Shadows and Secrets

It was not until Tuesday of the following week that Draco finally ran out of excuses to keep putting off the visit to his mother's house. Once Scorpius deduced where he was planning on going, he insisted on being brought along. After a struggle, Draco relented. It would do his mother good to see her grandchild, and though he felt he needed to protect Scorpius from certain unpleasant realities of life, there was always the slim possibility that it was still early enough in the day for Narcissa not to be too far gone.

The two wizards Apparated from their usual spot on the roof to the edge of a small village in rural Wiltshire. Draco chose to transport them to a wooded area close to a quiet road that he knew well from his childhood, one which was close to his mother's cottage. After the Ministry-ordered sale of Malfoy Manor, the government had graciously allowed Narcissa enough money to purchase a small property nearby, since unlike her husband and son, she had never officially become a Death Eater.

Draco and Scorpius appeared with a crack, the rich, sweet smell of the damp earth hitting their nostrils before their eyes had time to adjust to the shade provided by the trees. Draco breathed it in deeply, revelling in the calm after the constant sirens and traffic drone of London. Having Apparated, he found the difference in atmosphere between the city and the country much more stark than if he had travelled from A to B in the Muggle way.

They began to walk, neither wizard feeling much need to converse. It was another typical late summer day. Unusually, it had barely rained that August, and as they made their way from the woodland to the road, the grasses and weeds that grew along the path were starting to crisp to yellow and brown. The blue sky stretched before them, the only blemish a broken, wispy trail from an aeroplane. They walked along in the shade provided by the tall hedgerows that lined the road. Although it was only ten in the morning, the sun was already hot enough to heat the ground, filling the air with the scent of dusty earth and the strong tang of baked tarmac. Within the hawthorne and alder branches of the hedgerow, the insects and the birds seemed to be working frantically, their droning buzz and song filling the air, as if they knew that within a couple of hours it would hit temperatures that meant keeping near water and shade.

Father and son soon reached a path that ran off to the right and they left the road, coming to a rusty gate that led to a small red brick cottage. The lawn was overgrown and unkept, the flower beds filled with weeds, and ivy grew thickly over the house, choking the shuttered windows. If Draco had not known better, he would have thought it was abandoned.

He felt a knot of dread at the sight and prayed that this time, he would not have to break in if his mother did not come to the door. He knocked, Scorpius standing slightly behind him nervously. After a few long moments, just as Draco was ready to give up and use his wand, the door swung open and Narcissa Malfoy stood before them, beaming an enormous smile and blinking in the light.

The years had not been kind to Draco's mother. When once she had been considered one of the most beautiful witches in society, now most would not recognise her if she passed them on the street. Which, luckily or unluckily for her, would never happen as she was practically a recluse.

Draco felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders as he gave a relieved smile back in greeting. Thank God Scorp would not have to see her passed out and covered in sick on a sofa.

"My darling boys!" she trilled, and flung her frail arms around Draco. The inevitable stink of gin that clung to her like a fog wafted over him. It was not just stress and loneliness that had ruined Narcissa Malfoy, but also her steady and all-consuming decent into severe alcoholism.

"Scorpius! You look just like Draco did at your age! What are you now, eight? Nine?" she embraced her only grandchild as he frowned.

"I'm eleven, Grandma," he said, wiping a smudge of lipstick off his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Oh, of course you are! My, I forget how young Draco was when he had you. Well, come in, come in!"

They followed her dubiously into the dark hallway, Draco shooting Scorpius an encouraging smile. His mother was in high spirits today, and in fact, seemed happier than Draco had seen her in a long time. His sense of relief faltered slightly as his eyes adjusted to the twilight of the house and he noticed the mess. Clothes, books and debris littered the hallway, and a stale, unpleasant smell permeated the air. His mother flitted away from them down the hall and entered a door at the end. They followed her through and came to a small parlour where Narcissa now perched on a chaise longue.

"Oh, this will have been a happy day!" She said, opening her hands to them. Draco smiled slowly back at her, taking in the slightly too-wide eyes and manic smile. Even when his mother had been happy (which had been such a long time ago he could barely remember it), she had never been like this.

"Mother, why don't you open the shutters? Let's get some fresh air in," Draco said, moving to one of the windows. Narcissa sprang up and rushed to stop him.

"No! no, no no," she slammed the shutter closed before Draco had even finished pulling it open. He backed off, alarmed, and she peered through the crack to the back garden. "They're watching you know, dear. Watching the house. No, no, keep them shut, it's for the best," she muttered.

Oh god, she's finally gone mad, he thought, uneasily. She's not as drunk as usual, but she's definitely snapped.

Draco moved to sit down on the sofa next to Scorpius and rested a reassuring hand on his son's knee. Narcissa floated back to the chaise lounge and removed a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of her silk dressing gown. She took one out and placed it daintily between her lips.

Draco watched her light it with alarm. "Mother!" he spluttered. "Why are you smoking!?"

She gave a tinkling laugh, the smoke exhaling through her nose. "Well, a few weeks ago, the little Muggle man who delivers my milk gave me one! I was quite curious, you see, and I found I quite enjoyed it! I decided to take it up, as a little hobby. Would you like one? They're splendid!"

"No, thank you, Mother." Draco was completely disturbed. "Are you alright?"

She laughed again. "Quite alright, thank you! Couldn't be better in fact. I haven't felt this good in years! Oh! I am such a bad host. Can I get you boys something to drink? Tea? One gets so used to living by oneself that one forgets how to entertain! Of course, if Dobby were still around... Never mind that!" With that, she swept from the room, trailing cigarette smoke.

Draco looked at his son. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Grandma seems better, doesn't she?"

"She seems, very cheerful." But not at all herself. Draco had grown up greatly admiring his mother for the way she conducted herself, with grace, poise and a certain sangfroid. He even had tried to emulate her, but with the right provocation he could never hold back his temper in the way that she could. Some may have mistaken her for being cold or indifferent, and perhaps she was, but Draco also knew that it meant that there was more true emotion left for him and his father, as she did not waste it on those who did not matter. Behind closed doors Narcissa still was self-possessed and was not overly demonstrative, but Draco grew up secure in the knowledge that he was well-loved.

Even over the past couple of years, in the haze of her alcoholism and the depressed, drunken stupor Draco would often find her slumped in, Narcissa still retained some of that reserve, the gin never quite causing her to lose all her inhibitions. However, apparently, things were different today. Perhaps this was her true self, finally freed after years of disciplined self-restraint as her mind unravelled? Draco was not sure whether to push the subject, or to let her get on with it. He decided on the latter, as it would not do to cause a scene and ruin whatever peace she had found.

He stood and walked to the table next to where his Mother had been sitting. Picking up her teacup, he gave it a sniff: gin. Draco sighed and left to go to help with the tea in the kitchen. He found his mother there in the dim light, struggling pathetically to turn on an electric kettle. He took it from her shaking hands, and placed it on the work surface. He took her hands in his, wanting to quell the tremors. Her skin felt papery and soft, as if it were too delicate to survive a paper cut.

"Mother, what are you doing? Do you even have electricity here?"

"I don't know, I think I did at one point, but I'm not sure where it's gone," she said, uncertainly.

"Why are you making tea the Muggle way anyway? Where's your wand?"

Narcissa widened her eyes even further, giving her thin and wrinkled face an almost comically dramatic expression. "My wand?" she paused and looked around. "Well, now you mention it, darling, I haven't seen it for quite a while!"

"What?" he exclaimed.

"Well, I guess I just stopped using it." she gave a little shrug, the dressing gown slipping off to reveal a bare shoulder.

Draco let go of her hands and pulled it back up carefully. "Mother, what have you been living off? Why have you stopped doing magic? Do you even know how to cook without it?" He felt like he was talking to a child, it was absurd.

She looked down and shrugged again. "Oh, I'm fine, Draco, don't you fuss. I'm managing okay, pottering along. Anyway, let's get this tea on!"

And with that she was back to business. "I'm going to talk to little Scorpius. Be a darling and finish it off?" She picked up the still burning cigarette off the table where it left a scorch mark and drifted back out of the kitchen.

Draco watched her disappear back down the hall. She was like a fragile little hinkypunk, her light, wispy hair in a cloud around her head and the burning tip of her cigarette floating behind her. He imagined her luring travelers off into her strange land of half light, flitting between rooms like a silk-robed ghost.

They passed a strange, yet somehow enjoyable hour together, chatting and playing Exploding Snap. Draco pushed down the niggling worries over his mother's bizarre behaviour and tried to enjoy himself. It was the Malfoy way, after all. Where better to practice the ingrained childhood lessons of emotional suppression if not with his own mother?

Scorpius seemed to relax a little and was delighted to be told countless stories of Draco as a boy. It was when Narcissa brought out the old photo albums that Draco decided it was time.

"Mother, if you'd mind having a quick word, outside." He glanced at Scorp, who was completely entranced by the photos and had not heard. She agreed and they entered the small living room that lay beside the parlour. He opened his mouth to speak but his mother spoke first.

"I know what this is about, Draco. You need money. I know that's the only reason you ever come here."

Draco swallowed with guilt at her words. For the first time, she sounded a bit like her old self, seeing straight through his bullshit and going right to the point. It was small comfort.

"No, mother! Of course I want to see you," he said, the lie sounding false even to him.

Narcissa walked to the shuttered window and opened it a crack to look out to the garden. The light streaming in caused an almost solid wall of bright golden dust to appear between them.

"I know it's hard for you,Draco, to see me like this. You have to understand though, it was... difficult, while you were away. Your father died in prison, no one cared for me anymore. I have nothing. I have no purpose. No husband to please, no child to nurture. You don't understand." In contrast to her previous lightheartedness, her desolate words seemed even more poignant. Draco could not make out her face, backlit by the sunlight in the window, but she seemed smaller; hunched over.

"I do, mother," Draco said, pathetically, not knowing what to say. He was useless like this sometimes; especially with her. Maybe it was because their relationship had never really reached the stage where they could comfortably have these conversations with one another? Without one of them being drunk in any case.

"No, you don't. You have Scorpius, and I can tell how much he loves you, how much he looks up to you. Don't squander that, Draco." She turned from the window, closed the shutters and smiled. "How much money do you need?"

"Well, you know I wouldn't ask unless we were desperate. Scorp's starting school soon and he'll need a new wand..." he trailed off, thrown by her direct question.

"Oh, absolutely! He can't go to Hogwarts without his own wand! No second hand rubbish for our boy!" The sombre mood seemed to have vanished like a shadow beneath the sun, and she was back to the off-balanced cheerfulness from before. He did not want to spoil it by telling her that it was not Hogwarts where Scorp would be heading.

"Here! I know. You take whatever you need, whatever you want to sell. Some of this stuff may still be worth something. I'll be back in a jiffy." She left the room and Draco gazed around the shelves, tables and cabinets. Many things from the manor had ended up here, squashed awkwardly in this tiny room, like a strange, dark antique shop. But that had been fourteen years ago, and precious little of it remained. It had been good to know the Ministry had not gotten their hands on all the Malfoy heirlooms, although they may as well have done, what with Narcissa gradually pawning them off just for something as mundane as drink.

He collected up a few valuable-looking items that still remained and placed them on the table. A small bottle on the mantlepiece caught his eye and he went to pick it up. It appeared to be a medicine bottle and was half-filled with pills that the label identified as OxyContin. Strange, that sounded very Muggle. Since when did his mother start embracing Muggle healing? Narcissa re-entered the room holding a purse and rooting through it.

"Mother, what's this?" She glanced up and looked at the bottle before meeting her son's eyes.

"Oh, nothing. Just a kind of... Muggle calming draught. They're quite... effective. And you know my nerves, Draco! Mundungus Fletcher sold them to me. Practically worthless, he said they fell off the back of a lorry! Whatever that means."

She walked over holding out her hand and took the bottle off Draco. "Shouldn't have left them out! Silly me! Naughty me!" She scolded herself crossly, like an old, frail house elf. Clicking the plastic bottle lid round and round nervously, she crossed the room and opened up a wooden box, placed it inside and then locked the box. She took the little key and put it in her pocket.

"Now, where were we." She spun around and surveyed the collection. "No darling! You can't have this!" She swooped down and snatched the beautiful, emerald studded tiara Draco had found in a velvet box in a drawer. "I don't care how desperate we get, you can't sell this! My father gave it to me on my wedding day. Passed down throughout the Blacks." She caressed it lovingly and placed it back in its box. "Pick anything else alright, darling? I'll see you in a minute, got to get back to my game!"

"Oh! I almost forgot!" She picked up the purse and extracted a £20 note. "There you go! I thought I had some Muggle money somewhere. So strange, isn't it? Paper money. My, my. That should be enough for some food?"

She beamed at Draco as he dutifully took the money and thanked her. It would be enough for a quite a few meals. It meant he could put off the Diagon Alley trip for another couple of days, at least.

His mother left the room to go back to her 'game' and Draco drifted back to the cabinet, finally selecting a carved pair of ugly marble Abraxan horses. He went to the door, but at the last minute paused to look at Narcissa's medicine box. It was a bit suspicious, locking the box. Probably no real explanation though, just one of her eccentricities. Still, it was better to check. He cast an Alohomora and opened the lid. It was completely full of those little brown glass bottles of Muggle pills. Draco felt a stirring of hatred for this Mundungus character. He must have ripped her off with a load of useless pills. Probably took complete advantage of her vulnerability. No wonder she was keeping them hidden, she was probably embarrassed at being conned. She would not need them all though, and Draco thought to himself that it would be useful to have an alternative to a calming draught around the house. Muggle medicine wasn't always completely useless.

He called to the other room. "Mother, is it okay if I take one of these medicine bottles?"

"Yes, darling, anything but the tiara!" Her voice called back.

He shrugged and popped a bottle into his back pocket.

The rest of the visit passed pleasantly enough. At twelve Draco walked down to the little farm shop around the corner and - choosing to save the money his mother had given him - nicked some basics for her empty cupboards. He returned to the kitchen and was relieved to find that the gas still worked on the hob. He prepared them all a simple omelette each, one that caused raptures of thanks and admiration in Narcissa, despite her barely picking through half. They finally departed at three, Draco feeling pleasantly optimistic about the future. True, his mother had quietly been sipping on gin the entire time, but at least it had been watered down, and she did not seem to be attempting to drown her sorrows in it. If that was what helped her through life and made it bearable, who was he to judge or try and force change? He had made her swear to keep eating and get some sun, though he doubted either promise would come to much. He also had gotten what he wanted; the collection of valuables would collect a nice sum, and once Scorpius had got over the strange twilight of the cottage he had got on very well with his new and improved grandmother.

The twenty pounds lasted right up until Friday of that week. Draco was thinking about trying to eke it out longer, but Scorpius' moaning about getting his wand was becoming unbearable. He finally relented on Thursday night and informed Scorpius that they would go get it the following morning. His son's inevitable jubilation did nothing to ease the dread Draco felt at the prospect. He had been to Knockturn Alley a few times over the past couple of years, but had avoided the main shopping street like the plague. He couldn't face the inevitable stares and whispers that he knew his appearance would provoke. At least the probability of bumping into an ex-schoolmate or friend of the family would be less than over the weekend.

By morning, after a near sleepless night, the nervous twisting of Draco's stomach was becoming unbearable. While struggling to eat breakfast he suddenly remembered the calming pills from his mother. He took one with water and waited. He was disappointed to find that after half an hour still nothing had happened. Scorpius was becoming agitated by the delay and had irritatingly began to throw a ball against the wall.

Fucking muggle medicine. Completely shit, as expected. He took another; perhaps it was like paracetamol and you were meant to take two? Another fifteen minutes passed and Draco gave it up. If anything, he was feeling even more anxious and his palms had started to become uncomfortably clammy. They left the flat, but instead of climbing up the stairs, Draco took them down. "Is it alright if we take the Underground, Scorp? I'm not feeling up to a side along Apparition at the moment."

"Are you alright, father? You look a bit pale."

"I'm fine. Just not feeling great. I'm sorry, Scorp, but the quicker we get this over with, the better."