers. "We have an entire life ahead of us."
The almost smile Hermione gives him is the closest thing to hope he's seen in a long time.