Chapter Twelve: Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

Chapter title taken from the Fall Out Boy song.

"So he's just a friend you snog?"

MINISTRY TRIES TO COVER UP MASS AZKABAN BREAKOUT—SEVERAL DEATH EATERS AT LARGE

Yesterday evening reliable sources confirmed the worst: Azkaban prison has been infiltrated by Dark Wizards and a mass breakout ensued. A messy patrol was led by the Chosen One himself, Mister Harry Potter and his most trusted yet questionable officers. Aurors Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and John Dawlish accompanied the Boy Who Lived along with patrol officers Lucille Wright, Elowen Breckenridge, former Death Eater Draco Malfoy and American newcomer Rosalind Morana. Several inmates perished in the fight, along with all guards on duty. No word as of yet how or what caused the jailbreak but there have been whispers that young Malfoy was involved, since his father Lucius was the lone survivor. Minister Shacklebolt and Potter have been mum on the subject, avoiding the press as usual.

Draco threw the Prophet into the fire, watching the flames eat away at the paper and curling the edges. The article was no surprise but he was angry that it mentioned him at all; he had nothing to do with the breakout. At least the blunt of the blame was being put on Potter so that was a slight relief.

Porcelain chinked on the table and a chair screeched behind him. The woman's long slender arms coiled around Draco's upper body, caressing his hair and kissing the top of his head. "What's wrong Draco?" she cooed.

"Nothing," he lied. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You're shutting me out again," she pleaded. "Please don't do this."

She attempted to touch him but he pushed her arm away and began pacing in front of the fireplace, clenching his fists. "I don't know what to do," he began, gripping his platinum locks. "They're going to start watching me more carefully at work, they're going to think I am up to something simply because he's alive." A spark flew from his wand. "They're going to blame me. I know it. They're going to jump to conclusions…" His voice trails off, saddening. "I don't know what I'll do."

The woman hesitated, trying to find the right words to comfort him. "Draco calm down it will be alright—"

"No it will not be alright Mother!" He snapped, his voice echoing throughout the manor's walls. "They watch me all the fucking time, I know they do—they're just waiting for the right moment to sack me."

Narcissa Malfoy's eyes lowered to the floor. She hated seeing her son upset. "Let's not dwell on what could happen," she said quietly. "Instead let us focus on the present, on what is in front of us." She reached out a hand to him and he softened at her touch. "Your father is alive, Draco, be thankful for that."

His posture stiffened again. He was not sure if that brought him amenity or disdain. "What does that matter?" He said fiercely. "It's not like he'll speak to his only son or anything."

"Your father is stressed," Narcissa said gently, caressing his arm. "He was imprisoned in that godforsaken place for much too long. I have faith that he will be home soon." She tried to look into his pale grey eyes but he was averting her.

"What happens if he does?" he asked softly. "What becomes of us?"

"We'll be a family again," Narcissa said simply.

Draco scoffed. "A family? What about the rest of the Death Eaters that escaped? Do you honestly think that they're not plotting something? Something that doesn't involve us?"

Narcissa's lips tightened. "We will worry about that when the time comes." She kissed the side of his head and departed for her bedroom.

Draco's hands were still clenched, his knuckles fading into a deathly white; he was shaking terribly. He slammed his fist into the wall and crimson liquid appeared in droplets, slithering to the ground. His mother had been like this since the war ended: always trying to focus on the present instead of being anxious about the future. In a matter of speaking it made sense but it also made it difficult to talk to her. He clutched the sides of the wall, repeatedly slamming his fists and gripping his teeth. He was stupid for taking a job at the Ministry, stupid for actually believing they would see through his past, stupid for trying to be the good person that he believed he was. All I am is a coward, he thought. A bloody, fucking coward. Everyone around him seemed to believe that he only cared about himself, what difference did it make if he tried to prove them wrong? No one cared, no one was looking-no one saw his achievements but the world saw his mistakes.

He carefully treaded over to his mother's room on the far side of the manor. They normally had the great windows opened, the light shining through the magnificent home but since his father was imprisoned Narcissa kept the house bleak. The door was open ajar and he stepped inside: she was sitting on her grandiose four poster bed, back against the headboard. She was clutching a pillow to her chest, her long platinum and brunette locks brushing her face. Her normally bright blue eyes were hollow, tears glistening down her usually arrogant face. Her beauty was fading, carving itself into her misery.

"Mother…" Draco said slowly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice at you."

She didn't answer for several seconds, still staring blankly at the foot of the bed, dreaming about the life they used to have. "It's alright," she whispered without glancing at him. "I understand. Working at the Ministry has been stressful for you." She constricted her breath, holding back tears.

Draco sat next to her, approaching her slowly. He held her tightly and tried to calm her down. "I'm sorry I couldn't be a better son."

Naricissa's eyes glistened. "You think you're a disappointment Draco?" She asked rhetorically. "You are a Malfoy, blood purer than that of any other Pureblood; you were a Hogwarts prefect, part of the Inquisitorial Squad, servant to the Dark Lord and now working for the Ministry. And you think you're a disappointment?"

"I'm a coward, Mother. I didn't finish the job I was given and the Ministry offered me a job to keep an eye on me," he said dryly. "I have amounted nothing in my life."

Narcissa shook her head, giving a mordant laugh. "You have done much more than others have. I've been proud of you whatever you chose Draco, as long as you are happy."

He had to hold back a stiff laugh. Happy. The word sounded odd to him; when was the last time he was happy? It seemed as if he was always worried about letting his father down, worried that he would be a failure.

"I love you, son," she said quietly.

He attempted to smile. "I love you too, Mother."

Narcissa sat up straight, smoothing her composure. "This is no time to be upset," she said as she wiped away her tears, voice rising. "We need to be happy and thankful." She huffed some air trying as hard as she could to look complacent. "So, how has work been besides the fiasco at Azkaban? Have you been assigned to work with anyone new yet?"

"Yes," he grumbled. "I'm partnered with the American."

"The one that was in the Prophet? What is she?"

"American," he repeated.

She threw him a stern, motherly look. "You know what I mean."

"She's a Pureblood," he grumbled.

Narcissa smiled. "Oh I knew there was a reason why I liked her. She's quite beautiful isn't she? You two would make a handsome pair."

"We work together Mother, that would be unprofessional," Draco replied quickly.

"But you haven't denied that you think she's beautiful."

He sighed. He had walked into a trap. "I suppose she's not bad."

It was Narcissa's turn to laugh. "Don't be unreasonable Draco. I'm sure your father would say the same."

"They already met."

She raised her brow. "Did they? Where did she meet him?"

"In Azkaban," he said bitterly. "She was the first to talk to him after the riot."

"What did he say?" she demanded, friendly tone gone.

"Nothing important." He regretted saying anything,knowing where this was going.

"Draco," she pressed. "Tell me."

"Honestly it was nothing really. He asked her the same question you did and told her she would have been Sorted into Slytherin if she attended Hogwarts," he almost laughed for what he was going to say next. "He told her we would be good together and to keep an eye on me, to keep me out of trouble."

Narcissa beamed. "He's right. You do know that I want grandchildren soon. I'm growing impatient."

"Mother—"

She ignored him. "When do I get to meet her?"

"What?" he asked flustered. "Why would you want to meet her?"

"I can't meet the woman who spends more time than I do with my son?" she said acutely.

Draco shook his head in exasperation. He couldn't believe she was serious. "I suppose you can."

Narcissa grinned. "Good. I have a feeling your father will be home soon—I have a faith we'll be united again. You can invite her over for dinner then." She patted him on the back.

"Right. Okay," he said absentmindedly. He stood up, giving her a short kiss on her cheek. "I have to go Mother. I'll see you soon."

She smiled, lingering onto his arm. "Be careful son." He nodded, then Apparated from his childhood home into his lonely apartment.

The room was brimming with dread, the loneliness hitting him like a wall. Draco ambled into his bedroom and began to undress himself. He looked in the mirror, taking a good look at the frail, gashing scars on his torso. They were painless but he hated how horrid they looked. On his left forearm was a thin, long and intricate scar: a three dimensional skull regurgitating a snake that coiled itself around it, its head slithering its tongue at the bottom. How he despised that tattoo-it reminded him of everything he had done wrong. Most days it faded into nothing, but others it burned a jet black, inky color. He had done what he could to rid himself of it but it always came back to haunt him, like a phantom.

Glass shattered as he threw a vase against the wall. He was tired of being angry, tired of being looked down upon, tired of feeling like he was never good enough. He sobbed quietly, his hands slipping against the wall, his fingers tearing his platinum hair. He was the boy who made all the wrong choices and was desperate to leave that behind. But if his father made it out of the Ministry's grip it would prove much harder to break. He lay down on his cold floor, feeling more alone than ever.

"Malfoy, can I have a word?"

Draco stopped in his tracks, agitated. He was already in a sour mood; he didn't want Potter ruining his morning. He turned around, fixing a fake smile and walked into Potter's office.

"Have a seat," he instructed. He sat in wooden chair, glowering at his former nemesis. "I presume you know why I called you?"

"Because you think I had something to do with what happened at Azkaban," he said flatly.

"Actually, I do not." Draco raised his eyebrows. Potter always placed the blame on him. "I wanted to talk to you about your performance here."

Shit, he thought. He's going to sack me. "Shouldn't I be talking to Bowen about this? He is my supervisor." Bowen would show him mercy, he was sure of it.

Harry shook his head. "I don't think you had anything to do with it. I actually think you handled yourself well." Draco didn't respond. it wasn't every day that Harry Potter complimented him. "I actually wanted to apologize," he said hesitantly, avoiding his gaze.

Draco gave him a questionable look. "What for?"

"For everything. For misjudging you, for being a prat to you and mostly for underestimating you. These last several weeks you have done a complete turnaround and I am truly impressed."

His head jolted back, unsure what to say. "Thank you." He eyed him, thinking there was another motive. "Is there anything else?"

Harry paused. "I'm sorry about your father. I know how difficult it is for you right now with the department and the wizarding community assuming you were involved, but don't let it get to you. You're not the Dark Wizard they believe you to be. They'll come around," he made a small attempt at a smile but it faltered.

Draco pursed his lips. "Thanks Potter. I appreciate it." He was silent for a moment then asked the question that was burning inside him. "Do you know…do you know what will happen to my father?"

Harry shrugged. "He's back in Azkaban for now. His trial was accelerated to next week where the Wizengamot will decide his fate." He poured himself a shot of alcohol. "His chances of being released are unknown at this point."

Draco nodded mindlessly, observing the information. Since the fiasco the dementors were sent back to Azkaban. As inhumane as they were they provided the best protection. He stood up to leave feeling strange; in all the years they had known each other they had never had a civilized conversation. It was nice however that someone was appreciating his efforts, that someone was seeing through the rumors. Maybe things would be changing for the better. His mood was lightened as he walked back to his desk almost smiling.

"You are looking rather delighted today," Rosalind observed. "What's the occasion?"

"Nothing," he said curtly. "Can't I smile every now and then?"

She rolled her eyes. "I was about to tell you that you look really nice when you do. You've been looking pretty down lately."

Draco suppressed a laugh. "I didn't think anyone would notice."

"I notice everything, don't you know?" she scrunched her nose playfully.

He eyed her. "Don't act like you're a Legilimens or something."

"I've attempted it and I cannot get the hang of it. And I'm terrible at Occlumency," she said packing her belongings, tucking her quill behind her ear. "But I'm starting to know you better than you think. You wanna grab a drink? I'm not tired enough to go home yet."

"Sure," he agreed. "Leaky Cauldron?"

She nodded. "See you there."

"Ah, Miss Rosalind!" said Tom the barman. "How nice to see you. Fancy a drink?"

"A firewhisky," Draco said. Rosalind ordered an exploding lemonade and tequila. They sat in the far corner of the bar where no one could see them. Several creepy regulars sat on the other side, passed out face first into their meals.

They sat in silence, eating away and enjoying the lull in conversation. The sun was beginning to set. "Did you ever find out who left that note?" Draco asked as Rosalind was ripping away at her chicken.

"No," she said with a mouthful of food. "But nothing's happened so far and it looks like no one has been there." She gulped. "Do you think I should still be worried?"

Draco sipped his second beer. "I don't know. Probably not. If you need anything let me know. Honestly," he said sounding concerned. "There are some dodgy people out there I don't want you getting hurt."

Rosalind grinned. "You sound so worried."

He rolled his eyes. "If something happens to you I'm going to have to be reassigned to someone else again. I like working with you." He added quickly in a harsher tone.

Rosalind saw right through him and elbowed his ribs. "Oh come on don't act like it's nice looking forward going to work every day. I like working with you too." She smiled widely.

"Can't resist my charms can you?" He smirked.

"Yes your bad boy charms are so irresistible," she rolled her eyes. "No wonder you're such a ladies man."

"Not anymore. Those days are behind me."

"How come you don't have a girlfriend then?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," he admitted. "I guess my standards are too high and I don't like anything casual. It's about time I start to settle down."

"Ooh, you're looking for The One," she teased.

Draco glared at her. "Possibly. What's it matter to you anyway?"

"What, I can't get to know you?" she answered laughing. "I know you don't like talking about work all the time. It gets exhausting."

He chugged the remainder of his beer. "Fine. I see where you're going with this. Why aren't you with anyone? Weaselbee seems keen to make you his girlfriend."

She smiled broadly, sipping her drink. "I love spending time with him but he's not my boyfriend."

"So he's just a friend you snog?"

She punched his arm. "No, he's a really sweet guy. I just don't think I'm ready to be with anyone."

"Why not?" He asked carefully, noting the pain behind her response.

"I've only ever had one boyfriend before," she said still not looking at him. "Almost a decade ago when I was in school. He was my only real relationship. He was one of the worst people I've ever met."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said automatically.

Rosalind shrugged, trying to forget what was going through her mind. "So what's your story? What happened that made you the bad boy that you are?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "I'm only telling if you're telling. I'm interesting in knowing why you're here."

"Fine," she said standing up. "But not here." They paid their tab and Rosalind led them to the side of The Leaky Cauldron, where a dingy ladder hung by itself. "Coming?" she asked. They climbed the rickety rungs to the roof, where they had a clear view of the midnight blue sky. The stars were twinkling and the moon was shining like an orb onto their faces.

"What are we doing here?" he asked in disgust upon seeing several rats in the corner.

"Too many sketchy people down there," she said producing a blanket and pillows. "I like to come here to clear my head." She sat down, patting the spot next to her. "So?" She pressed, waiting for him to start. "I'm all ears."

He took the seat, simpering to himself that she was so eager to get to know him. No one had cared enough before to ask him how he felt or what was going through his mind.

He started from the beginning: how he was an only child raised in Malfoy Manor and tutored by the best professors in England; how he began flying since he was a toddler; how he played pranks on Dobby his house elf that would get him in trouble; how he had a scar on the bridge of his nose from when he fell off his broom when he was six; to the fancy dinners he was forced to go to in order to keep the family name. She listened intently, asking questions here and there. He told her how he was originally supposed to attend Durmstrang because they taught the Dark Arts but his mother didn't allow it. He spoke of his father like one would speak about a teacher they looked up to: clearly he wanted to please him but was afraid to disappoint. His mother was softer but had been depressed since the war ended; he loved his mother and did what he could to help her. He told her about the first time he met Harry Potter, how they served detention together in first year and spent the rest of their magical career at Hogwarts blaming each other for misdoings. She learned that he didn't necessarily hate the Weasleys but was taught that blood traitors were just as low as Muggles on the social hierarchy. Since Mrs. Weasley had killed his Aunt Bellatrix and Fred lost his life to a Death Eater (and their daughter was given Lord Voldemort's diary by Lucius himself), their rivalry was deep rooted.

"That's why you two act all weird around each other then." Rosalind stretched her arms and lay down. "I knew it wasn't because of me."

Of course it wasn't because of her, his gut wrenched. He continued his narration, carefully mentioning how he was torn about becoming a Death Eater but it was what his father wanted. He wouldn't go into detail about the other missions he had to go on, but it was obvious he did not enjoy them. There was sadness in his eyes, a haunting look that showed the desperation he had to be rid of it, whatever he was holding onto. His voice wavered, and she offered a comforting hand.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," she said gently. "I understand."

He peered into her auburn eyes, full of compassion. "Alright," he finally said. "What's your story then?"

Rosalind made a face between hesitation and anxiousness. "Well, I was born and raised in the States," she began. "I went to Muggle school until fifth grade, my parents strongly believed that it would be good for me to interact with Muggles. I attended Southwest Institute of Magic and really liked it there, but after my fifth year I began to change. I got into a lot of fights but I was very strategic about it—I picked my battles carefully and made sure I wouldn't get caught."

Draco almost laughed. "You were a rule breaker in school? I never saw that one coming," he said arrogantly.

She glared at him. "No not a rule breaker, I was sneaky and manipulative. I was angry and hurt. I did whatever I could to escape my head because I was afraid."

He quickly dropped his voice, realizing they had reached a touchy subject. "Of what?"

Rosalind bit her lip. "Of myself," she said faintly. "I'd become so angry I would black out and hurt people." She wasn't looking at him anymore, she almost looked ashamed. "I began to hate myself."

"What happened to you that made you so angry?"

She gave him a hazardous look; the kindness she normally had was gone. "That doesn't matter right now." She hunched forward, covering her mouth with her hands. "The Dark Arts background Bowen mentioned was from the year I graduated from SIM. I joined a group of people who were being sent to impoverished, war-torn countries to help them out. We were allowed to use magic against Muggles, as long as we were doing it correctly."

Draco nodded, piecing the information together. "It was a Muggle who wronged you?"

Rosalind's eyes darted to his, crestfallen. "Yes. So it was perfect for me. I was gone for about a year, until the war ended and Voldemort was defeated. I stayed in El Salvador mostly, it felt like my duty to help my people. But there was a point where I felt like we were doing more damage than good...I did a lot of things I'm not proud of, a lot of things I wish I could take back. I made a lot of dumb decisions because I was angry. You see a lot of fucked up things in a place as dangerous as that." She sighed, looking as if she was going to cry. "Maybe I'll tell you about that some other time...I've never told anyone this before. No one has ever asked."

To both their surprise Draco pulled her into an embrace. He felt relieved, happy that there was someone else out there like him: someone who had made all the wrong choices, who had dwelled in something much bigger than they imagined, who was now trying to move past it—someone imperfect.

She looked up into his pale grey eyes. "Have I scared you away yet?" she looked almost fearful.

"No," he shook his head. "Not at all." A smile flickered across her face and they sat there on the rooftop, mutually enjoying the comfort in the silence.

Hmm Draco and Rosalind are forming a pretty close bond, even though George explicitly told her he doesn't want her to be friends with him. Does that mean drama is coming their way? Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading :)

Next chapter: The Jetset Life is Going to Kill You.