Draco Malfoy had never been so frightened in his life. The reality of his father's (and ultimately, his) and his compatriots' rhapsodizing over the immense power and charisma and rightness of the Dark Lord, of his love for his followers and his hatred of his enemies, of the justness of his cause, had not survived first contact with the man his father had gone to Azkaban for.
The feeling of griminess and dishevelment was the least of his worries as he took the Dark Lord's dismissal as an opportunity to pull his mother into another room, calling for a house elf as soon as the doors had closed behind him. Her pallor and the seizing of her muscles worried him as nothing else had, for Draco so loved his mother, but he felt helpless, useless, without his wand. The Dark Lord had confiscated his and his mother's nearly as soon as he and his mass of followers had descended upon the Manor. He couldn't say for sure why, but it was the less important of his thoughts as soon as the Dark Lord had started to torture his mother for his father's failings.
His eyes had been opened, then. Wide open.
"Lissy!" he commanded, as close to a whisper as he was able.
The pop made him wince as the house elf appeared in the room upon command, but no one came barging through the doors he'd just closed behind them.
"Lissy, your loyalty is still to House Black, is it not?" he asked the elf, who was staring fretfully at her mistress, Narcissa Malfoy, who still lay quivering in Draco's arms.
"Lissy is loyal to Missus Malfoy, Master Draco," she confirmed in a roundabout way.
He sighed, but there was no time to argue with the elf over hedging her answer. "My mother and I have no wands." He held up his hand to forestall Lissy doing anything with the first batch of information he'd given her. His other hand wracked through his mother's hair, soothing himself as much as he hoped he was soothing his mother.
He went straight to the point. "Are any of Mother's Black dowery properties protected against any who are not a Black?" It was the best he could ask for, despite Bellatrix being a Black herself. But even then, his aunt was so completely loony that she likely wouldn't even think of the dower properties if—when—they disappeared.
"The cottage on the west coast of Wales, Master Draco. Thornhill Cottage. Lissy knows all the properties, as a Black elf, yes she does."
Despising his lack of wand and the fact he had to rely on elf magic to rescue himself and his mother—there was no hope of regaining control of Malfoy Manor at this point, and his uselessness galled him—he ordered Lissy to apparate them straight to the cottage and to surreptitiously collect anything they may need. Without alerting their 'guests', of course.
By the time they'd been transferred to Thornhill Cottage, the few Black elves among the staff of the Manor—and no other—airing out the cottage and accounting for every resource they had, his mother was becoming much more lucid.
After reassuring Draco that she was fine—a relative term, if he'd ever heard any, especially considering she was still laid out flat on the couch—she asked one of the elves to bring her the cedar box from the safe in the small office the cottage boasted. Small again being a relative term. The cottage had no fewer than ten rooms, four bathrooms, a large kitchen that could be used by elf or human alike, and large wards that encompassed at least two hectares of space.
The cedar box in hand, finally, Narcissa slowly pulled herself into a sitting position before opening it. Inside were a collection of at least a dozen wands. "They belong to previous members of the Black family; only a small collection compared to what resides in the main Black vault at Gringotts," his mother explained to him as he hovered. "We have no hope of retrieving our own wands now, and a visit to Diagon Alley for another wand is not within our abilities or safety right now. Perhaps soon we will be in a more secure position where we can travel to Paris' Rue but for now, these must suffice.
Draco held his hand over the box as his mother held it out to him first. None spoke to him as beautifully as his own wand, but there was one that just might do…
"Great-grandfather Antares' wand. Yew and unicorn hair, if I recall correctly," his mother rasped even as she held her own hand over the wands, choosing a slender wand of delicate birch for herself.
"We need to talk about next steps," she said without preamble, her voice quivering a little as another shudder wracked through her slim body. Still, she held herself as the lady she had always been known to be. The only discomfort that showed through was in her eyes, and Draco lowered his so that he could give her the privacy of her vulnerability. As much as he, as her son and the current Head of House of the Malfoy family, wished he could hold her and soothe her through the rest of the pain she was working through, he knew it would not be appreciated.
He knew his mother loved him, but she had never been one for overt displays of affection.
He had already done the best he could, bringing them here, removing them from the Dark—from Voldemort's presence. He had protected his family as best he could and, even if he still felt somewhat like a failure, he would not let that get in the way of caring for his mother in the slightest, as best he could, thenceforth.
"Yes, Mother," he replied, straightening from his kneeling position beside her and fiddling with the new and unfamiliar wand before placing it into his wrist holster and sitting down on one of the armchairs by the fireplace that had just been lit by the elves. He pushed his hands through his hair, slick with sweat and oily from the days they had been at the… at his command and side. He had not suffered as much as his mother, yet still he shuddered at the remembrance of the Cruciatus curse coursing through his nerves, lighting him up to the point that he absurdly remembered thinking he'd be visible in the dark—or, at least, visible to the magical eye; every nerve, every fiber of his being, every joint cracking and aching and—
But his mother had had it worse, for she was the closest link, and of age, to his father and the man's failure to secure what Draco had overheard as 'the prophecy'. Through careful thought, and careful listening, he had pieced together that his father and others had all been captured at the Department of Mysteries when they had been searching for the orb containing a prophecy about Potter and the Dark Lord.
Part of him wanted to laugh uproariously at the thought of a group of—what?—six or seven teenagers, one of which was bleedin' Longbottom, thwarting the plans of a group of Death Eaters, despite Potter receiving last minute reinforcements of a collection of experienced adults and Aurors.
It was nearly ludicrous enough to make him laugh—if he hadn't been deathly afraid of experiencing more of the Cruciatus himself.
His mother drew him from out of his thoughts with the single most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. "We must contact my cousin Sirius," she'd said with barely a tremble to her authoritative voice.
"What?" was all he was able to manage, incredulity refusing to allow anything further past his lips.
His mother stared at him with a gimlet eye, likely knowing every single protest he was preparing against the mere idea. He automatically occluded, forcing every thought deep down, and asking, "Why would we contact a man who is a fugitive from the law, even more so than us, arguably? What good could he do for us? What have we ever done for him? Why would he help us?"
Narcissa stared him down for a moment, but then sighed and replied, still exuding confidence and aristocratic bearing from her prostrate position on the couch, "He and I have never held outright hostility for each other, despite his feelings towards Lucius," she said tiredly, before continuing in a stronger voice, "We are not wanted by the Ministry, even if Sirius is. Before our house was… overrun, I had the chance to read a few days' worth of papers, and it seems that Sirius will be making a play at reentering wizarding society, whether because he was seen at the battle or because he feels it is finally time to return to society. We know, as he does, that he is not guilty of the crimes he is accused of, and I believe that we can help him with that, with my resources and connections, and that in return he can offer myself—and you—protection from the bulk of outright and public repercussions for fleeing from the Dark Lord's grasp. We will still be in danger, but the House of Black has powerful protections for its members, and has never denied a married daughter succor when it was requested. If he regains his freedoms and becomes Lord Black once more, there will be little that can be done to us, even outside the public eye, that would not constitute a need for immediate retribution."
Draco sat silently with this information, and his mother let him be as he worked through the idea his mother had put forth.
Draco had never known his second cousin, Sirius Black. He had known of him, but had never interacted with him, as a result of his incarceration in Azkaban. In third year there had been plenty of rumours (and likely some truths) going around about the man, but Draco's Malfoy name kept him from the worst of the scrutiny. Yet something had always sat a little… wrong with him about Sirius' incarceration. It hadn't been enough to voice it to anyone, even his parents, but Draco had always been good at listening and gathering information before making a decision—or, in this case, an opinion.
The lack of glorification of Sirius by his own family had been the first clue. And the lack from other families had been further clues in the puzzle that was his second cousin. He had been rarely spoken of, rarely glorified, like the other Death Eaters who had been caught or who had died during the first Wizarding Blood War. That had always seemed… incongruous to him. But he hadn't thought much of it; too enraptured by his father's tales of adventure and the secret glee that they had gotten away with murder and so much more during the trials afterwards.
It turned his stomach a little now, though. What his father had done; what was expected of him.
So… Sirius Black. He had the potential to be his and his mother's protector?
Draco was sixteen, closely approaching his seventeenth birthday; nearly old enough to be called a man, though he had already been affirmed as the Lord of House Malfoy due to the mitigating circumstances of his father's unknown length of stay at Azkaban.
Due to his age, his mother held the seat in the Wizengamot until he became of age, though one could argue that his true liege was the House of Black.
In third year, after all the ruckus had died down, and through his careful listening to Potter's incessant blathering and proper application of logic, he'd learned that Sirius had never been a Death Eater. He had never betrayed the Potters. Had never cast the curse that had killed thirteen muggles and one of his closest friends.
Instead, it'd been a friend who had become the Dark Lord's right-hand man—pretty much literally—and had sold out his best friends to the man who would be their downfall. He had framed a man he purported to be his best friend for the murder of innocents, and then disappeared. Peter Pettrigrew was no man of honour; though at first Draco had thought him the epitome of it, to be true to the Dark Lord and all that entailed, to sacrifice part of his body to return the man to his former glory.
The thought choked him even now, but Sirius Black had been innocent of all crimes.
Draco had experienced a massive upheaval of his life in the last week. He'd been called home early due to his father's arrest, hoping to console his mother. But instead, his home had been invaded, he'd been tortured by those his father had supposedly held in the highest esteem, and his mother had paid dearly for his father's audacity to be caught by a group of gangly teenagers.
All his life, he'd thought he would be the Dark Lord's right hand once he came of age and could prove himself, much like his father had. He had never truly given thought to the ideals the man espoused, but power had been a fine lure to reel him in. He was not proud of it, now, with his mother lying on the couch, pale and hiccuping her breaths as the Cruciatus worked its aftereffects through her body.
If Sirius Black could help his mother, that was all that mattered. Family before all. Toujours Pur . Always Pure. That had been the motto of House Black for centuries. The Malfoy coat of arms bore the motto Sanctimonia Vincet Semper. Purity Will Always Conquer.
Purity.
But purity of what, he wondered for the first time in his life.
Purity of blood? Of magic? Of morality? Of… of… loyalty? Of truth? Of family? Of… He didn't know anymore, and cursed the feeling of helplessness that had descended upon him.
Breathing deeply, he concentrated again on the idea of contacting Sirius Black. Of his mother's desire to clear the man's name so that they may have a modicum of safety in her maternal household and in the broader public.
The only problem was Potter, being Black's godson. Merlin's Beard, Draco couldn't stand the idea of being saddled with Potter in his life indefinitely. It was bad enough they had to see each other constantly at Hogwarts. But if they could live their lives as far apart as possible, it was possible they could have the protection without the animosity that was sure to well up. And even then, it wasn't like Potter would kill or curse him and his mother. The golden boy was good at at least one thing.
He bowed his head to his mother, his eyes cast down to the dirty carpet beneath his feet, feeling numb to all but the conviction he wished to impart to his mother. "Fine. Reach out to him," he said with a conviction he hardly felt, but was the most he could muster at that moment. "I trust your judgement, mother."
His mother called Lissy to her, and with more than a few carefully chosen words, the elf disapparated from Thornhill Cottage and to what was the likeliest location that Black could be found.
Draco was left with nothing better to do than to mourn his former life, and the shadow of it that it had become. Despite the sensation roiling through him at every possible moment, he set about making sure the cottage was safe, that they had enough stocks of various items, and that the wizarding wards—his father was useful for something, at least, in his teaching of that topic—were properly set alongside the house elf ones. When his despair became too great, he would check on his mother, and let her soothe his uncertainties behind what they both knew was a façade.
Author's note: A little bit of a bridge chapter, with an emotional Draco... but he'll be back to his usual assholery soon enough, I'm sure! Not least because... guess who encounters each other next chapter!? Woo!