Chapter 28: Draco

I Must Be Cruel

"I must be cruel only to be kind;
Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind."
― William Shakespeare, Hamlet

The Next Day—
Friday, July 27, 2007
Malfoy Manor

It had been a grueling day of potion-making with Willy Engelbert.

The boy had managed to botch the preparation of a high-potency pain potion so severely that the cauldron had exploded, leaving him temporarily numb in both hands and feet. Draco had spent hours fixing the mess, both in the lab and on Willy. He would be better by tomorrow, Draco thought with a sigh. Probably.

On top of that, Draco was hungover. He had not returned from the Wyvern—and then the DA—until well past two in the morning. Astoria had been sleeping serenely when he returned, and Draco dreaded confronting her so much that he woke after only three hours of shuteye to avoid her in the morning.

But Theo was right. It was time that Draco stopped indulging Astoria. Still, as he descended the stone staircase to his quarters, it felt like he was descending into his own personal circle of hell.

When Draco entered his sitting room, Astoria was draped elegantly across the sofa cushions, wearing a luxurious gauzy robe that suggested she'd recently arrived from some event. A plate of fruit rested on her lap, no doubt delivered by Muffy, and the Wizarding Wireless Network hummed softly in the background from his radio.

"Draco," she greeted him with a smile as she noticed him enter. "Long day?"

"Long day," he muttered, forcing a tight smile as he sat beside her. He glanced at the radio, where a shrill voice was starting to rise above the static.

"Good evening, dear listeners. I am Romilda Vane, and welcome to another enchanting edition of Potterwatch, brought to you by Witch Weekly—your source for all things sparkling and sensational in the wizarding world!"

Astoria's eyes lit up. "Oh, it's starting! Be quiet, Draco. I want to hear this."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You actually listen to this?"

"Of course," she replied breezily. "I need to stay up-to-date for all the luncheons Mother drags me to. You wouldn't believe how much they gossip about this stuff."

Draco sighed, reaching for a grape from her plate, thinking he'd wait it out. But as the program unfolded, his casual disinterest quickly turned into disgust.

"Tonight, we dive into the latest installment of our much-talked-about series covering Harry Potter and his many paramours," Romilda Vane announced with a tone that grated on Draco's nerves."And tonight, we're not discussing just any witch who's crossed paths with the Boy Who Lived. No, no, no—we're delving into one of the most debated, whispered-about, and frankly mystifying figures in Harry Potter's inner circle: the one and only Hermione Granger."

Draco paused, a grape halfway to his mouth. Granger?

"Now, we all know the legend. When Harry and Hermione first met on that fateful train to Hogwarts, sparks flew, and not the romantic kind—oh no. By all accounts, they couldn't stand each other! Hermione, with her know-it-all attitude and relentless superiority, was the thorn in Harry's side…"

Astoria chuckled softly. "You were in her year, weren't you, Draco?"

Draco's expression hardened, but he said nothing. He had memories of Granger from those early days, too, and they weren't all pleasant. But Romilda Vane's tone was starting to irritate him.

"Some of you may have heard the rumors that Hermione—known without explanation as the brightest witch of her age—carried Harry through the hardest subjects at Hogwarts. But this reporter knows the truth,"Romilda continued with a chuckle that inspired Draco to tighten his grip on the plate."It was none other than our talented Savior of the Wizarding World who carried his clueless Muggle-born friend through the toughest parts of their school curriculum."

Draco felt his stomach twist. That's complete rubbish, he thought, his irritation deepening. Granger was always the smartest in their year, even if she was insufferable about it—and even if Draco had once felt she didn't deserve it.

Astoria giggled. "I bet Hermione Granger would be furious if she heard this."

"And—as much as it pains me to report this, it must be said. … Harry's feelings for Hermione Granger were deeper than mere friendship. After Hermione was petrified in 1993 during the harrowing reopening of the Chamber of Secrets, Harry was said to have fallen into inconsolable despair. He could hardly function without Hermione by his side."

Draco scoffed under his breath, feeling his irritation flare into real anger. Potter was twelve, for Merlin's sake. He popped the grape into his mouth, trying to keep his temper in check, but it was a losing battle.

"And what did Hermione do? Did she return those feelings with the same enthusiasm? Hardly! It wasn't until Harry's fame shot through the roof when he was announced as the fourth Triwizard Champion—a title that caused quite the scandal—that Hermione finally seemed to take notice of him in that way. But, alas, just as our beloved Harry thought he might win her heart, Hermione broke his by throwing herself at Viktor Krum!"

Astoria laughed out loud at that, and Draco's expression was stone-cold. "That's ridiculous," he muttered, more to himself than to Astoria. He recalled the shock that ran through the school when Granger had entered the Yule Ball with Krum. She had looked beautiful, shockingly so. The more recent image of Granger illuminated by fairy lights and champagne flashed in his mind—sequins flying, running.

"And really, listeners, how else could a seventeen-year-old international Quidditch star—handsome, accomplished, famous—be interested in a buck-toothed, bookish fifteen-year-old girl without the use of… shall we say… less-than-honorable means? Love potions, perhaps?"

Draco's jaw clenched so tightly he thought his teeth might crack. That was vile. That was a lie. "That's rubbish," he voiced.

Oblivious to his rising fury, Astoria leaned in closer to the radio, clearly enjoying every word. "You must admit, Draco, it's not that far-fetched."

Draco shot her a sharp look but didn't respond further. He knew this wasn't true—knew that Granger had more integrity than most of the people Romilda Vane was pandering to. But the lies kept coming.

"Despite all her self-proclaimed intellect and so-called achievements, the only job she could secure after receiving her NEWTs was in the least prestigious department at the Ministry for Magic—the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures…"

The more Romilda spoke, the more Draco's anger built. By the time the program finally neared its end, with Romilda's cheery farewell and promise of more "tantalizing tales," Draco was seething.

As the program faded, Astoria turned to Draco with a satisfied smile. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but the anger was still simmering beneath the surface. "Do you enjoy listening to that filth?"

Astoria looked taken aback. "It's just harmless fun, Draco. Everyone knows it's just gossip."

"Harmless?" Draco repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Vane was spewing lies about Granger."

Astoria waved a dismissive hand. "It's only Hermione Granger. She'll still be Minister for Magic someday, or whatever she wants. It's not like it matters."

Draco stared at her, the truth dawning on him at that moment. Astoria enjoyed dabbling in cruelty in the same way that his parents had enjoyed being cruel and in the same way he had enjoyed doing so as a child—at the right moment and only at others' expense.

All Astoria wanted—as she had confessed to him years ago—was to attend society events, donate to charity, and be a part of a loving family. Draco had wanted that in a wife, desperately, at one point. He had wanted the same perfect life modeled for him by his parents in his childhood.

Draco had wanted it even more desperately when he thought he would die at the hands of the Dark Lord. He felt that future slipping out of his grasp, and so when the Dark Lord fell, and he could breathe again, he had clung to that—clung to Astoria—and then resented her for it. It was not long before the future he had imagined for himself felt like a cage.

He had been so naive.

"It does matter," he said quietly but firmly, leaving no room for argument. "And the reason I wanted to talk, Astoria, is that I don't think you should stay here anymore."

Astoria blinked, clearly caught off guard. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean it," Draco continued, his voice surprisingly steady. "You're engaged to Pucey. You should go home."

"We already discussed that."

"Did we?" He asked, half-throwing the plate of fruit on the coffee table. "I recall very little discussion."

"And very little protest," Astoria retorted, her perfect mouth contorting into an ugly sneer.

Draco nodded, a little of the fight going out of him. "None, in fact."

"So what's your issue now?"

He sighed, "I'm done, Astoria." The words hung in the air, and she did not immediately reply. They did not look at each other. Draco continued wearily, "I don't even know what you want—"

"I want what we had," Astoria said, reaching for him. "What you promised me years ago."

"I can't be with you." Draco grabbed her hand and placed it on her lap. "I can't go back to where I was back then. I treated you poorly—I was a bad person. I'm still not—"

"Not what?" Astoria asked, her voice rising, and Draco could tell she was getting angrier. "Not perfect? Not good? Guess what, Draco—no one is perfect. Or good. Not me, not you, not Adrian. I can't believe this. You're still—after all this time—stuck inside your bloody head!"

Astoria stood up, looking down at him where he sat. Draco thought that Astoria's prim and proper mother would faint at the sound of her daughter cursing.

"Wake up, Draco," she went on. "We're all just trying to survive and find some happiness. Why won't you?"

"We weren't happy, Astoria," Draco said, standing to meet her eyes. "And we won't be. If you still want the perfect Lord for your Lady, you're looking in the wrong place. I'm not that wizard. I don't want to be. Just ask my parents—they will dissuade you of whatever notion you hang onto."

"What are you doing?" Astoria seethed. She looked as though she was going to rip her hair out. It was perfectly coiffed.

"Being honest with you!" He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and stalking to the opposite side of the room. "For the first time ever, I think."

"So this is what you want," she replied. "Me, gone. You, here alone in your empty palace. A house elf and exactly one friend … be serious, Draco. What kind of life are you living?"

Draco's voice was quiet when he spoke. He could feel magic, or fire, or rage, or perhaps the strings of fate vibrating around him.

"Mine."

She blinked at him, clearly lost. He took one step closer to her and said, "My life. … And it's not a life you want, Astoria. So, it's time for you to decide what your life will be."

Astoria looked like she wanted to shout some more, but nothing came out of her mouth. Draco closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.

"You can't hide here forever," he said.

Astoria's expression hardened. "I'm not hiding, Draco. I just … needed time."

"And I'm telling you, that time's up," Draco said firmly. "You need to go. I'll have Muffy arrange a suite for you upstairs tonight, but you should plan to leave by week's end."

Astoria stared at him, a mix of shock and anger in her eyes. "Is this really what you want?"

"Yes," Draco said, meeting her gaze without wavering. "It is."

For a moment, it looked again like she might argue, but then she sighed, the fight visibly leaving her body. "Fine."

Draco nodded, watching as she stood and left the room without another word. The door closed behind her, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts, the emotion still simmering in his chest.

Three Hours Later—

Draco sat on his sofa, the fruit plate discarded before him. The scent of Astoria's perfume still lingered in the air. He wondered for the fiftieth time in the last three hours whether he had done the right thing.

But … the relief he felt when Astoria had closed the door behind her was palpable, and Draco took comfort in that. He wasn't sure if Astoria was still in the Manor—he had sent Muffy to prepare a suite in any case—or whether she had returned to her parents' estate.

He cared for her, but he didn't care to know. The flames crackled in the hearth.

This washislife.

It felt good to admit. It was not much, but it was his. He smiled, eager to tell Theo he had followed through after their discussion. Draco knew his friend remained skeptical that Draco could confront anyone.

A silvery squirrel materialized through Draco's ceiling and hovered before him, startling Draco from his thoughts. Who would send him a Patronus charm?

Then, a stern and hard-edged woman's voice sounded out.

"This is Agatha Wells, Director of the Department of Potions, Poultices, and Tinctures at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. This is a broad call for urgent potions assistance. We are dealing with the fallout from a Class-Z toxic event and need large quantities of Universal Neutralizer and antidotes to at least a dozen venoms. If you are able, please send assistance. Report to the Third Floor, Poisonings Department."

The squirrel vanished, and Draco glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight. Agatha Wells had never contacted him urgently before. He wondered if the hospital had a new protocol or if this was indeed an unprecedented emergency. After a moment of thought, Draco rose.

He sprinted into his lab, grabbed all the vials of Universal Neutralizer he had—only five—and set a bezoar to stew. Severus had taught him the recipe for a powerful broad-spectrum antidote years ago, and he could brew it in a few hours after the bezoar had softened.

Next, Draco went to a place he hadn't seen in over a year: his childhood bedroom. He apparated directly there to save time.

He had thought the room would be dusty, but Muffy seemed to keep this disused part of the Manor in pristine condition. Ignoring the remnants of a life he had left behind—Slytherin paraphernalia, Falmouth Falcons merchandise, Hogwarts books, and ill-fitting clothes—Draco headed straight for his quarry. A tiny vial was on the fourth shelf of his over-stuffed bookcase, concealed behind a Wizard's World Atlas. The liquid inside was acid green, tinged with luminescent purple flecks.

Nagini had eaten Charity Burbage in Draco's dining room; Nagini's venom had killed dozens and terrorized dozens more: enemies of the Dark Lord, friends of the Order, and people who found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nagini had stalked these halls, threatened his mother, and tainted every stone upon which she slithered.

Draco collected the venom over months—slowly, secretly—from the carcasses she left behind in the Manor's halls. He carefully extracted hundredths of a drop, one by one. And after the Dark Lord fell and even Nagini had perished, Draco had still brewed the antidote to her venom.

It had come too late to save Severus.

But, during the many months of his house arrest, Draco continued to live in fear—that every surface he touched was poisoned by either dark magic or that snake's fangs. And so, he brewed.

It was an antivenin. It might work on most venoms, Draco suspected. Nagini was powerful and magically enhanced. Draco had saved this potion, thinking he would need it someday. Perhaps today was the day. It felt right, somehow.

It was time to move on. People needed help.

He grabbed the vial and apparated away.

Up Next: Hermione gets into a sticky situation.