Monday, 15 March 1999
Waking up the next morning, Draco felt momentarily confused about the fact that he could see the sky from his window. As the grogginess cleared from his brain, he remembered the unusual events that had transpired the day before, which led to him avoiding the Slytherin dungeon in favour of the Head's Tower. He just hoped Nott and Greengrass had not told the entire House of Slytherin that he and Granger had snogged…
After quickly getting dressed, he grabbed his robes and was almost out of the room when a soft, repeated tapping noise made him pause in the doorway. Draco turned back to the bedroom, immediately noticing a small black owl sitting on the ridge outside his window, carrying a parchment envelope with a familiar blue wax seal.
Was that… Pansy's owl?
He moved back to the other side of the room, carelessly dropping his robes down on his bed before reaching out to open the window. The little owl hopped inside, offered him the envelope and let out a single hoot before spreading its wings and quickly soaring off into the distance again.
Draco immediately ripped the envelope apart, impatiently snatching out the letter and scanning the contents as soon as he had it unfolded, confirming it was indeed a letter from Pansy. It had been months since he had last heard from her, and he was a little worried that she had written him so out of the blue.
A heavy feeling settled in his stomach once he had finished reading. A tiny voice in the back of his mind taunted him, quietly repeating over and over again that he was a horrible person, making it hard to ignore the thought. He had forgotten all about… How could he have forgotten about this?
He let out a frustrated breath, crumbled up the parchment and snatched his robes from his bed to make his way downstairs. Once he reached the bottom of the Marble Staircase he didn't move toward the Great Hall, instead marching into the main corridor of the west wing. When he almost reached his destination he slid his arms through the sleeves of his robes and stuck the balled up parchment deep into one of the pockets.
Halting in front of the last door in the corridor, Draco took a deep breath and knocked his fist against the wood before he could change his mind. A few seconds passed before he impatiently raised his fist to knock again, but then the door opened and the grief counsellor, Madam Medens, appeared in the doorway.
"Oh, good morning, Mr Malfoy," she greeted him, sounding vaguely surprised. "What can I do—"
"Do you have time to see me today?" Draco interrupted her harshly. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could imagine the sound of his mother's disapproving gasp, knowing she would be terribly embarrassed to hear him speak to a respected witch this way. Right now, though, proper manners were the least of his concern. Pansy's letter was already eating away at him and he knew he had finally reached the stage where he would have to talk about it.
Madam Medens pressed her lips together in clear disapproval of his tone as she studied him for a moment. "Please come inside," she then said, moving back into her quarters. Draco stepped over the threshold and glanced around impassively. He couldn't even find it in himself to scoff at the ugly, frilly decorations. He needed to keep himself together.
"I can fit you in for an hour during first period," Madam Medens announced after a brief silence, and Draco turned his head to see the counsellor scribble down something on a slip of parchment, which she then handed to him. "Make sure Professor Vector receives this to excuse your absence during her class. Get a light breakfast."
Draco reached out to accept the slip of parchment as he stared at the counsellor with raised eyebrows. What did his choice for breakfast have to do with him coming down here for an appointment?
"Emotion, especially when so carefully repressed for so long, may bring out strong, physical reactions," Madam Medens supplied patiently, clearly having seen the confusion on his face. "I could imagine you wouldn't want to emit your meal in front of me."
Once again she seemed to read him like an open book. Draco grimaced in her general direction and muttered that he would be seeing her in an hour before spinning around and marching out the office, back to the Entrance Hall.
He wished Pansy hadn't written to him. As much as he appreciated that she was thinking of him today, ignorance was truly blissful sometimes. He might have gone all day without realising the date—something he would have preferred, as much as he hated himself for thinking it.
He entered the Great Hall and automatically made his way over to the Slytherin table, deeply lost in his thoughts. Without thinking, Draco sat down in his usual seat at the table, not fully realising his mistake until a haughty sniff interrupted his thoughts and reminded him that there was a reason why he had avoided Nott and Greengrass yesterday.
"If it isn't the traitorous coward," Nott muttered at him from across the table. "Finally realised you can't actually avoid people you share classes with for that long?"
"Not today, Nott," Draco grumbled as he poured himself some tea. "Please."
Nott let out a scoff and exchanged a disbelieving glance with Greengrass—who sat beside him—though she didn't seem nearly as invested. "You can't honestly expect us to just quietly sit by while you display these signs of clearly having lost your mind."
Draco exhaled slowly as he reached for the porridge. He couldn't remember Nott ever being so outspoken before—not to him, at least. Under other circumstances he would probably celebrate this change, but as he brought a spoonful of porridge to his lips he wished his friend would just take a hint.
When he heard Nott quietly mutter the word Mudblood under his breath, though, he impulsively shoved his hand in the pocket of his robe and smacked Pansy's letter down on the table, effectively silencing everyone in their direct vicinity.
"I said not today!" he snarled, barely pleased to see that Nott had the grace to flinch under his glare.
As he retracted his hand, Greengrass did the sensible thing and smoothed out the parchment so she and Nott could both read the contents of the letter. Draco resumed eating his porridge, avoiding all eye contact until Greengrass finally cleared her throat, subtly trying to get his attention.
"We apologise, Malfoy," she said in a soft voice, though her tone was strictly professional. "We didn't mean to hound you. We are just… worried."
"That you've lost your mind," Nott added under his breath.
Having reached the end of his patience, Draco threw down his spoon and swung his legs over the bench before stalking out the Great Hall, unwilling to deal with Nott's behaviour any longer. He couldn't summon up the energy to defend his change in mind regarding Granger to them. Not today.
Not today.
He didn't halt his step until he stood in the Courtyard, where he dropped down on one of the benches along the perimeter. Bloody Nott. Bloody Greengrass… Rationally, he knew it wasn't them; they behaved the same as they always had. No, it was he who had changed, and even though their behaviour angered him, Draco understood why they wouldn't let this go.
Halting footsteps made him look up to see Greengrass standing next to the bench. "Please don't yell," she requested quickly. "I didn't follow you out here to continue what you just walked away from." She extended her arm, holding out a badly wrinkled piece of parchment. "You forgot this when you stormed off."
He cleared his throat and accepted Pansy's letter back. "Thank you," he muttered reluctantly.
Greengrass carefully brushed a strand of sleek blonde hair over her shoulder before letting out a soft sigh and finding his eyes again. "I have known you long enough to know that you don't want conversations happening unless they are on your terms, but I would still like to remind you that Theodore is your friend," she said coolly, and Draco raised one of his eyebrows in annoyance. He wasn't used to his classmates treating him the way they did today. First Nott, and now Greengrass, too?
"We know that you are spending a lot of time with Granger this year due to your shared Head Student duties," she continued, seemingly unfazed, "but you must realise how odd it is to the rest of us that you two have apparently gotten close enough to kiss when it seems like only last week that you still described her with every blood status-related slur under the sun and nearly got yourself expelled for attempting to murder her."
It was his turn to sigh. "I don't owe anyone an explanation," he said slightly defensively, and he looked back up with a mild glare, only to sigh again and rub a hand over his face. "But if this is your way of looking out for me, I guess I can appreciate that."
Greengrass shrugged her shoulders. "It's true that you don't owe us anything, but you know Theo will probably not let this go until you have given him something. Just something to consider, perhaps." She began moving backwards. "Take care today. I will make sure Theo leaves things be for now, and that we have hard liquor available for you tonight, should you want the company."
As Greengrass left, Draco looked down at Pansy's letter again. He attempted to smooth it out with his hands, but the abuse he had subjected it to over the past hour had creased the parchment so badly that only magic could save it now, and he really couldn't be bothered.
He took another deep breath and let his eyes glide over the elegant handwriting of his ex-girlfriend. She had done the respectful thing of keeping her distance after the New Year's Eve debacle, but despite the emotional turmoil it had caused him earlier, he supposed he was glad she had written to him after all. It meant a lot to know she still cared enough to support him, even if he had initially interpreted her letter as a little bossy.
After having stared at her signature at the bottom of the letter for a moment, Draco redirected his gaze to the top of the parchment and reread her surprisingly heartfelt message one more time.
Dear Draco,
I hope you don't mind me writing to you today, after such a long silence, but I didn't want you thinking I had forgotten, or that I've stopped caring about you. I haven't. Please remember that.
I know you don't like talking about it—or even admit it to yourself, probably—but I also know how much you miss Vincent, and that you have been suppressing that for the whole year.
If there was ever a good day to mourn him, Draco, let it be today. Let today be about him and your friendship, and let it set you free.
And please, be there for Gregory today. You know how hard it has been for him. You know how much he leaned on Vincent. He looks up to you, Draco. They both did. Please don't let him go through this day by himself.
You're in my thoughts today. I apologise if I overstepped.
Love, always,
Pansy
He exhaled slowly and folded the letter as neatly as possible before getting up from the bench and putting the parchment back in the pocket of his robes. It was time to get ready for the appointment he had willingly made and was already regretting.
~ X ~
"Well, Mr Malfoy, why don't you begin by telling me why you wished to see me on such short notice?"
Even though he was here out of his own free will this time, fully realising it was about time that he talked about it with someone, Draco wasn't looking forward to it any more than all the other times he had sat in this chair, stuck in this damned office for an hour.
He inhaled slowly before forcing himself to look at Madam Medens. "I want to talk about one of my friends," he ground out. "It's… it's his birthday today…"
The counsellor remained silent, and Draco realised quickly that she wasn't going to help him by asking questions. Whatever he wanted to get off his chest today, he was going to have to do it himself. He closed his eyes for a moment and cleared his throat, preparing himself.
"Our fathers, they… they worked… together. He would come by the manor all the time, so we would be stuck together. I don't think we would have ended up being friends under any other circumstances—"
"Mr Malfoy, there is no need for you to justify anything," Madam Medens cut in, though her tone wasn't unfriendly or impatient. "I'm just here to listen right now."
Draco paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. For so long he had made people believe that Crabbe and Goyle were just his lackeys. Only those he let closest knew the truth—that he really did consider them his friends.
All their lives, they had always been in the same boat. Neither him nor Crabbe or Goyle had any siblings. Tradition and family expectation dictated that they would all be Sorted in Slytherin, no questions asked. Lucius had been a Death Eater in the First War, just like their fathers. When Lucius had been locked up in Azkaban, so were their fathers. And none of them had been particularly socially gifted when they had first arrived at Hogwarts.
As young children, filled with both uncertainty and a child-like arrogance, they were just naturally drawn to each other, craving companionship. Nott would have been a fitting addition to their group if he hadn't voluntarily chosen for solitude.
Crabbe and Goyle understood him. It was easy being friends with them, even if they weren't intelligent. They knew how to have fun, and sometimes that was all he needed. He wasn't naturally carefree. It had been nice to be around people who were.
Draco took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. "He… he died."
The words found their way out with difficulty, leaving him with a heavy clump inside his chest. He hadn't said these words out loud before, and they cut him deeper than he had expected. Madam Medens kept quiet and didn't move her hand to write down notes, and Draco suddenly felt something resembling appreciation for her for simply listening to him.
He closed his eyes. "It was a terrible accident," he said, his voice coming out a hoarse whisper, but he didn't care about that right now. "People who don't know me think I was always mean to him, but Crabbe was very susceptible to outside pressure. I discovered very early on that if I didn't tell him what he could and couldn't do, he would act on every impulse and seriously harm people."
When Draco looked up, Madam Medens was frowning a little, but she remained quiet. "I know he looked up to me," he continued softly, "because my father had a higher rank than his father. And I liked being the leader. But I also knew that if I would stop leading, Crabbe would resort to terrible behaviour. And that's exactly what happened last year…"
"Mr Malfoy…" The counsellor leaned forward in her seat. "It sounds to me like you blame yourself for the course of events that led to Mr Crabbe's death."
He did. He could feel in his gut that he did. He had allowed himself to mentally check out during the previous year, and in hindsight he felt that perhaps Crabbe would still be alive if he had kept a closer eye on him when the Carrows had begun to encourage his ruthlessness. Maybe then he wouldn't have discovered his knack for dark magic. Maybe then he wouldn't have overestimated his skills…
He sniffed, half-heartedly hoping it would sound haughty. "He was thick as bricks. Someone had to watch out for him and be somewhat responsible."
The office went quiet for a while. Draco could feel Madam Medens' eyes on him, but surprisingly, he didn't really care. He stared at the table between them without seeing, torn between relief and regret for sharing how he felt.
"May I offer you my view on the matter?" the counsellor eventually asked, and Draco gave a noncommittal shrug in response. He was quite convinced that nothing she would say could make him feel better, and he was sure that he didn't care about her thoughts.
"While I find it admirable that you feel responsibility toward your friend, you must remember that Mr Crabbe was of age. Just because some people need another person to act as their moral compass doesn't mean that this excuses them from being responsible for their own choices and actions. The choices he made are his own."
Draco inhaled sharply as the words repeated themselves in his head. The choices he made are his own. They stung him. Clearly, this witch wasn't nearly as unbiased as she had tried to make him believe. "I see," he said softly, and he heard how cold the tone of his voice sounded, even just to himself. "So it's just that simple to you, is it? Someone makes a mistake, and you just get to condemn them for that forever?" He got up from the chair. "I'm not going to sit here and—"
"Mr Malfoy."
There was an urgent tone to the counsellor's voice that made Draco pause. He turned slightly to be able to glare at her, but Madam Medens did not seem impressed. She gestured a hand at his chair. "Please sit back down. We have some time left. Allow me to elaborate on my comment."
It took quite an inner pep-talk before Draco convinced himself to stay. He slowly sank back down, remaining seated on the edge of the chair as if to show that he could get up and leave in an instance. He raised one eyebrow at Madam Medens, hoping he would look impassive, even though his heart was still racing.
"I realise how things must have been for both you and your friends, growing up," the counsellor said. Her voice was soft; it was clear she was trying to emphasise her understanding, even though Draco highly doubted she actually understood the way he was brought up.
"You were part of a society that valued certain things, and the adults around you supported someone who promised to uphold their values. It is absolutely understandable how growing up in such an environment shaped you and your friends as people."
He wanted to believe that she actually understood, but from the way she was looking at him, with a piercing stare that made him just a little bit uncomfortable, Draco knew that there was more to come.
"However," she then said, quickly confirming his suspicions, "when you started your educatio n here at Hogwarts, you actively chose to spend time with people that echoed the beliefs you grew up with. Even when you were presented with evidence that there was more to the world than what your parents had instilled in you, you chose to mistreat the people who didn't conform to the worldview you deemed comfortable."
She paused for a moment, and Draco inhaled slowly, trying to brace himself for the continuation. He hated that she so easily managed to put her focus on where it hurt. He was still slowly trying to make himself accept his faults; he was barely ready to come to terms with it, especially right now. He had just wanted to lash out at her for disrespecting Crabbe's memory; he didn't want to be confronted with his own flaws…
Not today…
Madam Medens gave him a small smile, undoubtedly having read the internal conflict on his face. "I understand the safety of that choice. I understand not wanting to disappoint your parents. I have been told, however, that as soon as your situation at home changed, you began to question your upbringing. Would you agree?"
Would he? Draco averted his eyes and stared at his shoes. He had to admit the truth to that. The moment his father had been imprisoned, everything he had ever believed had started to make slightly less sense. Not long after that, though, the Dark Lord had chosen him for a special mission. He had been branded with the Mark, and that had briefly instilled a newfound belief in his upbringing. He had chosen to ignore the ever-present pain in his mother's eyes, truly believing that the Dark Lord saw something in him, and that this mission was a great honor.
He had been such a fool. So incredibly naïve; so pathetically eager to be someone, outside of someone else's shadow…
He nodded his head ever so slightly.
"Do you feel that your friend, Vincent, had come to those same conclusions?"
Absolutely not.
Crabbe was daft. Apart from that, it had always been clear that he had a violent streak that needed to be controlled, or else people would get seriously hurt. Draco had always thought that he was doing Crabbe a favour by stopping him from getting in trouble with the authorities, but the truth was that he knew he wouldn't be able to live with knowing he was responsible for another's suffering, even indirectly. He wasn't above bullying; he had even really enjoyed taunting other students, but he had tried to never physically harm anyone if he could help it. He had, in fact, been very conscious of that, though he would never admit it out loud.
And having hurt people during his sixth year… It still haunted him, even though he had been beyond desperate. He had tried to make sure that the three Gryffindors he had always absolutely despised wouldn't be killed during the Quidditch World Cup at the start of their fourth year, and then again last year, at his family's Manor, even though their lives had genuinely never meant anything to him. But poisoning Weasley… cursing Bell… it still made him sick, even though both of them had fully recovered.
But Crabbe…
He had relished violence. He had truly enjoyed being responsible for suffering. Draco had tried to control him for as long as he could, but during sixth year he hadn't been present for it, neither mentally nor physically. He hadn't been involved enough. From that year on, Crabbe and Goyle had spent most of their time together, just the two of them, without him to keep an eye on them, to keep them in check.
And so Crabbe had learned how much he enjoyed dark magic and violence; inflicting pain… Draco hadn't even really cared about it when he had found out. Not until their seventh year, when he realised how easily it came to Crabbe to cast Unforgivables on children. By then it was too late. Crabbe had gone much too far beyond the point of return.
Something soft touched his hand, and Draco returned to the present with a start. Madam Medens was leaning forward, holding a tissue to his hand. He inhaled a shaky breath and snatched the tissue from her hand, realising with utter shame that tears were streaming down his face. He wanted to wipe them away, but his body had gone rigid. All he could do was glare at the grief counsellor with what little anger he still had left inside him.
"Please accept," she said softly, meeting his glare with a gentle look in her eyes, "that even if the circumstances had been different, you likely wouldn't have been able to save him."
She leaned back in her chair. "Your leadership merely suppressed that part of Vincent's personality, and while I didn't know him personally, I'm quite certain that this part of him revealed itself whenever he was apart from you for more than a few days. His craving for the dark arts made him overestimate his abilities, which likely would have led to a fatal accident sooner or later. Please accept that you couldn't have prevented this outcome indefinitely, and thus aren't responsible for it. If you feel that you need someone's permission to let go of that burden, let this be it."
Draco closed his eyes and focused on his breathing for a moment. He felt incredibly unsteady. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so many emotions so close to the surface. Even though a part of him was still convinced that this session was utter rubbish, another part of him freely admitted that some of the heavy feeling he had been carrying around in his stomach had been lifted.
He heard Madam Medens shift in her chair. "You did incredibly well today, Mr Malfoy," she told him softly. "I understand a lot of this must have been very difficult, but I hope that this will be the beginning of you letting go of this weight on your shoulders. That you will soon be able to remember Vincent Crabbe as the friend he was, and that you will not be held back by the pain of his memory anymore."
Could it really be so easy? He really didn't want to believe that he could have felt better just by opening up emotionally at any point in his life before today. It had been so ingrained in him that emotions were a private matter that experiencing the opposite confused him. Then again… a lot of the things his parents had taught him had proven to be less than true… He bowed his head down and tangled his fingers in his hair, quietly commanding his mind to not go there right now.
"If I may be so blunt," the counsellor's voice sounded gently, pulling him from his self-torment, "you don't look well. I advise you to visit the Headmistress right away." Draco heard a quill scribble across parchment. "I am writing a recommendation slip for you to take the rest of the day. I highly recommend you to make an effort to sort through your feelings and try to give them a place."
Draco slowly straightened back up and opened his eyes, knowing he must look like an absolute mess. Madam Medens' facial expression was serious, and her eyes betrayed concern. She reached out and offered him the parchment slip, which he accepted without any fuss. He knew he was in no shape to argue with her; he really needed the day.
"Please accept that your feelings are valid," she pressed. "You are not weak for feeling them. You are experiencing them so intensely right now because of how long you've kept them inside. Try to take some time to accept their presence. You will notice that you will start to feel better sooner than you might expect."
He nodded his head dutifully and rose from the chair, his whole body feeling exhausted and heavy. He slowly made his way over to the door and reached for the doorknob when Madam Medens called his name. Draco let out a sigh and turned to face her.
"You may feel tempted to counter your current feelings with Calming Draught or a similar concoction, but I really must advise against that. Whatever you would repress right now will come back and hit you in tenfold once the potion wears off. However bad you might feel right now, please do yourself a favour and avoid making things worse at a later moment."
Not bothering to answer, Draco turned back to the door and exited the office. Without paying attention to where he was going, he trusted his legs to take him to the Headmistress' office, though he was still surprised when his feet halted in front of the right gargoyle statue. He muttered the password, made his way up the spiral staircase and knocked on the heavy door without thinking twice.
He was truly exhausted. There was no energy anywhere left in him to be worried or ashamed about how obvious it was that he was feeling terrible. He had moved past the point of caring, and he couldn't even find it in him to acknowledge that this might be the first time in his whole life that he felt like this.
"Mr Malfoy? Is everything alright?"
Draco glanced up to see the Headmistress standing in front of him, an uncharacteristically concerned frown on her brows. He raised his arm and wordlessly offered her the parchment slip that Madam Medens had written for him. It was quiet for a moment while McGonagall read it, but then she startled him by lightly touching his shoulder. He tensed up and looked up to see her studying him.
"Of course you may be excused from classes today," she said in a gentle tone that he was entirely unfamiliar with. "I will make sure the staff are informed of your absence."
He was glad that she didn't feel compelled to tell him how sorry she was for his loss, or how pleased she was that he was finally taking his counselling sessions seriously. If she had any opinion at all, she kept it to herself entirely, and Draco kind of appreciated that no matter what, McGonagall remained consistent in how she treated him.
Still, he wondered if she might make an exception for him, just this once. He knew he needed to leave the school today if he had any hope of listening to the grief counsellor. He knew he needed to sort out his feelings and try to give them a place, but he didn't think he could do it by himself. Please don't let him go through this day by himself, Pansy's letter had said. Draco took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through his nose.
"Professor… would you allow me to go home today?" He felt incredibly uncomfortable with all the sympathy people were giving him today, but in order to get permission for what he wanted, he needed to use that sympathy, and thus needed to show vulnerability. "I… I feel like I need to go and visit him," he finished softly, looking down at his shoes.
The office once again went silent while he felt McGonagall's eyes on him, undoubtedly studying him for a moment, gauging his sincerity. "Permission granted," she finally said, and Draco felt something akin to relief wash over him. "But I need you to be back here today, late afternoon," the Headmistress added in her normal, stern tone. "You may use my Floo Network to go home; I must insist you be back in my fireplace promptly in time for supper."
Draco nodded his head and quietly cleared his throat. "Thank you, Professor," he muttered uncomfortably, though he clearly recognised the feeling of thankfulness swirling through him.
McGonagall stepped aside and gestured a hand into her office, inviting him inside. He moved to the grand fireplace at once and searched the mantel shelf for Floo Powder, wanting to get away from this office as soon as he could.
"The goblet to your left, Mr Malfoy," the Headmistress supplied as she moved to sit behind the large desk, a hint of amusement in her voice.
He muttered something in response while dipping his fingers inside the goblet, taking a small amount of powder. Moving inside the fireplace, he took a deep breath. "Malfoy Manor!" he said, speaking clearly, and he threw the powder at his feet, closing his eyes as he was engulfed by green flames, taking the Headmistress' office from view.
When he opened his eyes again, he was at home. Draco stepped out the fireplace in his family's drawing room and tapped his robes, ridding them of any dirt from his journey. It immediately felt good being home. Even though being at Hogwarts was starting to become less difficult with each day, and even though his home hadn't felt like home for the majority of last year, the feeling of comfort was slowly returning to him. He released a breath and took a moment to just appreciate being home, feeling himself steadily become calmer and more composed. He then glanced around the room and stilled his gaze at the center of it, beneath the large chandelier. Despite the feeling of relief over being home, his stomach still tensed up a little. That's where—
"Draco?"
His mother's voice, sounding surprised and slightly concerned, brought him back from his thoughts. Draco turned his head to see her enter the room, her wand drawn and a cautious stiffness to her posture. "What is going on?" she asked in a sharp voice. "Did we miss your owl?"
"Hello, Mother," he greeted her as he walked up to her, bending down to kiss her cheek. "I apologise for not informing you. I didn't know I would be allowed to come home until just a few minutes ago."
Narcissa Malfoy slowly put away her wand, raising her faint eyebrows slightly as she studied his face. "Did something happen?"
"No, Mother." Draco shook his head. "It's… it's Crabbe's birthday today," he added softly, not quite meeting her eyes. "I asked to be allowed to go home so I could visit his grave with Goyle."
Her face fell slightly. "How thoughtful of you."
It was long-forgotten territory, showing vulnerability around his mother. It was obvious that it felt awkward for the both of them. They weren't very open toward each other—they hadn't been since he was a child, before he went to Hogwarts. Both of his parents had learned to keep their emotions inside for so long that even suffering through a war hadn't been able to loosen them up.
Draco averted his eyes for a moment, suddenly feeling a little lost. He didn't understand why, but it stung a bit that his mother wasn't more comforting toward him. Once again he was confronted with the fact that he knew his mother wasn't acting any different from how she normally was. It was he who had changed. He didn't like how that change seemed to have put more of a distance between him and the people close to him.
He cleared his throat before glancing back up, finding his mother's eyes again. "How is Father?"
"He is well," she told him after a brief pause, and gently took him by the arm. "Why don't you join us for a cup of tea before you go? It would be lovely to spend some time now that we're given the opportunity."
Before Draco could open his mouth to object he was already being dragged through the room and into the next. He couldn't help but slow down once he entered the sitting room.
Lucius Malfoy sat on one of the sofas around the fireplace. Draco could tell that he had been relaxed before due to the fact that his father was holding the Daily Prophet. Reading the newspaper had always been a way for Lucius to clear his head. It was something Draco had begun to copy at an early age with books.
Right now, though, his father sat on the edge of his seat, with tense shoulders and white knuckles as his hands clutched the newspaper in unease. Perhaps it had been a mistake to Floo home without sending them a warning beforehand… His parents were still very much on edge. Understandably, they had not yet fully recovered from the Dark Lord's year-long presence in their home.
"Father," he muttered, "I apologise for not sending word ahead of my arrival. I didn't know I was allowed to leave the school until just a few minutes ago," he reiterated.
"No matter," Lucius replied softly. The words rolled smoothly off his tongue, but Draco saw the icy look in his father's eyes. He wasn't happy about being startled, and it most certainly did matter, but social etiquette—even in his own home, surrounded by no one but his own family—ensured that Lucius would behave the way he was expected to. "I trust you are well?" he added, raising one eyebrow, which Draco knew was an indication that his father expected an answer.
He gave a firm nod. "I am, Father."
"Good to hear," his father murmured, finally relaxing his shoulders again as he put down the newspaper. "I think we were just about to have tea, weren't we, dear?" he then asked, and Narcissa moved past Draco to sit down, next to her husband.
"Indeed." She glanced up at him. "Will you join us, Draco?"
He really didn't have the time, and it made him feel a little somber. Draco didn't really know why, but he longed for a moment of closeness with his parents, the way they had been when he had been a child, and their interactions were still free of social customs. It was probably his post-counselling session vulnerability that caused him to feel this way. He knew that even if he were to stay for tea now, he wouldn't get what he apparently longed for.
"I would love to," he finally said, "but unfortunately I can't stay. The Headmistress made it very clear that I am to be back at Hogwarts promptly in time for supper. She is mostly leaving me alone; I would hate for her to find an excuse to make my remaining time at school any more unpleasant than it already is if I were to get back late."
His father curled his lip. "How unacceptable for her to treat you this way."
Narcissa put her hand down on his, and Draco watched how his father visibly relaxed again. "Don't get yourself worked up, dear," she told him softly. "Draco can handle himself. He has done very well so far."
Lucius glanced up and Draco held his gaze as his father seemed to survey the value of that statement. "He really has," he finally agreed softly, and Draco felt his heart swell with pride ever so slightly from this unexpected praise, however small.
"Thank you," he muttered. "I will be back briefly in a few hours. I can send an owl ahead, if you'd prefer."
"There is no need," Narcissa answered as she rose from the sofa again. "We now know to expect you." She moved over and touched his face for a moment before gently pulling him down to kiss his cheek. "Please give our sympathies to Gregory, and to Irene, if you see her."
He really hoped Mrs Crabbe wouldn't be there, but Draco smiled and nodded his head before stepping back and Disapparating from Malfoy Manor.
When he opened his eyes again, he was surrounded by a green, wet, hilly landscape. Though the weather wasn't so bad now, it had obviously been raining heavily earlier in the morning. Though it smelled nice and fresh, he wasn't too happy about getting his shoes muddy.
He started moving toward the metal gate of the graveyard a little further away. It was rather unorthodox for a pureblood family to bury their dead, and even more so at a public graveyard. Most pureblood families had a mausoleum or graveyard on their family's estate, but the Crabbe's had not been a wealthy family in many years, and their largest estate had been seized decades ago by the Ministry as payment for various crimes of some careless ancestor.
As Draco moved through the rows and rows of tombs and headstones, he found himself getting more anxious with every step. He hadn't seen Goyle since the New Year's Eve party, and they hadn't really been friends since before Dumbledore's murder. While Pansy was undoubtedly right—Goyle was probably having a very hard time today—was he really the right person to be there for him?
His legs stopped moving of their own accord when he spotted a figure in the distance, dressed in black and seated in the grass, their back resting against a dark tomb. Even from this far away he recognised the shape of the bottle of Odgen's Old Firewhisky. He slowly began moving again until he reached them.
"Goyle," he muttered as a greeting, actively trying to suppress the unquestionable nerves.
Gregory Goyle opened his eyes—bloodshot from tears—and looked up at him with surprise clearly visible in his stare. "Malfoy?" he mumbled after a moment. "What are you doing here?"
Draco cleared his throat. "I figured you would be here today. I thought you might like the company."
His friend was quiet for a while. Then he nodded his head. "I don't know how to conjure up glasses," Goyle finally said softly, "so I've been drinking from the bottle. If you don't mind, you can have some."
Inadvertently, Draco's mouth twitched, though he quickly managed to suppress it for the most part. He could definitely use a drink today, but sharing a bottle? Still, Goyle looked really sad, and while he didn't have a lot of experience being an emotionally supportive friend, something inside him urged him to look past the little things that made him uncomfortable.
He turned and stared at the granite tomb—another unusual feat for a pureblood wizard's final resting place; most pureblood families—like his own—chose marble tombs for their dearly departed. Draco wondered how long the Crabbe's would still be able to keep up with high society before it became clear to everyone that they no longer enjoyed the same wealthy lifestyle their peers led.
Bowing forward a little, Draco placed his hand on the tomb and took a deep breath. Rest in peace, Vince. I'm… He hesitated briefly. I'm sorry for not being a better friend. Then he turned his back to the tomb and sighed with dread, but he still slid down until he sat next to Goyle, in the mud, for the second time in two days. Who had he become?
When Goyle held out the bottle of Odgen's Old, Draco pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind as he accepted the liquor and put it to his lips, taking a large swig. He inhaled through his nose and closed his eyes, enjoying the burning trail the Firewhisky left behind in his throat.
"Do you miss him?" Goyle rasped beside him, a hint of emotion in his voice. Draco turned his head to find his friend staring at him intently. He didn't even hesitate before answering.
"I do."
And he really did.