Story: Standard
House: Hufflepuff
Class: Potions
Prompt: Cow, Newspaper
Word Count: 2555
TW: Some strong language
Round 2 of the THC is upon us and I'm pushing the deadline limit but I made it just in time! This is the second story, the one centered around a certain blond Slytherin, that I had such a weird time writing. Ultimately though, it was great fun and I owe to my teammates big time for helping me figure out how it was going to work. I hope you love this as much as I do!
Story Please is a lifesaver and her betas are essential to my well-being. Go 'puffs!
The first time Draco got a newspaper, he hid out in his secret basement for a week. The thought of someone knowing where he lived was terrifying and his fight or flight instincts had kicked in with a vengeance. Even after he'd come out of hiding, he'd been ready to move to a whole different country at the slightest inclination that someone had found him.
Post-war Britain had not been kind to the Malfoy heir. He'd served his one-year sentence in Azkaban as a model inmate but even after that, people felt his debt had not been repaid. His name was more synonymous with evil than Voldemort had ever been and society never let him forget it. Draco felt like he couldn't even breathe in Wizarding Britain anymore; not without breathing out poison.
With his mother settled in their seaside home in Marseilles and his father Kissed and rotting away in a cell, he hadn't even had anything to hold him back. Barely a month out of prison and Draco had vanished. The Manor and most of his possessions had been confiscated by the Ministry anyway so he hadn't even had anything to pack. He'd taken out all the Galleons he could and disappeared without a trace.
He didn't think they would look for him. Everyone would probably celebrate having one less Death Eater scum in their midsts. Would they think he killed himself? Did he even care? No, for the most part Draco was satisfied with being only a memory. It hurt not to be able to let his mother know but he was too scared of giving up his location to some of the more fanatical so-called Light side supporters. People that wouldn't even blink at the prospect of cleansing the Earth of his family's legacy.
Draco had searched far and wide for a place to go until he'd settled for a small farm somewhere in America. He didn't really care to find out which state he was in or whether the nearest town was Muggle or magical. His house was far enough from everyone to be able to comfortably do magic and that was all he cared about. He'd regrettably Confunded a seller into obtaining a few animals and he'd then holed himself up in his new safe haven.
One thing was for certain: Draco Malfoy was not born to be a farmer. Even with the aid of magic, the amount of times he'd struggled to care for his livestock or grow adequate crops was shameful. Slowly and steadily though, he'd figured it out through trial and error. Ten years later, he'd settled on the perfect mix of magical and Muggle means and had fully embraced his new lifestyle.
Fully enough that the prospect of having to move and start over again left a bitter taste in his mouth. Because, for the first time in his life, he felt truly free and happy. Free of Dark Lords and abusive fathers and family expectations. Free to be just a man, with a few chickens, a couple sheep, and a cow.
Ironically enough, Dolores the cow was more important to him than he'd initially realized. When he named the large animal after his despised DADA professor, he'd thought it would entertain him until time came for her to be slaughtered. Instead, the bovine appeared to have become his new best friend ─ and one of the reasons he decided against moving.
It had become kind of a sacred ritual; every morning, Draco would go feed the chickens, feed the sheep and then go back to the house and make coffee, which he would drink by Dolores' stable. He'd spend the morning magiking grass to dance for the bemused cow as he washed her, brushed her and groomed her. Hogwarts Draco would probably laugh at his face for caring so much about an animal but Mature Draco couldn't explain it. Something in those warm, brown eyes regarded him with such love and kindness that he couldn't bear to treat her like the rest of his livestock.
"Do you think we should leave, Dolores?" Draco asked the cow as he regarded the latest Prophet that had been left at his doorstep this morning. This was the fifth newspaper he'd gotten in the span of three years and, even though he was more used to the strange event by now, anxiety still overtook him every time.
The cow's gentle moo reassured him slightly as his fingers unconsciously folded and unfolded the front page of the newspaper. After skimming the titles of the day, he'd hastily ripped it away before retreating into the barn, where he'd spent about half an hour pacing up and down in front of Dolores' stall. FULL PARDON TO MINOR DEATH EATERS glared up at him every time he unfolded the small square of paper.
He hadn't read the article yet but he'd stared at the picture of Theo and Pansy hugging in what looked like the stand of a courtroom, desperation and relief clear in their forms. The blonde wizard didn't really dream of going back to Britain, not even with a pardon possibility on the horizon, but the sight of his two best friends and the thought of what they had gone through for the past decade had hurt him like a punch in the gut.
Draco took a deep breath to stop himself before he started spiralling again. No one was hunting him anymore. Realistically, if someone sent him newspapers to threaten him, they'd have attacked him by now. It was probably just a long-forgotten subscription that rarely found its way to his farm house. Despite the rational explanation though, something still nagged him in the back of his brain.
Every paper that found its way to his doorstep had something to do with Death Eaters and the progress of wizarding society. MUGGLEBORN RIGHTS ASSOCIATION CONSTRUCTED. AZKABAN PRISON REFORM UNDERWAY. MINISTRY PREJUDICE PURGED. DEATH EATER REHABILITATION PROGRAM LAUNCHED. Every title had something to tell him. Was it to reassure him though or was it to taunt him? Why these titles out of everything? Was there even a secret message?
"Moo."
"Yes, Dolores, food, I know. Some sympathy would be appreciated," Draco grumbled as he led his cow outside to the grassy hill. "You realise you'll probably end up as a kebab if I have to move, don't you?"
"Moo."
Draco huffed out a laugh as he cast a cushioning charm on the rock he usually sat at. It was bad enough that his past haunted him every night in his sleep; he could do without the ghosts of his past tormenting him during the daytime too. He unfolded the paper again, trying in vain to smooth out the myriad of wrinkles. He'd been so distracted with the title and the photo of his old classmates that he'd neglected to read what the article was actually about.
On the celebratory tenth year since the end of the Second Greatest Wizarding War, the Ministry announced a full pardon granted to Death Eaters that were minors during their initiation and that did not participate heavily during the war. With rights advocate and former DMLE solicitor Hermione Granger at the forefront of the crusade, this decision marks a huge step towards a brighter, progressive future. Full article, page 9.
And there it was, the biggest ghost of them all. The fierce Muggleborn would not leave him alone, no matter how far away from her he moved. Ten years and a whole different continent later and she still found ways to get under his skin in the worst way possible.
Back when the war had just ended, Draco had been in a terrible place. Even with Potter's testimonies, he'd landed a year in prison and the guilt of his actions was eating him alive. In what would later become her rehabilitation program, Hermione Granger had taken it upon herself to set up a correspondence with all her imprisoned classmates. Only she would care enough to check on the damned as if they hadn't landed themselves right where they deserved.
The first letter had left him angry, the second confused and it'd taken about three more for him to even consider responding. And still, the bushy-haired witch persisted, like she always so annoyingly did.
The letters that he so strongly despised at first quickly became his only lifeline in the damp Azkaban cell. When the cold and the despair would eat away at him, the stack of folders beneath his pillow had kept him grounded. At the end of his sentence, he wouldn't have called the Muggleborn his friend but he was fully aware he owed her his survival.
To see her name all over those newspapers, followed by all her accomplishments, brought forth a wave of nostalgia. She had always been the one to preach about how she would change the world and she was actually making it happen, despite the reticence of old Pureblood society. Draco wasn't exactly proud, per-se, but he enjoyed the idea of a better world for his friends. Hope might be lost for him but they still deserved a chance and he was glad to know someone would actually fight for them.
From that point on, the newspapers started coming more regularly. What usually was once every two years or so became twice a month. Half a year later, he even saw the owl that delivered them to his house.
He'd been sitting with Dolores once more, enjoying the sunrise. It had been a tough night again, with the twelfth anniversary of the battle approaching fast, and Draco had quickly given up on sleep, instead taking his blanket to the hill outside. The near-sapient cow (he was sure of it by now) had been waiting for him by the door, as if knowing he would need her comfort.
The two had spent all night together, Draco's hand nestled in Dolores' soft fur. The sun had only just gone up when the small owl had approached. At first, the blond wizard had thought it was an eagle of some sort but, as the bird had approached with determination, he'd realized this was the source of the papers.
He didn't recognise the angry-looking thing. It was a Great Horned owl and one of the ugliest he'd ever seen, but it wasn't familiar. Draco scoffed back at the glaring owl and quickly extracted the newspaper from its leg. He'd been hoping the bird would be a clue but it only left him with more questions. Most families had one specific owl so this meant it was a stranger. Who would bother with him so much?
Without thought, he ripped the back page of the newspaper, transfiguring a quill out of a stick nearby and scribbling a quick message that he tied back to the irritated bird. With a vengeful nibble at his fingers, the owl took flight and Draco followed it with his eyes as it disappeared in the horizon.
"I think that was very stupid of me, Dolores," he mused as he slowly realized what he had done.
"Moo."
"Well, of course, but there's no need to be so rude about it, you cow." With that, the wizard got up and dusted himself off, signaling to Dolores that it was time to go back. What was done was done. Now all that was left was waiting.
Draco stared at the message on his table, next to the discarded newspaper. This was the tenth of his collection and the worst one yet. NARCISSA MALFOY RUSHED TO ST. MUNGOS', CAUSE UNKNOWN.
The wizard had lost touch with his mother on purpose; she was better off without such a disgrace of a son to burden her. But this was important. Only now he could see how his plan could backfire ⎼ he might lose her forever and he wouldn't even know. Running his hand through his hair in frustration, he got up, pocketed the small piece of paper and made for the stables.
Dolores was waiting for him once more, her warm brown eyes almost knowing as she mooed at him from the distance. Draco scratched the top of her head distractedly before he started pacing as she went back on eating.
"My mother is in hospital," he choked out finally, tears threatening to burst from his eyes. Dolores nudged his knee in a comforting manner and he took a deep breath before continuing, needing to get all his thoughts out to sort them in order.
"My mother is possibly sick and I am hiding away on the other side of the world. I think I know who has been sending the newspapers and I'm not sure I want to be right or wrong and my mum might be dying and I think she thinks I'm dead too because I was a selfish bastard and now I may never get to see her again."
He didn't realise he was panicking until he had no more breath to talk. Draco dropped to his knees on the soft grass, tears streaking down his cheeks, as he struggled for oxygen. Dolores nuzzled his cheek before resting her head on the crook of his shoulder and he hugged her as much as he could, burying his face in her soft hair and finally letting himself go.
Draco didn't really know how much time had passed until he managed to gather himself. His faithful Dolores stayed by his side, not complaining once, and his heart ached with adoration. He never knew a cow would be such a great comfort as she was.
"Do you think I should go?" he asked as he wiped his nose on his sleeve, slowly standing back up. Another nudge, this time to his side and impatient. He could read her perfectly by now and he hiccuped out a laugh. Of course you should, you bloody idiot.
He reached into his pocket to pull out the small paper he had nearly forgotten about, folding and unfolding it in nervousness. In all honesty, Draco was terrified. He was scared of losing his mother, of course, but he was almost more scared of facing all that he had run from. He had proof the world had changed; it was stacked carefully on his kitchen counter, but the voice in his head still filled him with doubt. Things were real now though and, at the end of the day, he didn't feel he had a choice.
"Will you be okay without me? I won't be gone for more than a month and I'll prepare everything for you but I hate leaving you alone like this." He knew this was stupid reasoning and it was more about lying to himself than worrying for Dolores but he still had to try.
"Moo." Will you go already please? You're interrupting my lunch.
Draco smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of Dolores' head. A few incantations later and the automatic feeder was sorted to work on its own. He had no more excuses. As he waved goodbye to his longest-standing friend and made his way back to the house to pack, he unfolded the paper in his fist. He had memorised the words by now but he needed to check one last time.
I think it's time you came home.
H.G.