Four

Draco didn't go to dinner in the Great Hall. He'd been ready to go down, almost made it to the door even, when an owl swooped in and delivered a letter. He knew he shouldn't have read it, but when he recognised his mother's handwriting, he felt a surge of hope. Maybe this year he could spend Christmas at home after all…

Dearest Son,

I hope this letter finds you well. Your Father and I were very disappointed to receive your last. We had hoped that after all these years you would, at least, join us for Christmas again.

Your Father is working hard to restore the business and would welcome your help. He has nothing but the best in mind for our Family, my dear Draco. I hope you will, some day, see that.

Dahlia Greengrass visited yesterday with her daughters Daphne and Astoria. You know, I think, that Daphne is now engaged to Theodore Nott? They make such a handsome couple. It would make me so happy to know you were to settle down as well. Does family life not have any appeal? Astoria is such a pretty young woman, and so refined and elegant. I am certain that you would agree with me if only you met her again. She said she will be in Hogsmeade in January, perhaps you can make time in your busy schedule to have tea with her?

I do hope you will change your mind and join us for Christmas dinner. We are hosting the greatest Yule event apart from the Ministry ball. It will be absolutely grand, just like the old days.

I miss you, my Son.

Love

Mother

Draco crumpled the letter into a ball and threw it in the fire. His mood had turned from faintly - disturbingly - happy to annoyed and irritated in a flash. Anger raced through his chest and knew he couldn't join the other teachers and students in the Great Hall.

Instead, he decided to vent his anger on his mother, and he threw a handful of Floo powder into his fireplace. The flames turned emerald green immediately.

"Malfoy Manor sitting room."

His mother looked up, surprised, when his head appeared in her fireplace, but she hid that expression quickly and put on a welcoming smile.

"Draco, darling, how lovely to see you. Why don't you come through?"

Draco ignored the invitation. "I just received your letter," he said, curtly.

"Oh. You didn't have to…" Narcissa began, frowning slightly in confusion.

"Until you and Father understand that I like teaching, that teaching is what I want to do with my life, and that I am not returning to marry some Pureblood girl of your choice to continue the family name, I am not setting one foot in this Manor. Do not write to me again. And tell Astoria Greengrass I most certainly do not have any time for her, no matter when she is in Hogsmeade. I have better things to do."

Narcissa Malfoy dropped to her knees in front of the fireplace, extending one hand but not quite touching his face in the flames. "Draco, you misunderstand…"

But Draco shook his head stubbornly. "No, I don't. You want me to come back and play the dutiful son. You want me to pretend this teaching lark was just a temporary thing, because it is too low to be considered a true profession for a Malfoy. You want me to continue to be the poster child of those preposterous ideas of blood superiority that led us into war and despair. I won't. I won't, Mother. I won't let anyone make any decisions for me again. Break off that contract with the Greengrasses because I will never consent. Let me marry whoever I want. Let me teach and tell your friends you're proud that I chose such a worthy profession instead of telling them with barely concealed disdain that I shall soon come to my senses. Let me live my life the way I want, or I will never return. And do not write to me again until you are prepared to do that. Just… just don't. It only hurts us both."

Draco suddenly felt deflated, all his anger gone. He closed his eyes and prepared to withdraw from the fire.

"You know I love you. No matter what, I love you," Narcissa said, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. "And so does your father. Give him some time. Please…"

But Draco only shook his head, the anger now completely gone. Instead, there was only resignation. "He's had five years. How much longer will he need? I won't wait, Mother. I will live, I may marry and have children. How much of that you will miss, is entirely up to you. I'm done." He paused, then repeated with a weary voice, to himself more than to anyone else, "I'm done."

He closed the Floo connection and sat down in front of the fire, his head on his knees. He'd never admit the stains on his robes came from the tears he couldn't stop from falling.