Chapter 6- Snapdragon ~ I'm Picking Me Apart Again

June 1998

Courtroom Four was packed. The witches and wizards in the gallery craned their necks to see the trials of all three members of the Malfoy family play out before them, squeezing themselves as tightly as they could on the benches. There were so many people that wanted to watch the spectacle that during each recess, those who left the courtroom to use the restroom lost their seats to others waiting in the very long queue of hopeful spectators waiting in the corridor outside.

As the sister of one of the defendants, Kingsley guaranteed me a seat in the familiar round courtroom. I'd initially decided not to attend, but for whatever reason, I'd changed my mind the morning of the trials. Fortunately, my mother-in-law was extremely understanding when I dropped by with Teddy, insisting that she watch him so I could attend the proceedings. I would need to make her a cake or something to thank her later.

Having tried cases before the Wizengamot before- albeit none of them within the realm of criminal law- I found the court procedure for this case somewhat odd. While the Court of Magical Law was handling most of the cases against Death Eaters, the Wizengamot had elected to take some of the ones involving members of the Dark Lord's inner circle. It was not surprising that they would choose to hear Lucius' case, but the fact that they would deign to listen to Narcissa's or Draco's was perplexing to me. Additionally, they had made the decision to hold all three of their cases in one trial, which, while not unheard of, was incredibly unorthodox. If any of them were found guilty, a competent solicitor could easily demand a new trial if they appealed the verdict.

While the seats for spectators in the courtroom were completely full, about half of those reserved for the Wizengamot were empty. A brief count of the purple-robed figures on the other side of the room indicated to me that Kingsley had in fact appointed three extra members, as Professor Greene stated he would. With the Minister himself taking the position of Chief Warlock for the trial, there were exactly fifty-one members present, the precise number needed to conduct trials.

I stared down into the center of the room, which was where my sister, her family, and the solicitors for both them and the Ministry were located. As always, Lucius looked haughty and proud, unafraid of whatever waited for him. His blond hair was immaculately pulled back away from his face, and he wore understated black robes. Narcissa sat with perfect posture in her chair, although her hair was slightly mussed and she had an expression of pure dread on her face. Draco was hunched over in his seat, as if he thought that if he scrunched himself up enough, he would turn invisible.

I was somewhat confused by their unease; in the four hours of the trial that had elapsed thus far, I didn't think that the solicitor for the Ministry had proven their case for any of the charges other than Lucius' treason and his subsequent housing of the Dark Lord. By contrast, the Malfoys' solicitor- whom they'd certainly paid a small fortune to defend them- had gone above and beyond in detailing the horrors and retributive abuse that awaited them if they failed to comply with the Dark Lord's demands. He had also thoroughly explained why Narcissa and Draco were unable to meaningfully escape that situation. Not even the statements of victims that were currently being read by the Minister could definitively prove any guilt; they were horribly nondescript and relied on appealing to the Wizengmot's pathos more than anything else.

After the last statement was read, chatter erupted among those in the courtroom. Kingsley banged his gavel on the lectern in the front of the room and everyone hushed.

"I know that we've already been here a long time today, and I promise that we're almost finished," he said in a booming voice that reverberated throughout the chamber. "Before the esteemed members of the Wizengamot deliberate on the accuseds' verdicts, we will allow any individual to speak about them on their behalf. Does anyone here wish to say anything?"

"I do," a muffled, yet familiar voice close to the first row of seats said. My eyes widened and the gallery let out a collective gasp as we watched Harry Potter himself walk to the center of the room. The previously silenced murmurings began anew as the Minister gestured for him to stand in front of the lectern to speak.

Harry looked nervous. I was under the impression that he didn't like any of the Malfoys, especially Draco. Why was he speaking out for them now?

"Er, I know that this is probably surprising to everyone here," he began, running his hand through his messy dark hair. "But I'd like to ask that the Wizengamot be lenient in their verdicts and sentences toward the Malfoys, especially toward Narcissa and Draco. Lucius Malfoy did some awful things, but as their solicitor pointed out, a lot of that was because he was being threatened by Voldemort."

A group of witches near me let out shrieks upon hearing the Dark Lord's name. I rolled my eyes; he was dead, almost all his followers had been captured, and the threat of being hurt just by saying his name was gone. Yes, mentioning him undoubtedly brought fear to almost everyone in the British wizarding world, but we needed to stop being afraid of his name. We couldn't move on otherwise.

"The same goes for Narcissa and Draco," Harry continued. "Narcissa was only doing what she thought would keep her and her family safe. And since a dark wizard was living in her house, she couldn't really say no without getting killed. Draco was just doing what his parents or Voldemort told him to do. They were both afraid. During the Battle of Hogwarts, none of the Malfoys hurt anyone fighting the Death Eaters, at least not that I'm aware of. And when I went to confront Tom Riddle in the Forbidden Forest, Narcissa Malfoy saved my life. Riddle hit me with a Killing Curse, and Narcissa lied to him that I was dead so we could return to the castle. Without her defying Voldemort, I probably wouldn't be here right now."

The members of the gallery began talking and shouting over each other, completely drowning out whatever Harry was now saying. I was baffled; was any of this information about what had occurred in the Forbidden Forest true? It hadn't been mentioned during the trial, and Narcissa hadn't brought it up to me. I felt my legs begin to shake.

"He's been Imperiused!" one warlock near me cried out.

"Potter survived another Killing Curse?" an older witch in front loudly squealed.

It wasn't until my chest started to hurt that remembered to breathe. I was in shock, unable to reconcile the fact that my normally selfish little sister had apparently saved Harry Potter's life. I couldn't see her committing such a brave and selfless act for the good of the wizarding world. Had she had an ulterior motive at the time, or had she truly changed?

"Even though Narcissa only wanted to return to the castle to find her son, she still helped me," Harry said. "She could have waited until I was killed and returned with the rest of the Death Eaters, but she didn't."

And there it was: Narcissa had not helped him solely out of the goodness of her heart. She wanted Voldemort gone because of how he treated her family, not because of what he was doing to others. Harry was a better person than me for asking the Wizengamot for clemency on her behalf when her motives, albeit helpful for everyone in the long run, were so selfish. The buzz of conversation continued, getting louder and louder until the Minister banged his gavel again.

"Er, I think that's it," Harry said once it was quiet, nodding at Kingsley before returning to his seat.

"Very well," Kingsley replied. "We are going to break for a quick recess for the members of the Wizengamot to review all the evidence and deliberate. I estimate that it will take around an hour for this process to finish. I hereby suspend this trial until we have reached a decision."

With another bang of his gavel, court was adjourned. Somewhat dazed by the revelation that Harry Potter now owed a life-debt to my sister, I remained seated in the courtroom for several minutes. Once I had somewhat regained my composure, I exited the chamber and waited in the courtroom lobby with everyone else. Immediately, I began to feel suffocated again.

I just didn't know if that was because I was surrounded by hundreds of people, or because my body physically couldn't comprehend the tale that Harry had told us.

Two hours later, we were informed we could return to the courtroom. I was in a worse seat than before, on the opposite side of the chamber. My view was partially obstructed by a large warlock wearing billowing magenta robes in the row in front of me, and I could barely see the Minister's lectern. Once everyone packed themselves in as tightly as possible, my sister and her family were led back to their seats in the center of the room, accompanied by their solicitor. After they were seated, Kingsley approached the lectern.

"Sonorus," he muttered, pointing his wand at his throat to amplify the volume of his voice. "We, the members of the Wizengamot, have reviewed the evidence carefully and come to an agreement as to the verdicts and sentences of the accuseds."

The people around me started murmuring, the buzz of conversation gradually increasing each passing second.

"I would ask that the gallery remain silent for the remainder of the proceedings," the Minister continued sternly. "If I have to call for order after every sentence, we'll never finish here."

The murmurings of the crowd died down, and several people around me sighed. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat; I was very worried that whatever punishment my sister and her family received would only be a slap on the wrist.

"Lucius Abraxas Malfoy," Kingsley began, his booming voice silencing the gallery. "We, the members of the Wizengamot find you guilty of the charges of treason, conspiracy, and harboring fugitives. We find you not guilty of using Unforgivable Curses."

Kingsley paused and stared at us seated in the gallery. Satisfied that we would remain quiet, he continued. "As for your sentence, we must take your cooperation with authorities since the Battle of Hogwarts into account," he said. "Throughout the Ministry's recent investigation into the events of the past couple years, you've answered every question we've asked, allowed us to repeatedly search your home, and you have been forthcoming in providing crucial testimony against many of your former colleagues. Additionally, we cannot ignore the thousands of Galleons you and your wife have donated to charities and funds dedicated to helping victims of the war and the rebuilding effort at Hogwarts. We therefore sentence you to ten months in Azkaban, to be served at a later date. Once released, you will serve five years under house arrest. You will no longer be permitted to carry a wand for the remainder of your life. You also will no longer be permitted to leave Britain. Furthermore, you will allow the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to thoroughly search and catalogue all items in your home every five years, as well as pay a four thousand Galleon fine."

Rage began to flare within me. Loss of his wand aside, this was a laughable sentence. Lucius' pureblood fanaticism had resulted in countless people's deaths in not one, but two wars, and all he was getting was ten months in prison? It seemed that even in this new regime, Galleons spoke louder than actions or words. Granted, Lucius could hardly be re-tried for his crimes in the first war- or anything that Cornelius Fudge had granted him a pardon over- but this sentence was pitiful. By the angry murmuring around me, I could tell others agreed.

Kingsley banged his gavel on the lectern. "I'm not going to ask you to be quiet again," he remarked, his brow so deeply furrowed that I could see it all the way from my seat in the back of the courtroom. "Next time, I'll order everyone who isn't an interested party out of the chamber."

All angry murmurs immediately ceased, and I saw a few members of the Wizengamot shift nervously in their seats. The Malfoys had their backs to me, and while I couldn't see their facial reactions to Lucius' sentence, his posture was less pristine than before, and Narcissa had put her hand on his shoulder.

The Minister then turned to face my sister. "Narcissa Black Malfoy," he stated in his booming voice. "While we understand that many of your actions pertaining to your charge of treason were committed under duress, you had an obligation to report your husband's activities, as well as the fact that Tom Marvolo Riddle and his followers were living in your home. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement would have helped you if you had come forward. Despite this, you made the choice to keep quiet, putting you and your family in a worse situation. It is for these reasons that we find you not guilty of treason, but guilty of harboring fugitives. Taking your conduct during the Battle of Hogwarts into account, we sentence you to one month in Azkaban, to be served at a later date. You will be permitted to carry a wand both before and after this sentence, but several monitoring charms will be permanently affixed so that the Auror Office can observe what spells you perform. You are no longer permitted to leave the country."

Narcissa lowered her hand from her husband's shoulder, and her head appeared to hang slightly. The gallery remained silent, but the faces of those around me held expressions of both anger and confusion. The simmering fury inside me was starting to boil; none of the imposed punishments would cause Lucius or Narcissa to actually examine their behavior and repent. Once they served their sentences, they could retire from public life and live in comfort for the rest of their days.

I found it sickening.

"Draco Cygnus Malfoy," Kingsley said. I jumped slightly. Today was full of revelations; I'd had no idea that Cissy had named her son after our father.

"You have been charged with treason, criminally negligent assault, attempted murder, and conspiracy," the Minister continued, resting his hands on the lectern. Draco was staring at his feet, either unable or unwilling to look at the Wizengamot directly. "Much of these charges stem from events in your life from 1996 and 1997, when you were underage. You received the Dark Mark and attempted to assassinate Albus Dumbledore not because you wanted to, but because you were told to and were afraid of the consequences that would befall you should you disobey those orders. Once you were of age, you faced the same predicament as your mother, and just like her, most of your actions were conducted under duress. Also like her, you knew that what you were doing was wrong, and you could have sought help from the Ministry- or any other trusted adult. But holding you to the same standard as experienced and mature adults would be unfair and wrong."

Kingsley took a deep breath and leaned forward on the lectern. "You don't need me to tell you how the events of the past few years will follow you forever," he said gently. "I can see it in your eyes that you're well aware of this. And to your credit, you've cooperated fully with Aurors in their investigations into your former friends and colleagues. Because of the aforementioned factors, we find you not guilty of treason, attempted murder, and conspiracy. We do, however, find you guilty of criminally negligent assault, and sentence you to one thousand hours of community service. You will be permitted to keep your wand, and you must remain in Britain until your sentence is complete. Several monitoring charms will be affixed to your wand so that the Auror Office can examine the spells you cast. Once you have completed your community service, these charms will be removed."

Draco hunched over again. I wondered what he was thinking. Of the three sentences given, this seemed to be the only one that was actually appropriate. He was young enough where these punishments might actually cause him to reflect on his actions and change his behavior.

Kingsley banged his gavel one final time. "That will be all for today," he said. "I hereby declare the trials of the Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy complete. We will hold a status conference at a later date to determine when Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy will serve their Azkaban sentences. This session of the Wizengamot is adjourned."

All of us in the chamber rose. Around me, I heard people's angry reactions to the sentences given.

"I can't believe those Death Eaters got off again! If they weren't rich, they'd be rotting in prison."

"I get not wanting to sentence the kid to anything tough, but the parents should be in Azkaban for the rest of their lives! They're not going to change at this point."

"How is this justice? People died and they did nothing!"

"Watch, it'll be just like last time. They'll lie in wait in that manor of theirs, and once another radical pureblood comes along, the Malfoys will follow them too. The Ministry should seize all their property and gold and make them get real jobs, like the rest of us. Maybe that will humble them."

I pushed my way past the furious witches and wizards clogging the aisles as they chattered with their friends, so blinded with rage that I could hardly see where I was going. I agreed with them; the sentences that had been meted out were far too light, mocking the circumstances of everyone who'd suffered from the horrors of my sister and her husband's ideals. It was disgusting.

Entering the courtroom lobby, I apparated home, hoping that I could blow off some steam before picking up my grandson.

Narcissa owled me a couple of days later, asking to meet somewhere discreet to discuss something important. Reluctantly, I accepted.

I was still angry at how her trial had played out. Or maybe I was angry because the life I'd so carefully built with my husband and daughter had been destroyed in less than a year. I didn't know anymore; it was all the same anger at this point.

I also wasn't sure what I hoped to accomplish by having Narcissa in my life again. What exactly did I want from her? A familial relationship? An apology for everything she'd ever done to me? To forget the past twenty-five years and continue on like nothing had happened? Was I trying to show her the errors of her ways and reform her into a blood traitor like me? Whatever my heart's motives were, it refused to reveal them, which frustrated me further.

Regardless, I didn't think ignoring her attempts at reconciliation was the right decision, at least, not at this point. If she truly wanted to change- and she'd shown the barest hints of wanting that- she needed to have people around her who would challenge her preconceptions about the world. I doubted that anyone in her pureblood social circle was going to do that, although I suspected that very few of them wished to associate with her anymore. It wasn't fair or right, but it seemed that the burden of rehabilitating Narcissa's belief system had fallen to me.

I met Narcissa at a Squib-owned café on the outskirts of Hereford with Teddy in tow. The weather was warm enough that we could sit outside, and after ordering and receiving our tea and sandwiches, I gave Teddy his crinkly fox toy and a stuffed dragon. I quickly cast Pacifying Charms on them so that my sister and I could talk in peace.

"You brought your grandson," she remarked with surprise. "He looks like you."

"Thank you," I replied, smiling at him. "I figured that he would enjoy the outing. If we want to have a relationship, you'll meet him anyway, and babies are very curious when they're this small. You know how it is, anything and everything new is exciting and interesting. I'm sure that Draco was the same way."

She frowned, sipping her orange pekoe tea. "Yes, I suppose so," she said, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. "I recall Jassy saying something to that effect."

I could only presume that Jassy was one of my sister's house-elves, and that they had been the one primarily responsible for taking care of Draco as a baby. Even though I should have expected it- after all, my sisters and I had been almost entirely raised by house-elves and governesses- the knowledge that Cissy hadn't really spent much time with her infant child left a bitter taste in my mouth.

After an awkward silence, I spoke again.

"So," I said, taking a sip of my plum tea. "You saved Harry Potter's life."

Narcissa stiffened. She picked at her watercress sandwich with her fork, which she held in a vise-like grip. "Is it so shocking?" she replied. "Our goals were aligned at that point."

"I'm not surprised you saved him 'at that point,'" I scoffed. "You were completely unconcerned with whether Harry lived or died until it suited your motives."

Her eyes narrowed at me, and she tilted her head back. The sun hit her hair, and I thought I could see silver sparkling amidst the light blonde strands. "I didn't ask to meet with you to discuss whether I saved the Potter boy's life for my own gain," she said. "You and I both know that the world does not run on altruism and self-sacrifice. Yes, I helped him because it was beneficial to me and other people I cared about."

At least she admitted it. Next to me in his carrier, Teddy was sucking on his fox toy while staring at the vase of pink snapdragons on the table.

"I'm not looking forward to a month in Azkaban," my sister sighed, shaking her head. "And Lucius can't really use magic ever again…"

I took another sip of tea. "You both got off easy," I remarked, feeling myself getting annoyed with her. "Plenty of Death Eaters are getting life sentences. And countless innocent people are dead, Narcissa. The ones who aren't are physically and mentally scarred for life."

"So you think we deserve harsher sentences?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

She wasn't going to like what I had to say, but I didn't care. "Yes," I nodded. "Regardless of whether you or Lucius cast any Unforgivables on anyone, people like you nearly caused the destruction of wizarding Britain. You and others with your backward sympathies are the reason so many are dead. People like Ted, Nymphadora, and Remus. And your lenient punishments aren't exactly giving you much incentive to change your way of thinking."

Teddy let out a small cry next to me, and I exchanged his stuffed dragon with a small bottle of milk from his nappy bag. Narcissa stared at me with gross fascination as I cast a Cleaning Charm on the dragon to get rid of the copious amounts of Teddy's saliva that lingered on it.

Narcissa rolled her eyes at me. "Fine, so you resent the fact that we weren't given harsh punishments," she said, her mouth stretching into a taut line.

"I resent many things pertaining to the events of this past year," I replied, flipping my hair over my shoulder. "Your pitiful sentences don't even make the top five of that particular list."

"But you resent Lucius and me."

"Yes. And for whatever reason, you resent me too."

We glared at each other for a long moment. Behind me, I could hear a waitress seating a couple and two young children at a table and taking their drink orders.

Narcissa broke the silence first. "Do you resent Draco as well?" she asked softly, her eyes darting between Teddy and the family behind us.

My knowledge of Draco was quite sparse. It was limited to the events of his trial, where his solicitor had detailed very convincingly the reasons why he, as a child and young adult, had been forced to comply with the Dark Lord's commands. Additionally, Harry had mentioned various unpleasant things about my nephew in passing. Neither of these instances were appropriate measures by which I could judge Draco's true character.

"No, I don't," I answered. "Draco is a child, and it's not his fault that he grew up aspiring to become a Death Eater without understanding what that actually meant. That's on you and Lucius. You two failed him. Draco is young though, and still has time to grow as a person. Hopefully his past experiences will aid him in that regard."

My sister's lip curled. "Draco is not a child," she said. "He just turned eighteen earlier this month."

I snorted, which startled Teddy and caused him to spit out his bottle. "He's still a child," I replied, taking the bottle and removing my grandson from the carrier. I cleaned his front before summoning a cloth so I could burp him. "I certainly wasn't an adult at eighteen. You probably weren't either."

Narcissa scowled at me, her blue eyes full of contempt. "I had to learn how to become an adult at eighteen," she hissed, her nostrils flaring. "Someone had to step up and save the family's reputation after you ran off."

It was my turn to roll my eyes at her. "I'm not going to apologize for that," I scoffed. Teddy let out a burp, and I returned him to the carrier with his crinkle toy, stowing the dirtied burping cloth back in the bag. "Did you suddenly forget that you were the one who brought me to Ted? What happened to understanding why I wanted to leave? I thought you regretted not knowing my family. Or was that all a lie?"

Narcissa vanished her mostly uneaten sandwich from her plate. "I didn't ask you here to discuss the events of twenty-five years ago," she said.

"I'm not the one who brought them up."

She let out a long sigh and leaned back in her chair. "Andromeda, I'm trying to understand, I really am," she mumbled. "But it's hard. And given the events of the past week, I'm emotionally a bit tapped out right now. I'm sure you get that."

Her words made me feel guilty. She was right; she was trying, and right now it was a bad time for her. Showing her a bit of grace for a single afternoon would hurt no one.

"I wanted to ask if Draco could stay with you for the next couple of weeks," she continued, folding her hands in her lap. "The manor is being searched, and none of us are permitted to be there while Aurors are going through it. Because Lucius and I were sentenced to Azkaban, we are required to spend the duration of the search in a detention facility in Essex. Draco is free to go where he pleases, with Ministry approval, of course."

I was confused by this request. "He doesn't have any friends he can stay with?" I asked. "I have no relationship with your son. Why would you want him to stay with a stranger?"

"Do you really think the Ministry will let Draco stay with any of our friends, most of whom supported the Dark Lord?" she pushed back. "Of course not. But they will approve of him staying with you. Besides, just as you said earlier, if we want to repair our relationship, he'll have to meet you eventually."

As I ruminated on my sister's proposal, I stared at the snapdragons on the table swaying in the light breeze. I wasn't thrilled that she'd seemingly only contacted me because she needed a favor, but she wasn't incorrect; I was going to meet Draco Malfoy sooner or later. And in truth, I held no ill will toward the boy, even if most witches or wizards thought he was as evil a Death Eater as his father. I knew what it was like to grow up suffocated by the pressures of elite pureblood society; while I'd never joined the ranks of a dark wizard's cult, I remembered the pressure that Bellatrix had exerted on me, Narcissa, and our cousins to do exactly that.

"Fine," I said, looking up at her. "He can stay with me."

When Great-Aunt Walburga died, Draco and his parents stayed at Grimmauld Place for a couple of weeks so that Mother could wrap up some affairs before the funeral. Draco had only met his deceased great-aunt a couple of times, so he hadn't known her well. When he asked his parents what she'd been like, Father said that it was always tragic when a pureblood witch or wizard died. Mother told Draco that it was unwise to speak ill of the dead.

Draco spent his afternoons exploring the London house, supervised by an elderly house-elf. Grimmauld Place wasn't as big or opulent as Malfoy Manor, but the antique furniture and fine objects that decorated its walls and tables gave the house an air of prestige and authority that was unfamiliar to him.

The day after Great-Aunt Walburga's funeral, Father took Draco to the drawing room and instructed him to stand in front of the Black Family Tapestry. Draco grinned when he found his name at the bottom, running over and touching its golden letters. It was very different from the tapestry at home; the Black tapestry was made of dark green fabric covered with gold leaves and vines, whereas the Malfoy tapestry was a marble slab with gold peacock motifs amidst the various names etched upon it. Draco thought that these tapestries were nicer than any others, especially since he and his parents were listed on both of them.

"Draco," Father said to him, gesturing to the tapestry. "Do you know what this is?"

"Mother's family tapestry!" he replied excitedly.

Father smiled. "Yes," he said. "And do you know what all of the people on it have in common? Apart from being members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, that is."

This was a strange question, and Draco wasn't entirely sure he knew the answer. He hated when he didn't know things. Father and Mother always got upset when Draco didn't know things he was supposed to.

"Er, are they all purebloods?" Draco guessed, biting his lower lip. He didn't really know why, but Father always liked talking about purebloods and how they were better than everyone else, so the answer probably had to do with that.

"Very good, Draco!" Father beamed. Draco felt warm inside. He'd gotten the answer right and Father was happy!

Father placed his hand on Draco's shoulder before continuing. "Every person on this tapestry believed in one simple truth: that purebloods are superior. We must not let those of lesser birth take what is rightfully ours. You are superior, Draco. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"Yes, Father," Draco said.

"When you are older, you will be expected to uphold the ideals of our society, just like they did," Father said, gesturing to the tapestry. "You must fight to protect pureblood interests from mudbloods and blood traitors that would take them away from us. And at some point, you may be called upon to serve a wizard who champions these ideals. If that happens, you must fight alongside them, Draco. As a Malfoy and a Black, it is expected of you."

Draco only understood some of what Father was saying since he was using a lot of big words that were confusing. All of this was very overwhelming. He'd once heard Great-Great-Aunt Cassiopeia tell Father off for being "excessively grandiloquent" after they'd attended a dinner party at the Minister's house. Draco didn't know what that meant, but Father had used a lot of big words at the Minister's party, just like he was doing right now.

"Yes, Father," Draco agreed. He didn't want to fight anyone if he didn't have to. But if Father said he was supposed to, Draco would do it. He looked for his name on the tapestry again, feeling better when he saw it among the gilded leaves.

His eyes were quickly drawn to a small burn mark in between Mother's and Aunt Bella's names. Glancing around the tapestry, Draco noticed several other similar blemishes. What were they? The Malfoy tapestry had no such things on it.

"Father, what's that burn mark next to Mother's name?" Draco asked. "Did someone set the tapestry on fire?"

Father crinkled his nose. "That is where Andromeda's name was," he answered, the disgust palpable in his voice.

Draco was confused. According to where the mark was placed, Andromeda would be his aunt. But Draco didn't have an Aunt Andromeda, only an Aunt Bella. He'd never heard Mother speak about having a sister named Andromeda.

His father looked at him sternly. "Andromeda was removed from the tapestry," he explained. "She ran off with a mudblood a long time ago, rejecting everything purebloods are supposed to stand for. Because of that, she is no longer a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. She has no family anymore. Let her fate be a lesson to you, Draco. If you decide to become a blood traitor, your name will be removed from both the Black and Malfoy tapestries. You'll be cut off from your family and friends forever."

Draco gulped, glancing at the ugly burn mark again. He didn't really know what being a blood traitor meant, but he'd do whatever Father said so that he wouldn't become one. Not having Mother or Father or Greg or Vinny or anyone else scared him.

He was afraid that one day he would end up alone forever, just like the estranged aunt he would never meet.

Draco had been standing on the doorstep of his aunt's house with his trunk for seven minutes, too nervous to knock on the door. He had no idea what he was supposed to say to her when she answered. According to Mother, Aunt Andromeda had lost her husband, daughter, and son-in-law in the war, and she was often angry and depressed. Why Andromeda Tonks had agreed to let Draco stay with her was a mystery; he knew that his actions played a role in how she had lost her entire family. Would she be able to look at him without getting upset? Would she kick him out after only a few days because she wouldn't be able to stand having a Death Eater in her house?

He absentmindedly brushed his fingers over his Dark Mark, recoiling when he felt a dull pain shoot up his left arm. According to the Healers at St. Mungo's, the mark would likely fade into a discolored and misshapen scar over the course of several years. However, it would probably cause Draco pain for the rest of his life.

It would never be enough penance for all the pain he'd caused others.

Draco felt that he had no one who understood him anymore, not that anyone ever really had. From a young age, he had been taught to obey. Obey his father, obey his mother, obey Aunt Bella, obey the Dark Lord. It was a skill he'd refined and perfected, and as a result, Draco was very good at obeying. Every command would lead to a better life for him and other purebloods, and if he did a good job following orders, Draco would reap the benefits. He would have gold, a family, and be in a position of power, only subservient to the Minister or Dark Lord. It was his birthright as a Malfoy and as a pureblood: he was smarter, better, and more deserving of the fine things in life than those beneath him.

It had taken receiving the Dark Mark and being ordered to do unspeakable things to learn that none of that was true. And by then, it was too late. Joining the Dark Lord hadn't been worth it. Draco regretted everything, and the fact that privilege had allowed him to get a lesser sentence for heinous charges made him sick.

Draco stared at the brass knocker on the door, reaching for it with his left hand. As soon as his fingertips touched the cool metal, he became overwhelmed with nausea and withdrew his hand. He instantly felt better.

Apart from Mother and Father, Draco didn't have anyone in his corner anymore. Greg was in Azkaban. Vinnie and Snape were dead. Blaise and Pansy were ignoring his letters. Theo and Daphne had informed him that per their parents' orders, they were no longer allowed to associate with him.

There was no one left.

Going out by himself wasn't an option; the one time he'd tried visiting Diagon Alley, witches and wizards glared at him with expressions of disgust and terror. One small warlock even dropped the many bags he was holding, let out a yelp, and ran away. The stares and whispers made Draco feel like he was an animal in a menagerie, so he remained in the manor. He suspected that after his sham of a trial, people's reactions to seeing him out in public would be even worse.

For whatever reason, Astoria still wanted to be his friend. Everyone knew she'd fancied him for ages, but Draco had no idea why. He'd been a pompous child that had joined Death Eaters. Why she still willingly sought out someone like that was beyond him; it certainly wouldn't help her already poor reputation.

Although he'd never admit it to anyone else, Draco liked Astoria. He'd found her obnoxious when she was small, but in the past few years, his disdain for her had turned to admiration. She didn't care at all what people thought of her or complained about how she behaved. She was content to live her short life the way she wanted, and Draco was jealous of her ability to not take insults to heart. He couldn't do that, and there was a very real possibility that his combative nature and arrogance would push everyone away. He might end up alone, and that terrified him.

Although, he supposed, he already was all alone.

Draco looked to his left, away from the brass knocker on the door. Underneath a lace curtained window was a flowerbox containing purple snapdragons. If his aunt looked out the window, she would see him loitering on her doorstep. How far away was his aunt from the window right now? Did she know he'd been here this whole time? Could she tell? She was expecting him, after all.

Draco could count the number of things he knew about Andromeda Tonks on one hand: she was disowned, a blood traitor, she'd married a muggleborn, and they'd had a daughter. But apart from vague mentions of her by his parents, he hadn't thought about his aunt much at all. He'd only ever seen two pictures of her. One was kept face down on Mother's vanity, depicting her and her sisters. He'd been so curious about the mystery picture when he was little that he'd snuck into his mother's room to look at it. He'd wondered who the unfamiliar girl next to Mother and Aunt Bella was, but he decided not to ask about it, for fear of being punished for snooping.

The other photograph of his aunt was prominently displayed in the parlor of the Parkinson home. Pansy's mother had an old photograph of Andromeda, his parents, and several of their other friends as teenagers by the Black Lake. From a young age, Draco had recognized all but one of the occupants of the photo; when he asked Mrs. Parkinson who the strange girl reading off to the side of the lake was, she informed him that it was Andromeda.

The creak of the front door opening brought Draco back to reality, and he jumped, startled by the noise. Standing before him was his aunt, clad in simple brown robes with her hair pulled back from her face. If Draco hadn't known they were family, he never would have guessed they were related. Her complexion was much darker than Mother's and closer to Aunt Bellatrix's, but all of her facial features were softer and rounder than his deceased aunt's.

Draco gulped. "Aunt," he greeted tersely, horrified at how stilted his tone was. He was most assuredly making a horrible first impression.

Aunt Andromeda's expression was completely unreadable. "Please, come in," she said emotionlessly, gesturing for him to come inside.

It was impossible to determine her mood or opinion of him, which only made him more anxious. "Thank you for letting me stay with you while the manor is being searched," he mumbled as he crossed the threshold with his trunk, remembering his manners. Mother would be ashamed to know that he'd forgotten to give such a basic courtesy to his host of two weeks.

"It's no trouble," his aunt politely replied.

Finally inside, Draco glanced at his unfamiliar surroundings, in awe of how much Muggle technology he could see from tiny foyer alone. He spied a television, an odd little gramophone, the banana on a cube that Muggles used to speak to each other in the parlor, alongside various other contraptions he had no name for. What was the bizarre black rectangle with white buttons on the table? Was that a small white rectangular object next to it? Why was there a stick protruding from its top? His gut reaction to these devices was distaste and fear, but something inside of him inexplicably made him push those feelings down. It was probably for the best; after all, if he wanted to repent for his sins, he would need to be more open-minded.

"I've asked my sister-in-law to watch Teddy for the afternoon while we get you settled," Aunt Andromeda continued, tugging on a lock of her hair. "Er, Teddy is my grandson. Your cousin, in case you didn't know. Anyway, you've had a stressful enough week where you don't need a baby interrupting things while you get acclimated. I haven't been to Malfoy Manor in decades, but I can't imagine that it's changed much since I was a teenager. My home is probably very strange in comparison."

Draco nodded. Malfoy Manor was nothing like this; neither was any other home that he'd been to, for that matter. They were all grand manors filled with expensive furniture, foreign knick-knacks that were not to be touched, and priceless fine art. The homes of the pureblood elite were elegant and pristine, all signs of occupation cleaned by house-elves once wizards left the room. This home wasn't like that at all. It was sparkling clean, but the rectangles and magazines on the table and slightly askew pillows on the couches were proof that people lived here. His eyes darted between the various Muggle devices and the photographs of his aunt and her family that covered much of the walls, his curiosity about his aunt burgeoning.

"Do you know how to use them?" he blurted out.

Aunt Andromeda's eyes widened. "Do I know how to use what?" she asked, obviously confused.

"Er, the Muggle things over there," he replied, tilting his head in the direction of the parlor.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Yes, I do. My husband was muggleborn, so I had to learn what many devices in the Muggle world were and how to use them. Some of them, like the telephone and refrigerator, are frightfully convenient, even for wizards."

"I see," Draco remarked, pretending to understand what his aunt was talking about. Maybe he'd figure out what telephones and refrigerators were at some point during his stay without directly asking what they were.

His aunt shifted uncomfortably. "Please, if you'd follow me upstairs, I can show you where you'll be sleeping," she said.

Draco nodded, trailing behind her with his trunk as she ascended the stairs. She led them down a short corridor with amber colored walls, stopping at the first door on the right.

"You'll be staying in Nymphadora's room," his aunt said, her expression once again devoid of any emotion. "Unfortunately, the guest room was turned into Teddy's nursery, and I just haven't had the energy to reorganize everything in there to make room for a sofa bed. I also don't want to disrupt Teddy's schedule too much by making him nap somewhere he isn't used to."

"I understand," Draco replied. He didn't really, but it seemed like the right thing to say. He knew nothing about babies.

Aunt Andromeda opened the door to the room for him, gesturing for Draco to enter. Grabbing his belongings, he walked in, stopping in the middle of the room and laying his trunk on the chestnut carpet.

He looked around. The room had been painted a bright yellow and decorated with Hufflepuff banners to match. A small bookcase sat against a wall next to the closet, and Draco saw several books about magical defense and curses on its shelves. Like the downstairs parlor, photographs covered the walls, their denizens waving at him as he made eye contact with them. Some of them he recognized, such as his cousin Nymphadora, Aunt Andromeda, and various Weasleys. Others were a mystery.

It suddenly dawned on him that this friendly and unfamiliar room belonged to someone whom he was closely related to, someone who would never use it again.

Someone who was dead because of people like him.

"Well, I'll leave you to get settled," Aunt Andromeda called out from behind him. Her eyes seemed wetter than before. "You're free to read any of the books in here or the rest of the house. You can use the television too. If you have any questions about where something is or can't figure out how it works, just come and find me to ask. I'll be outside for the next couple of hours transplanting the snapdragons to the back garden."

"Er, I'll try to stay out of your way," Draco replied. "I'm sure that after everything that's happened that you don't… well… I'm sure that you'd rather I not be here. You probably hate me."

His aunt's face fell, and a sorrowful shadow crossed her brown eyes, the first true sign of emotion on her face. "I don't hate you, Draco," she said softly. "And I'm not upset that you're here. I'm so sorry if I gave you the impression otherwise. Please forgive me."

Without waiting for Draco to respond, she left the room and shut the door behind her, leaving Draco alone. Why was his aunt apologizing to him? He should have been the one asking for her forgiveness, not the other way around.

Unsure of what to do, Draco sat on the bed. His eyes were drawn to a small corkboard on the wall closes to him, filled with photographs just like the rest of the room. A teenaged Nymphadora Tonks grinned at him from one of the photographs, her spiky pink hair clashing with her Hogwarts robes. Her smile was vibrant and cheery, unlike any Draco had seen among his family members. The photo-Nymphadoras in each individual picture was warm and inviting, and Draco knew that even though none of them were real, his cousin had been just as vivacious as they were when she was alive. Perhaps in another universe, one where blood purity didn't matter, Draco would have known her. Maybe they would have even been friends.

His cousin's wedding portrait was prominently displayed in the center of the corkboard, pinned atop other photographs. Nymphadora was once again all smiles as she stood next to her husband.

Seeing Professor Lupin in formal dress robes was odd to Draco; the normally shabby-robed professor was grinning widely, and Draco didn't think he would have recognized the man if he hadn't known who he was beforehand. While Remus Lupin had admittedly been one of his better Defense Against the Dark Arts instructors, Draco hadn't liked him all that much; in hindsight, his opinion had likely been colored by prejudice and fear, as Snape had privately warned him about the dangerous stunts and pranks that Lupin and his friends had inflicted on Snape in their schooldays. And the revelation that Lupin was a werewolf certainly hadn't improved his reputation. In Draco's mind, it made it significantly worse.

And now he was dead. Just like Draco's cousin. And Snape. And Vinny. And so many others.

Draco sighed and pushed all thoughts of death out of his head. He knew that if he truly wanted to leave the past behind and repent, he'd have to let go of a lot of negative feelings and opinions. The events of the prior year and his subsequent trial had taught him that much, at least.

The problem was that he had no idea how he was supposed to do that.

Over the next several days, Draco mostly kept to himself.

He fell into an easy routine. In the morning, he would wake up and eat breakfast in silence with his aunt and baby cousin. Aunt Andromeda would tell him of any tasks she planned on doing that day and make suggestions to Draco of places in the area he could walk to or books in the house he could read. He would politely thank her and not take any of her recommendations. Going where he wished or looking at whatever he wanted in the house were not things either of his parents would ever permit in their home; the fact that his estranged aunt would immediately offer up such freedoms without asking for anything in return was foreign to him.

In the mornings, Aunt Andromeda tended to either do chores in the house or run errands. Draco would spend these matutinal hours in the parlor reading. He wasn't a huge fan of books in general, but the hundreds of Quidditch magazines that filled one of the bookshelves in the study were too intriguing for a fan like Draco to ignore. It seemed that Ted Tonks had saved every copy he'd received of Quidditch Weekly, Quidditch Monthly, and British Quidditch from the early 1970s onward. Aunt Andromeda must have somehow noticed that Draco was attempting to read them in chronological order, as on his fourth day there, he discovered that they had been reorganized on the bookshelves from oldest to newest.

When his aunt's chores were done- or she'd returned from her outing- she would put the baby down for a nap and make lunch. After another wordless meal with Draco, she would work in the garden and take Teddy with her. Not wanting to be in the house by himself, Draco would follow and read more of the magazines, sitting on a bench by the transplanted snapdragons.

In the evening, they would eat a silent supper. At the conclusion of the meal, Aunt Andromeda would sit in the parlor and turn on the large black box- the television- to watch the Muggle news while she knitted. Draco would join her and pretend that he wasn't watching along while he attempted to play with his infant cousin in the odd seat with the reptile mobile.

One evening, his aunt noticed his curiosity and put on a Muggle film for them, a strange story about a rag-tag group of people who went to space to defeat an evil government, blowing up a large, gray bludger in the process. The film had a character that reminded him of Dumbledore, an elderly man in robes that carried a magical weapon of light that who chose to sacrifice himself to allow the heroes to escape. While Draco was fascinated by the film, the story somewhat paralleled the events of the past few years. He found himself unable to enjoy it, not that he would ever admit that he watched it to anyone, especially his parents.

Draco enjoyed spending time with his baby cousin more than he had anticipated. Having at least one person around who was oblivious to his misdeeds was oddly comforting. Teddy would change his hair to match his, and Draco would pretend that he wasn't part of the reason his cousin's parents were dead. It was an easy task; after all, Teddy was too young to understand any of what Draco had done.

Eventually, the hours would grow late and all of them would turn in for the night, causing the cycle to begin anew the next day.

His mother had been correct about one thing: although she was trying her best to hide it, Aunt Andromeda was severely depressed. After all that she'd been through, Draco could hardly blame her. However, despite Mother's claim that she was angry, Draco hadn't observed his aunt get mad at anything. Perhaps, though, she was simply better at hiding her fury than her sorrow.

Regardless, Draco was enjoying his time with his aloof aunt and tiny cousin. He didn't have to prove himself to anyone, or worry that he would be punished for saying something that went against his parents' or the Dark Lord's beliefs.

For the first time in a long time, he almost felt at peace.

"I'd appreciate it if you would accompany Teddy and me to the grocery store today," Aunt Andromeda said to Draco one morning. It was just after breakfast, and Draco had returned to his cousin's room to grab a couple of issues of Quidditch Weekly before heading downstairs to put them away.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," his aunt continued, leaning against the doorframe. "But I'd like to buy a couple of large bags of flour, and it'll be a lot easier to manage carrying those and minding Teddy with two of us there."

Draco paled and sat down on the bed. He clenched his fists; he absolutely did not want to go out and face the ogles and leers of the wizarding public. He was a coward, afraid of the whispers and scoffs that would certainly follow them around Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or wherever else they went. The mere thought of walking down the street and hearing everyone around them mention what a terrible person he was and how he should be in Azkaban filled Draco with so much dread that he could hardly breathe.

But his aunt was the one in charge, not him. Even if she said he didn't have to go, it wasn't a request. His aunt might be politely giving him the illusion of a choice, but there was a right and a wrong answer. And since he was staying in her house, he couldn't exactly afford to upset her.

But she's been pretty nice to me so far, he thought to himself. Maybe I can get her to agree that I shouldn't go with her.

"I, er, don't think that going out in public is a good idea," he tried, wiping his sweaty palms on his dark trousers. "I'll get recognized immediately. We'll get stared at and people will make comments. I haven't been out anywhere since my trial, and I haven't done my community service yet… so I don't think people will take too kindly to seeing me walk around free."

Aunt Andromeda's expression softened. "I understand," she said. "We don't have to go to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Or any large wizarding town, for that matter. Frankly, I'd like to avoid those places myself. I'm tired of the sympathetic glances and half-hearted condolences that people seem intent on giving me."

Draco was slightly taken aback by his aunt's admission that just like him, she had to deal with the expressions and expectations of strangers following her whenever she went out- albeit for an entirely different reason. He subsequently felt ashamed of himself, realizing once again he'd been completely self-absorbed and oblivious to his aunt's current plight. This whole empathy thing was really, really hard.

"Again, I'm not forcing you to come," Aunt Andromeda continued, walking over to the bedroom closet and opening it. "But you've been cooped up in the house for days, Draco. I think that going out for an hour or so would do you some good, whether that's to a friend's house or to the store. Sitting in the garden doesn't count as going somewhere. How about you come with us, just for a bit? If you start to feel uncomfortable, you can leave and come back here."

Draco knew that she was right; he needed to get out of the house and do something. He couldn't be a recluse forever. Well, after his community service he probably could, but he didn't really think he wanted to. But since he no longer had any friends, he was as good as a recluse anyway.

"Fine," he reluctantly agreed. "I'll go."

His aunt took a black T-shirt with a triangle and rainbow on it and a pair of jeans out of the closet before approaching him. "Thank you," she beamed, placing the clothes on the bed and nonverbally casting enlargement charms on them. "It's frightfully hot out today, so you should change. The silk shirts and wool-blend trousers you keep wearing aren't exactly appropriate for this kind of weather."

Aunt Andromeda folded the shirt and jeans and handed them to Draco. "Plus, these clothes aren't like what you usually wear, so you don't have to worry about people immediately recognizing you," she said with a small smile. Draco had to admit she had a point. "I'll let you get changed while I get Teddy in the pram. We'll leave when you're ready."

Snapdragons (also known as dragon flowers, toadflax, or dog flowers), have meanings of presumption, deception, and graciousness. Apart from the similarity in name to Draco, I thought this flower fit this chapter, as both he and Andromeda are very familiar with presumption and deception. Additionally, Draco will learn a bit about graciousness in this and the next chapter.

I thought a lot about how I wanted to handle Draco in this story, as well as how he would likely behave after his world had come crashing down around him. I ended up coming to the conclusion that if Draco were to have some sort of redemption arc, it likely started during the events of HBP after he received the Dark Mark. Unfortunately, it is beyond the scope of this particular story to fully analyze Draco's actions, motivations, and emotions going back that far into canon events. However, Draco will regularly show up from here on out, so we'll get to explore how this changing world is impacting him and his relationships with the people around him.

There are very few points of true canon divergence in this story, but the fate of the Malfoys is one of them. I think it is extremely unlikely (and very idealistic) that Harry's words alone could have prevented them from receiving some sort of punishment. However, as in the real world, I do think their wealth and influence would have lessened their sentences significantly to the point where it was practically meaningless. This, of course, has consequences. The fact that the Malfoys' sentences are unfair, the overall state of the criminal justice system in the wizarding world, and the implications of having power disparities between different groups in the wizarding world (be it blood status, wealth, etc.) will continue be larger themes in the story.

Next week, we will continue on with Draco.