What Else Can We Do?

Part 2:

The Dream Walker

Chapter 16:

' For still there are so many things that I have never seen:

in every wood in every spring there is a different green.

I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago,

and people who will see a world that I shall never know.'

~ 'I Sit and Think' by J.R.R. Tolkien

2000

When I got news that my father was showing symptoms of the Sleeping Sickness, everything seemed to stop.

I remember thinking: it's too soon – far too soon! I haven't had enough time to work it out. All the arguments I'd stitched together in my head to convince Brand of my father's worth disappeared in that moment, the dread and fear making swift work of them.

It took wanting something badly enough and the very real prospect of facing down three daemons in order to get it to make me realise how afraid I was of them.

It didn't feel right. They were my saviours, my guardians, my teachers and my friends. So many things to me. Too many.

Brand, Light and Red had been kind when they didn't need to be. Sure, Albus played a part in that, but that was only in the beginning. I remember feeling sick at the thought of going down that road again like I had with father – where fear smothered respect, where love and resentment became twisted, inseparable.

I didn't want to be afraid. But how could I not be? They were bringing their enemies to their knees one by one, taking the Wizarding World hostage, waging a war I wanted no part of. They were far beyond anything I knew and it was chipping away at their humanity.

It's a strange kind of grief you feel when your world changes forever into something you do not want, or expect.

xXx

1994

Some days, Draco wished he didn't wake.

Even suffering a nightmare would be better than simply standing there, shaking hands behind his back, wide-eyed and useless in the grip of silence.

Lucius lay under white sheets, blond hair loose on his shoulders, his nightshirt rumpled, watching Narcissa pull back the last curtain of his four-poster bed. When she finished, he gave her a small smile and reached for her hand. His mother took his and laid a kiss on his knuckles, lips lingering as she stared back at her husband. Draco knew he should look away, to give them this moment, but he found himself fascinated. His parents were rarely affectionate in front of others.

Mother left after a nod towards Severus, who sat by the window, a dark and brooding shape hunched over a steaming cup of tea. His return nod was curt, distracted, and he quickly went back to looking outside. The rustling of blankets and sheets caught Draco's attention and he watched as his father propped up pillows so he could sit in bed.

'Ah, there you are, Draco,' Lucius began in a warmer tone than he'd heard from him in years. 'Tell me, were you sorted into Slytherin?'

Draco felt his eyes prickle and he swallowed hard. He nodded.

'I don't know why I even asked. Of course you were,' Lucius continued, proud.

It'd been such a long time since father had spoken to him like this. They used to talk. It'd been just the two of them, looking down at anyone who wasn't a Malfoy. This man had meant the world to Draco once. He still did in some ways, enough for this to hurt beyond anything he knew.

'Run along, Draco,' his father said, waving a dismissive hand. 'I need to speak to Severus.'

Severus glanced at Lucius with an unreadable expression, one that made Draco hesitate. Severus then nodded to him and got up out of his armchair.

'We need to gather the others, my friend - ' Draco heard his father say as he closed the door.

He walked and walked on marble floor, feeling disdainful eyes on him. The portraits whispered amongst themselves as he passed. He wondered what they'd think if they knew he'd had nightmares of them as a child. He almost smiled at the thought, knowing their contempt would only grow.

Somehow, he found his way to his mother's parlour. He stood by the door, his pride telling him to go anywhere but here. But a small hollow part of him asked: how was anyone to know he would come here for comfort? Who would care? Father wouldn't, not anymore.

'Come in,' his mother called a moment after his tentative knock.

The room was different from what he remembered, but then again it'd been years since he last stepped foot in it. He noticed the little things first – the curtains had been replaced, the bookshelves moved. The blue armchairs were gone, a Regency inspired settee taking their place. Inexplicably, it hurt to see it changed.

This room was unfamiliar, as much a stranger as the woman in it.

'Draco?' Narcissa asked, staring at him over her shoulder, surprised. Draco hovered in the doorway, suddenly uncertain, feeling out of place.

'What's the matter, my darling?'

Draco frowned. He tried, but he couldn't look at her.

'Why don't you come sit down?' she asked.

He did, taking the seat furthest from her. He sat properly, joints cracking as he straightened his back, his shoulders protesting as he relaxed and lowered them. He stared down at his hands on his lap, tensing them when he saw the tremors. A moment passed with both of them silent.

'We don't talk like we used to,' Narcissa said quietly.

Draco's head shot up. His mother was looking out of the window, embroidery forgotten on her lap, her neck long and thin under a dark swathe of pinned up hair.

'Your letters are brief and empty of feeling.'

He opened his mouth, then closed it. He tried to think, to find the words but there was a roaring in his head, a scream at the back of his throat. There was a guilt that whispered: I let this happen.

Mother's going to be alone because of me.

'I'm sorry . . .' he said, dragging the words out of his head and chest because he had to. 'I haven't had much to say to anyone these days.'

'Have I offended you in some way?'

'No,' he replied quickly, urgently. 'Mother, you haven't. I just found myself wanting quiet. It doesn't mean I love you less. I'm sorry I made you worry.' The words felt strange in his mouth.

She looked at him then, sunlight outlining her like it did in so many of the memories he had of her here. 'I know you find it hard to say such things, Draco. But please try to. For me? I see so little of you. And with your father . . .' she stopped and let out a breath, eyes downcast. 'It'll soon be just you and I, my darling. Let's not be strangers, all right?'

He could only nod, his heart aching.

She got up and made her way to him. She ran a hand through his hair, a loving long ago gesture that made him smile through the tears. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his face pressed against her stomach, trying not to make a sound.

xXx

I saw it all.

Father slept more and more. We forced him awake each day. I led him back to bed at night whenever he went wandering in his sleep. I bit back the tears on those days he wasn't sure where he was and I played along when he got the years wrong. When he was lucid, I matched his quiet, keeping him company as he sat in bed, wide-eyed and pale. He once told me that he couldn't remember much – there were gaps in his memory and it scared him.

The man I knew would've never admitted to such weakness. I loved him more for it.

When the winter holidays ended and I was due back at school, I knew my mother would have to do this all alone. It is a sad memory I have of her, standing at the train station, watching the Hogwarts Express leave, a lone figure in the crowd.

A thought haunted me through it all – and for many years to come: I let this happen.