Chapter Five: Back to the Manor
Everything else seemed to happen in a blur, as Draco's mind was reeling. The Healers arrived just moments after Neville's declaration of fatherhood(so no one could question him), five of them, in white uniforms and carrying bags of equipment.
They examined A.J., who had slipped away again, and reassured Neville(who had gone very quiet and pale) that she was fine, but she would have to go to St. Mungo's because she'd received a stunning spell through the chest.
Ginny, though she refused hotly, was looked over and had to have a very severe burn on her leg that had to be dealt with immediately. She would also be going to the hospital, because it would take three weeks to heal. They were taken away immediately, and Draco didn't even get a chance to say good bye. Neville, however, spent ten minutes slowly releasing A.J.'s hand. Harry told him he could go with her, but Neville refused. He had to help Harry with the Leaky Cauldron, he'd said, as his agonized gaze followed A.J. out the door and into the freezing night.
Draco desperately wanted to know what the hell was going on with A.J., and how Neville could be her father at twenty-five years old, and that was ignoring the fact that she was with the Galleon Grabbers at seven.
But there was just too much chaos and frantic work to ask him, and he got the feeling that Neville wouldn't have told him. Already the man was glancing nervously around himself, as though he was afraid someone would sneak up behind him and begin interrogating him. Draco had to admit, he would have liked to demand some answers.
But he knew that now was not the time to begin questioning him. Everyone had leapt back into their work with frightening ferocity, and the world around him was a swirl of black-clad bodies casting spells and inspecting the scant evidence they'd managed to acquire.
The glass was pulled from Draco's hand by a Healer who'd hung back to care for the injured, and though it hurt like hell, he could barely focus on the flashes of white-hot pain. Too much had gone wrong, and too much was going wrong. Everything was officially in danger, and he wished with all his heart he'd contacted Harry the minute he'd seen Blaise in Diagon Alley. He could have saved two-hundred people.
But no, of course not, not Draco Malfoy. He could never do a damn thing right.
Soon, crouched in a corner of the Leaky Cauldron, watching the Aurors, Healers, and Hit Wizards work, he felt the life draining out of him. He felt as though he was slowly aging into a very, very old man. He had no idea how long he sat there, thinking, worrying, watching the slow work go on and on.
When Potter, sweaty faced and bleary eyed, finally called him up to inspect the suspects list, Draco rose without hesitation, feeling his now bandaged hand burn in protest.
He was led to a back room, given a quill, and he wordlessly ran his eyes over the faces. He recognized A.J., checked her, and then found Reynolds, who blended in with every other old man on the list, and checked him. He saw Vanessa, looking quite different in her picture than she had when he'd seen her. She had wavy, blood-colored hair that was brushed and clean, a warm, delicately featured face, and a placid smile. Nothing like the disheveled woman he'd seen that night.
He didn't recognize a single other person, though he felt, with a pang of annoyance, that he had probably seen every single one of them tonight. He racked his brain, but only frail glimpses of features came to his mind. A black suit, a big nose, a thick head of chestnut curls. All of it was a messy smear of disjointed pieces, mixed with the glow of lights and the glimmer of firewhiskey.
Neither Jane, Jackie, nor Blaise were on the list, so he scribbled their names along the bottom of the parchment.
He handed Harry the list silently. He could feel the worry etched across his face. "Take care, Draco." Harry said with a weak smile, tucking the list into his pocket. "And if I were you, I'd deny having anything to do with this place. It's going to be swarmed with reporters by noon, and the rumors are going to spill out the doors the moment the Prophet is delievered."
Draco nodded, and Harry left him alone in the quiet, dark room.
Draco sat there for a moment, feeling exhaustion creep over him. He spotted a gleam of hazy blue on the floor, and he turned to see faint dawn light spilling in through a small window. The sky had only a few weak silver clouds floating across it, and the first pale yellow hues of sunlight glowed on the horizon.
Though it was a beautiful morning, it only made him feel more exhausted and beaten down. His bandaged hand throbbed, just like his head, and his body felt sticky and stiff. His clothes were torn and ragged, covered in bloodstains and glittering with fragments of glass.
He wanted to go home.
He rose to his feet, and walked wordlessly out of the room, through the pub, and out onto the cold street that was just beginning to come to life. Lights began to flicker on, and curtains had been drawn back. A few people draped in thick, warm cloaks walked quickly down the street, hurrying to work. None of them knew what had happened yet. They would not know until breakfast, when the Prophet was usually delivered, or maybe even later. They still believed that all was well and good in the world, that the Ministry was handling things. He wished he could be one of them. He wished that he could be as innocent as they were.
Draco stopped in the middle of the street, though it was bitter cold and his fingers were already numb, and just watched the world slowly unfold. He felt frozen in time, like he was sitting in the train right before it ran off the rails, or walking on the boat right before it tipped.
He was looking at the last few hours of calm before the panic.
The sun was peeking out above the trees, casting long shafts of golden light across the sky, and he decided just to Apparate, though it was a bit of a long way to go.
He focused on his dreary flat, though focusing was hard as hell, and willed himself to appear there.
His entire body felt like it was being crushed together, and he couldn't see anything but swirling colors. He couldn't breathe because hot, expanding sand was filling his lungs and pulling him apart-
With a crack, he landed in his living room. He knew he shouldn't Apparate too much(muggles would think someone was having a gun fight) but he couldn't help himself.
His house was dark and freezing, and his navy curtains were drawn, shunning the gentle light of dawn.
He stumbled back to his room, almost unable to walk, but he didn't collapse onto his bed.
Instead, he made his way to his window and opened it. The moment he did, his barn owl(who he'd just started calling Barnaby because an owl needed a name) swooped in with snow-speckled feathers and gave him an accusing look. "I was out." Draco muttered. Barnaby's amber eyes didn't relent. "I'm sorry. It was urgent." He said, wandering to his desk and plopping down in front of the parchment on his desk. By the light of the sun, he tiredly wrote a brief letter.
Mother and Father,
I do believe I've made a mistake by buying a flat out here in muggle London. I'd much like to come home to my own room in the manor, if that is possible. Money has gotten tight, and I'm sick of not being able to Apparate to my own home. Also, I'd like to be closer to my own wizarding kind.
But most of all, I miss both of you very, very much.
-Draco
He tied the letter to Barnaby's leg(though he was viciously pecked a few times in the process) and sent him off, a swooping tawny shape against the bright, blinding backdrop of a rising golden sun. Draco watched him go before closing the window and drawing the shades, turning back to his bedroom, and collapsing in a heap on top of his quilt. He was asleep in seconds.
He banged on the glass of the tank, his fists bouncing off with embarrassingly futile little thuds. Tap tap tap.
The world around him was shadowed and unfocused, and he couldn't tell where he was. The only solid thing was the thick glass tank in front of him.
Tap tap tap.
Three faces appeared through the gloom, trapped inside the tank. Ginny and both of his parents, bound and gagged, slamming themselves against the glass with panicked eyes. Water, thick and black as oil, swirled around their ankles, rising swiftly.
"I'll get you out! You won't be like the others! I won't let them kill you!" He screamed as the water rose to their knees and the volume of their muffled screams grew louder.
A terrible cackle rang through the air, and he saw Blaise sitting on top of the tank, a wild gleam in his eyes. Draco knew, that, somehow, he could break the glass. "Get them out!" He cried desperately.
Blaise only laughed, and hoards of people emerged from the darkness, laughing at him. "Why resist us, Draco?" Blaise asked silkily, "You know which side you're going to choose. You know who you really are!" He cried.
Draco shook his head, and then felt fire blazing on his arm. He yanked back his sleeve, feeling sweat on his lip, and saw that the Dark Mark had turned black again. It had been slowly fading to gray for many months now, but no more. It looked as fresh as it had the moment he'd received it.
He gave a horrible, blinding screech of fear, and flung himself at the glass, desperate to break it. The water had reached their necks, and his father(who was much taller), was trying to pull his mother upward towards the top of the tank. Ginny had stopped struggling, and now just stared at Draco with the wild eyes of a cornered animal. He beat harder, anger swelling in his chest, driving out the fear. TAP. TAP. TAP.
His fists were bruised and bloody, leaving smears of crimson on the glass.
The water reached the top of the tank, and there was a flash of green light. Draco felt himself sliding to the ground.
Tap tap tap.
His eyes snapped open, and he found himself submerged in darkness, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his clothes drenched in sweat.
His hand throbbed dully, and he pushed a lock of dripping hair from his eyes as his mind registered where he was.
Lying on the floor of his bedroom.
It had all been a dream.
Hysterical laughter bubbled in his throat, and he laughed until he couldn't breathe, letting the cold wave of relief drown him. His heartbeat was racing in his chest, and he made no move to calm it.
He got to his feet, shaking wildly, and fumbled for his wand.
"Lumos," He muttered, and the tip of the wand sparked, flickering gold.
The tapping noise was coming from the window, and he thought he heard the screech of talons on glass.
Barnaby.
He used the narrow beam of light to navigate his room, narrowly missing the leg of his desk by centimeters.
He pushed open the window, and was greeted with a gust of freezing air.
Barnaby pecked wildly at his head, and Draco shoved him back into the tiny gilded birdcage he kept on the floor by the window, wincing as he felt blood trickling down his neck. He wondered how he'd managed to keep Barnaby undiscovered for so long: the bird was begging to be caught by the landlord.
When, with severely scratched hands, he finally managed to pry a tightly bound piece of parchment from Barnaby's leg, it was a tattered scrap that was almost unreadable.
However, using his wand and squinting hard, he could make out a long-winded letter in his mothers curt, clean script.
His eyes scanned it quickly, and he caught phrases about the Estelle mansion(she didn't seem particularly upset, just curious) and about how everyone was in a fit about it. She did say that she was happy Draco was returning home in this time of danger, though, and that his room was ready for him. Both Narcissa and Lucius were overjoyed that he would be back with them. They would send for his things on Thursday, but in the meantime, he should come home as soon as he possibly could.
Draco heaved a sigh, a cold, rasping breath in the darkness. Every part of him wanted to stay out of the manor. He had so wanted to try being his own person outside of all the Malfoy drama. But one flash of his dream, one look at the terror on his parents' faces, and he bit his lip, threw away the letter, and wrote a quick response.
I'll be home by Wednesday.
He snatched Barnaby out of his cage, fed him some owl pellets to try and make amends, and then tied the letter to his leg.
Barnaby, with a joyful hoot, spread his wide wings and soared out the window, disappearing into the night.
Draco closed the window and sank down onto his bed, breathing hard. Wednesday. That was tomorrow. He would be home tomorrow to watch over his family. It was like a weight lifted off his shoulders, freeing up his chest and allowing him to breathe again.
What would he do with today, when the sun finally rose again?
Borgin was expecting him at work...
He needed to pack...
Something prickled uncomfortably in the back of his mind, tugging on his thoughts. He was going to take care of his mother and father, but there was another person who he had not thought of. Ginny. Wounded, a prime target, put in a hospital where patients had been killed before. Anyone could slip a potion into her meal, or her water. Anyone.
Again, the childish need to see Ginny alive surged through him like a jet of icy water.
He suddenly knew what he was doing with his last day of true freedom.