Between Darkness and Light (Chapter 4)
Chapter Four
A Binding Nott
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“I'm the voice inside your head
You refuse to hear
I'm the face that you have to face
Mirrored in your stare
I'm what's left, I'm what's right
I'm the enemy
I'm the hand that will take you down
Bring you to your knees”
Foo Fighters - The Pretender
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The dawn of the following morning flashed into focus in a sudden wave of orange sunlight and nausea, Draco’s head pounding as though there was a very small but incredibly real marching band playing to a constant crescendo somewhere inside his skull. The petite and decidedly naked figure curled into the side of his body, whose dark hair clung in knotted tangles to the outstretched arm she was laid across, didn’t help matters either. Waking to such closeness after so long alone was suffocating to the point that Draco instantly felt the need to tear his grip out from under her, roll over onto his side and reach a hand out towards his nightstand and the still half-filled crystal tumbler of Firewhiskey that had been left there from the night before. Downing the warm liquid and spluttering slightly into the empty glass at the sudden heat claiming his throat, he raked a hand back through his still-moist hair with a frown at the cascade of images that followed, flowing through his mind as though the floodgate that had once been holding back his memories had inexplicably burst.
He remembered the previous night in a haze of amusement and detached contentment, as real now as it had been just hours before. But it was the dreams that had followed which plagued him. Images of darkness and obscurity had danced beneath his flickering eyelids throughout his slumber, lingering as materially in his mind as though he were still living it upon waking. Shadowy caverns that stretched on for miles, endless and uncompromising. Screams that bounced against the walls of his mind as though they had no escape. Violent waves of suffering for sin’s he could not recall committing.
And his Father - every gift and commendation, every argument and conversation, every hex and harsh expression. All ringing round inside his head alongside the constant sound of his heart pounding rapidly against his ribcage.
He wondered if grief was like this for everyone; if such a mental state was actually unavoidable for any one person who was born to parents that they hadn’t idly wanted to murder in cold blood at some point during their childhood, even due to some juvenile level of miscommunication. He wondered if it was simply love that provoked the loss being so great. He had never told his father that he loved him, and he wasn’t sure that he had ever even had real premise to. Respect: certainly. But love? That felt ridiculously uncertain. Love was a word he acquainted with his mother wiping away his tears as she fixed up a bloody knee during his younger years, when he and Blaise had raced toy brooms around the house, despite their mother’s pleas, and had near demolished an antique side table due to such. It was a word he associated with the need for such an emotion; and Draco Malfoy needed nothing. At least that’s what he had told himself for as long as he could remember, or perhaps simply for as long as he had been taught to think the way of one who was clearly bred into such a particular mold.
Trying vehemently to banish such thoughts from his head - filling his glass a good three or four times from the near empty decanter before he even had the momentum to crawl out of bed and find a few vital items of discarded clothing - he finally found himself pacing towards the window again, staring out at the view with a freshly replenished glass in one hand and a scowl on his face. No matter where his eyes scanned, his mind dared not wander. The only thought that remained was his father, and more so the need to close the chapter of his demise even though it had only just begun.
Leaving his newly emptied glass on the window ledge, he headed towards the corner of the room in which a large doorway led towards his generous en suite bathroom, and what he fondly remembered to be an agreeably hot and soothing shower within. Once inside, he crossed to the sink as he lazily flung the clothes from his body once more, not paying any attention to such a familiar route or its surroundings and instead letting his eyes fix on the cold tap as he headed towards it, quickly turning it and watching as the water cascaded out, allowing him to splash handful after icy handful of the cold liquid up into his face. Leaning his wet hands either side of the sink once done, he instantly looked up to assess whether his splashing had made him look any less hungover than he felt, and gasped at the reflection that the mirror presented him with.
Despite his ever-present vanity, he had not yet thought to even briefly glance in a mirror upon waking from his eight months of enforced bed-rest; the circumstances to which he had woken easily having clouded any arbitrary want to check if the battle that had enforced his slumber had left him scarred or unkempt. Thankfully, it seemed that that had not been the case, aside from a thin pale scar running along the left side of his jaw which he remembered upon running his fingers over it, to have sustained somewhere between his journey from inside the school to the castle grounds at the tail end of the battle. But such an explicable marking was not what concerned him, as there was a far more alarmingly distinct change in his facial appearance, one which caused his breath to hitch in his throat as his widened eyes stared blankly back at him. His hair, hanging in moist tangles around the now sharp angles of his face, was as blonde as ever but now brushing just past his shoulders even despite its rather matted state. His jaw had a liberal sprinkling of fair coloured stubble and was far harder set than he remembered it being; in fact, the angles of his entire face seemed sharper than before, as though his skin had clung to each pointed contour of bone with the same desperation as Draco himself had hung on to his existence for the last eight months. But it was his eyes that troubled him most; their previous shine had vanished, leaving them sat blankly, like faded silvery pearls in their sockets, as cold and dulled as if they had sat there for an eternity or more. Frowning deeply at such realization, he quickly grabbed up a brush from the counter and began aggressively tugging it through his hair, each tiny crackle as the strands broke in places feeling oddly satisfying as he slowly turned the previously matted mess into a smooth fall of silvery blonde that promptly shone more than enough to make up for his lifeless eyes.
Thoughts of a shower long forgotten within his sudden quiet disbelief, he headed back into his bedroom with a fleeting want to never pass his own reflection again. Quickly dressing himself in something a little more fitting to his intended next stop - a freshly pressed and entirely black ensemble that hung from his skinny form a little baggier than he ever would have liked - he proceeded to scribble a quick letter to explain his absence on a sun-bleached piece of parchment that had clearly been sat atop his desk for merlin-knows how long, setting the finished note on the nightstand beside Pansy’s slumbering form with a sigh and a smile as his eyes raked over the sleeping girl‘s arm, now everlastingly stained with a sinister serpent and skull the very same as the brand on his own left arm. Taking one last look around the room, he made his way hastily out into the hall beyond it, rushing through the corridors on autopilot and soon finding his feet leading him soundlessly down the vastly spiralling staircase and towards the colossal front doors of the Manor; towards where he was sure his Father now resided, in one of the few remaining strictly pureblood burial grounds.
- - - - - - -
Within a moment of apparating to the entrance, Draco noticed the eerie calm that hung over the cemetery; much in fitting with it’s occupants he supposed as he pushed open the tall iron gates and wandered through them, making quick work of weaving his way between the ornate but age battered headstones and heading towards a rather large mausoleum set to one side of the generous necropolis. His expression was a picture of pained vacuity, faultlessly portraying the confused emptiness he had felt since his mother had entered the guest room and his fears regarding the lack of his Father being there had been founded. His eyes refused to pay attention to at any of the intricately carved graves that he was trying not to trip over during such blind wandering, not wanting to even momentarily think of the lost lives he was stepping on so carelessly with his own loss so fresh in his mind. He had still not managed to quite wrap his head around the matter of his Father’s death - and the younger Malfoy‘s hangovers had never held much premise for rational thought over angered musings - but the idea of his father’s demise being true, seemed as vast and austere as his last eight months; even bleaker perhaps. It seemed quite absurd for the Dark Lord to have finally risen to power while his father slept off his efforts to fight for such a cause in a cold tomb beneath the dirt. Quite consumed with such thoughts, he failed to notice the lanky looking boy who was sat Indian style on the grass across from him, his dark hair and scouring eyes near masked almost entirely from view by the bulge of a faintly aged monument rearing up in front of him.
Leaving the hidden figure unknowingly in his wake, Draco reached the large stone structure that he was headed for several moments later, feeling swiftly blind to his other surroundings due to the sudden air of hesitation over taking the few final steps towards it. Stopping to give it an appraising glance, he scanned the carved serpents adorning the large archway entrance with both eyebrows raised in impress; thinking that perhaps his Father had been naught but truthful in his claim that the Malfoys had actually been housed in Slytherin for centuries. Staring for a moment more, he soon realized that he seemed quite unable to enter, his feet quite disinclined to step over the threshold into the place where his Father’s bones had been put to rest beside generations of fellow Malfoys: where Draco‘s own body would come to finally rest some day, a long time from now he hoped.
He had visited here once before, several years ago when Lucius had come to pay his respects to his own father, but the memory of the place was as faded now as some of the older etchings on the more the overgrown graves surrounding him. The only recollection he seemed to have, was that his legs had responded the same way then to the cold looming stone as they did now although for much more childish reasons, he thought, given that he‘d not even been old enough to have started his Hogwarts tuition at such a time. Suddenly, a smile split the blonde’s lips, a chuckle forming in his throat but making no sound as he recalled what his Fathers words had been the last time he had faltered there; Lucius‘ ever impassive voice tinged with amusement and ringing out in his head as real seeming as the stone stood before him. ‘Come now, boy. It’s only stone and dead flesh, neither are likely to bite for goodness sake! Not around here anyway.’ With such a thought in mind and the nostalgic smile fixed to his face, his feet found themselves able to move again and he stepped over the threshold into the darkened space.
The room was surprisingly spacious despite its low ceiling and lack of light, clearly having been enlarged to encompass the veritable plethora of heavy tombs that stretched out ominously from wall to wall with walkway sized gaps spacing them out from each other. Numerous gleaming silver vases lined the floor, flush with the walls and sat below corresponding cobwebbed portraits of who the offerings within were meant for; covering the outskirts of the room with a vivid array of colour from the magically preserved flowers jutting out of the containers, each contribution remaining as fresh now as the day it had been plucked from the earth to be placed there.
It had not taken Draco long to discern where his Father in particular was laid to rest, spotting a far less dust ridden portrait hung against the far wall of the room, with a gleaming silver vase containing an elaborate arrangement of flowers- a mix of blood-red Disa and black Ludisia orchids, Narcissa’s favourites - set a few feet in front of a newly carved marble tomb. Swallowing a lump that had grown in his throat at the sight, he slowly paced through the maze of marble rising from the earth, the dull echoing thud of his footsteps reverberating round the room as he stepped ever closer to his destination. His legs seemed to grow heavier with every step, pulling him towards the ground and trying to root him to the spot once more. But he refused to comply with his body’s wish. He refused to stand defeated in the presence of so many familial nobles, regardless of the fact that they were dead and long gone.
Urging himself forward one aching step at a time, he finally found himself stood face to face - or as close as he would ever get to such again - with his father’s visage in portrait form; as smugly severe as it ever had been in life, hung there in front of him on the wall. For a moment, he almost expected it to speak out towards him; to burst into life with any one of the million random things that Draco wished he had heard before waking to such fateful news, much in the style of the Hogwarts portraits he had once passed on a daily basis in the castle’s corridors. But no voice came and not a sound was heard but Draco’s slow exhalation of breath as he realized that such a thought was probably futile seeing as a burial place was hardly the most fitting environment in which to house portraits with the proper enchantments to warrant speech. Leaning back against the cold rim of the marble tomb behind him, he stared mutely towards his father’s portrait for a long series of moments, his eyes mildly stinging as he watched Lucius’ features moving this way and that before returning to the start of their apparent sequence of animation. His lips parted several times as though to speak, but each time he tried, he found himself just as wordless as he had been when his mouth was closed. Despite the crushing feeling that he should say, at the very least, something; there were few words that seemed to fit such a situation, and even less that seemed to make sense given that he was speaking to, what he imagined to be, nothing more than canvas and the various magics that had been impressed upon it.
Within his silent uncertainty, he had once more failed to notice the dark haired boy, who, in Draco’s grieving ignorance, had crept quietly from his previous cross-legged position and up to the doorway of the mausoleum, leaning silently against the aging stone for several minutes with his dark eyes trained inquisitively on the head of silken hair that spilled over the fairer boy’s shoulders.
“I imagine I should offer my condolences..”
Draco frowned at the sudden interruption of the formerly rather welcome silence, turning abruptly towards the sound of the dry voice and narrowing his eyes at the greasy-haired boy who had been seven years his Hogwarts roommate under varying degrees of loathing and vague friendship. The two had never really been ‘friends’ so to speak over their many years of having to occupy the same space, but they had been civil more often than not - sharing the odd sneaky drink in the common room, or laughing at the expense of others and their misfortune - and even when they had not been, they had both, begrudgingly, more often than not, accepted each other as equals if nothing more within the knowledge that such a conclusion was largely unavoidable; especially given how useful an asset they could both be to the other at various points.
“Yes, I imagine that would be considered the proper thing to do.” Draco replied, his feet shifting slightly and his frown frozen in place as he quirked a brow. “So, did you want something other than to share that ingenious little statement with me? Or have you simply taken to stalking the rich and handsome since I was banished from the land of the living? I never knew you cared, Theodore. I’m touched. Truly..”
The blonde smirked disdainfully, to which the darker haired boy shook his head, his lips twitching into a similar expression and his shoulders briefly shrugging as he spoke, his voice laced with the standard lack of concern that an exchange between the two seemed to demand.
“Well, given your inspired deduction of my reason for being here; I imagine I‘ll have to just admit to the stalker option and get it over with, Master Malfoy..” He smirked teasingly. “Why, as soon as I heard that you were heir to the proverbial throne if you should happen to wake, I could hardly contain such an urge.”
Draco rolled his eyes at the typically mordant drawl of the boy’s voice, a faint smirk on his lips for a moment at the sheer familiarity of such an exchange before his head turned back towards the portrait on the wall, feeling strangely compelled to face the image even before noticing that his father seemed to be offering him an indistinct smirk from within the frame, the realization causing Draco’s brow to furrow again. Unable to detach himself from such a meticulous gaze, his eyes scanned downward towards the bottom of the frame, tracing over the words ‘Lucius Abraxus Malfoy’ that were etched on a golden plaque beneath the silent depiction. A leaden quiet fell over the room for several moments as Draco remained staring back and forth from the portrait and the text beneath, leaving Theo to take a step back out of the doorway without Draco even noticing and resting against the wall outside in a seeming want to give the boy a little more space. Out of the blue a few moments later, his voice rang out from outside, sounding almost genuine.
“In all seriousness though, you do have my sympathies on the matter of your Father..”
Draco frowned slightly, such a tone to Theo’s voice sounding not only alien but rather creepily so as the blonde turned back to face what now appeared to be a disembodied voice, prompting him to follow in the direction of the sound with a rather aggrieved sigh. Finding the boy propped lazily against the wall of the mausoleum outside, Draco raised an eyebrow at him, sounding annoyedly disbelieving as he propped his own body up against the stone entryway, arms folded tightly across his chest.
“Don’t feel like you have to humour me just because we once shared a dorm. It’s not as if any Nott ever gave a damn about the Malfoy’s; and you and I both know that we’re the first of several generations to have not been incessantly at each others throats from the get-go, only now due to the alliance of our Lord.. So forgive my intrigue, or more so utter disbelief, over such a claim being even the tiniest bit plausible..”
Nott nodded along with Draco’s words, a bored air to every motion up until the final sentence, at which he smirked, offering an indifferent shrug.
“True. I can’t say I really hold that much partiality towards the one lost, but I can appreciate the loss regardless of such a fact.” Draco looked on, clearly bewildered by such a comment as Nott chuckled feebly at the other boy’s reaction, running a hand back through his dark hair to push it out of his eyes. “Merlin.. You really never did pay all that much attention to anything aside from yourself in our Hogwarts days, did you?”
Shaking his head, the boy’s harsh brown eyes scanned to one side of him as he gestured towards a small and rather more delicate looking grave site, the aged stone rising from the ground in the form of what appeared to be a granite angel with a realistically pained expression and its wings folded tight against its back. Following the boy’s gaze, Draco stared for a moment at the grave, not recognising it in the slightest and soon turning back to Theodore with a shrug at such. The dark haired boy shook his head once more, causing a large section of hair to fall back into his eyes, his expression as stoic as ever as he nodded between Draco and the half-ruined monument across from them.
“Draco Malfoy, I’d like you to meet my mother. It is truly a pleasure to acquaint the two of you..”
“Your Mothe--” Draco frowned, seeming rather puzzled for a second before the reality of the situation hit him. “Oh..”
Draco’s shoulders sank a little under the weight of such an unyielding introduction, feeling almost the slightest bit guilty over not having known for a moment before thinking better of it. His face had barely twitched at such a thought, but Nott had noticed the sudden ripple on the previously calm surface regardless, the corners of his mouth curving upwards a slight as he waved a dismissive hand at Draco.
“I see no reason why you should have known, Prince, so you can wipe that look off your face. Guilt really isn’t very becoming on you, no matter how minor it may be.” He smirked, pulling out a silver cigarette case from his cloak pocket and flipping open the lid, offering them out towards Draco. “Smoke?”
Marginally tempted to chuckle at his familiarly jesting title being thrown into the mix, Draco managed to resist the urge to submit to the impulse, instead finding himself sincerely grateful for the easy segue into a less dismal subject than either of their dead parents - even though the offer responsible for such a topic change had made his face screw up instantly in disgust.
“Eugh.. I’d rather end up gaining my place in there” He replied curtly, nodding his head back towards the inside of the crypt “without the aid of that muggle crap, thanks.. Why you still choose to fill your lungs with smoke from those absurd things, I’ll never quite fathom.”
“Personally, I blame Bulstrode.” Nott shrugged as he lit one of the offending muggle items with the fiery tip of his wand, his words triggering a slight smirk from Draco at the memory of Millicent and Nott’s ephemeral but undeniably memorable - not to mention turbulent - relationship during their 6th year, in which the torch of habit had been passed. “That and the amount of muggles that seem to demand one of these things as a last request” Nott continued, grinning. “It would appear that smoking has become the in thing to do when in constant mortal peril, for the muggles anyway.. Ever since the whole incident with their Queen, the entire country’s been falling in line with a cloud of smoke behind them and expecting to die regardless of their acceptance. Therefore, it‘s become a rather amusing accessory for me, as I‘m sure you can imagine.”
“Right.” Draco said with an air of sudden exasperation, quirking a brow. “Well, as lovely a story as that was, it might have been of a little more benefit to me if I knew what in Merlin’s name you’d been going on about for half of it..”
“Hmm.. So you’re a little further behind than I thought..“ Nott murmured, as if talking more to himself than anyone else. “No matter. Let’s just say that you’ve woken up in a very changed world, Malfoy...”
“Really? I never would have guessed..“ Draco said with a roll of his eyes, his sarcasm bordering on fierce annoyance. “Just when I think you can’t possibly be any more tediously unhelpful, you go ahead and astound me. How delightfully typical.” He continued through slightly gritted teeth, managing to provoke a slight laugh from Nott at the boy's obvious frustration.
“Yes,” He nodded. “I can imagine it would be. Although, don‘t pretend that you‘re actually shocked.” He paused to take another long drag from his cigarette, watching the smoke drift up between the two as he exhaled. “Eight months is hardly a short stretch though, so I‘m sure you can understand that I have reasons for constraint when it comes to divulging too much too soon.”
Draco sighed. “There always has to be something when it comes to you, doesn’t there?”
Nott grinned, leaving Draco rolling his eyes at him as he refused to comment any further and instead simply removed the near finished cigarette from his lips, dropping it to the ground and crushing it into the earth with his heel.
“You’re lucky in ways though, I suppose..”
“Lucky?” Draco’s brow knitted together slightly. “How so? - And I really do hope that you’re intending to humour me with more than the customary ambiguity when it comes to that particular statement..”
“Come on..” Nott smirked. “When have I ever humoured you just because you asked me to?”
“A lamentably fair point..” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “You reticent bastard..”
Nott continued to smirk for a moment before letting a brief laugh escape his lips, his head tilting slightly to one side with an evaluative glance, as though assessing whether or not Draco was worthy to receive such information; leaving Draco to stare impatiently back at him for a moment before Nott finally chuckled again, putting his palms in the air in jesting surrender.
“Alright, alright.. You’re lucky that I can barely resist answering what with your lovely new hair-do and all,” he smirked, coughing into his hand before continuing. “Let’s just say that it’s been no picnic getting to the point we’re at today. ‘Blood, sweat and tears’ has been somewhat of an unuttered campaign slogan since Potter kicked it. We lost a good many men - and women - in the initial weeks, enough in fact for the Dark Lord to begin recruiting halfbloods to fight on the front lines of his cause instead of his more worthy supporters. We’ve all experienced a lot of death since he has risen, Malfoy. You should count yourself among a lucky number who hasn’t actually had to witness any of it from start to finish as of yet. Although I’m sure that Zabini has already made that clear.”
“What?” He frowned. “Why would Blaise have made that clear?” His frown didn’t shift, instead growing larger by the second as his arms began subconsciously crushing even tighter across his ribcage, his pale fingers leaving tiny red circles on his skin where they dug into his upper arms. “The constant cryptic is really starting to grate, Nott..”
“Wait.. Surely you heard about his mother at the very least..” Nott frowned for a moment before rolling his eyes in response to Draco‘s - clearly clueless - shaking head. “Honestly Malfoy, have they had you locked up in a quilted soundproof crate since you woke up?”
Draco didn‘t reply through his uncertainty; the immediate confusion seeming suddenly as clear set on his face as though it were spelled out in glittering ink, and his dulled eyes urging Nott to go on as his voice tried and failed to make any sound to accent his silent plea. Nott sighed, instantly understanding the blonde’s meaning and shaking his head at such as he plucked another cigarette from the tarnished case, lighting it with a fluid swish of his wand.
“It happened during the first rebellion, a couple of weeks in..” Nott looked up from his cigarette and towards Draco‘s still glassy eyes, taking a long drag before continuing. “She was in charge of one of the muggleborn detention facilities while we were doing the initial assessments. No one really knows what happened entirely, but the basic gist is that somehow a group of the captives managed to get hold of their wands - from what we could glean, they had inside help; although all who were involved on their side died without divulging any names for us to work with.. Anyway, they went on a rampage through the whole place, killing anyone in the dark lord’s employ that they could find.. By the time they got to Lucretia, seeing as she’d undoubtedly been the one in charge of the place and with a vicious enough rule to make even your aunt Bella wince, they were beside themselves; sending hexes firing into her quarters from all direction‘s they could manage, but not a single one aimed to kill her. They were in it for the satisfaction, you see; wanted her to suffer for her sins.. Driven mad by over exposure to beatings, curses and cramped conditions I assume..” he shrugged, his brow furrowing. “It took her days to die though, and Zabini-- Blaise, that is, was the one who found her, or so I heard. He did a right number on the few of them that were left keeping her there, according to the gossip surrounding the whole ordeal.. Moved him right up the ranks, that did..”
“Fuck..” Draco grimaced, feeling rather lost for words. “But.. Blaise didn’t say a word..” He continued to frown mutely, an unexpected weight sinking inside his chest. ‘not that I gave him much of a chance to..’ he thought suddenly, letting out a deeper sigh that he would have cared for at the realization that to deem his own loss as isolated, was more naively foolish than he ever would have thought himself capable.
Nott frowned slightly, quite unused to seeing the former Slytherin sovereign with so little to say for himself, and with such an apt look to accompany his speechlessness. Running a hand awkwardly back through his hair, his feet shuffled almost uncomfortably as he continued to stare at Draco, desperate for anything to say to break the silence that had suddenly become rather suffocating.
“In hindsight, perhaps I should have thrown a joke in there to lighten the mood.. Although, I can safely say that I know of no jokes that would make anyone laugh, even in far less dire situations.. So perhaps my non-attempt may well have been for the best..”
Nott’s tone sounded rather amusedly discomfited, much in fitting with how he looked at present. Draco, however, hadn’t noticed on either count. He had yet to even glance up from the ground since Nott had got to the wrapping up stage of his tale; Draco’s lifeless gaze instead fixated on the floor and casually following the progress of a galleon-sized jet black beetle as it crawled in aimless zig-zags across the dirt at the two boys‘ feet. Continuing to frown towards the earth and not noticing Nott’s tongue-tied scrutiny of the situation in the slightest, Draco swiftly chose to turn his impulsive anger on the creature at his feet, drawing his wand idly from his pocket and in a flash of red and a harshly whispered ‘Incendio’, he watched the twitching creature burst into a rush of flames and high pitched squeals. Not taking his eyes off of the thing until it had become nothing more than a modicum of ash and a few trembling unburned limbs, he turned his blank gaze back towards Nott - who remained stood, both eyebrows raised and looking very unsure of whether to be a tad concerned, or just to laugh - and stared at the boy, taking a moment to rid his voice of his previously felt anger before managing to speak.
“I should go..”
“Yeah.. I can see how that might be in the interest of any rogue wildlife in the vicinity, Prince psycho.” Nott smirked, shaking his head slightly as the words ’like father, like son’ rang quietly round in his head. It was just like a Malfoy to take their own annoyance out on something they viewed as a lesser being rather than the direct cause. Such a thought in mind, Nott quirked a brow. “You do look an awful lot like him, you know.. Your Father I mean, not the late creepy crawly..”
“Yeah, I got that.. ” Draco smirked slightly and shrugged, not really knowing what else to say to such a comment and offering the boy a tight lipped half-smile, nodding his head towards him a moment later. “Uh.. Thanks, I guess..”
“No thanks necessary,” Nott said, waving a hand. “I just thought it was worth mentioning the continuation of such an annoyingly flaxen legacy” He grinned slightly, pushing himself off of the stone behind him and giving Draco a reciprocal nod before taking a few steps away from the mausoleum and back into the grounds it sat in. “Be seeing you, blondie.“
Draco smirked at this, shaking his head before lazily waving a hand towards the boy and copying the motion; his feet leading him towards the entryway with his hands jammed in his pockets, fingers opening and closing absentmindedly around his wand as he walked. He was almost at the gates when Nott’s voice sounded out again.
“Oh, Malfoy? I almost forgot.. Catch..”
Extracting something small and dark from his pocket, Nott tossed it through the air over the towering stone monuments and towards Draco without any further elaboration. The blonde’s eyes followed the object for a fleeting moment before his hand dashed out of his pocket instinctively and snatched it from the air, turning it over and over in his hand and examining it with a slightly confused expression given that it had not immediately done something awful to him, which in retrospect, it easily could have. At first glance it almost looked like a wingless snitch made out of copper, perfectly round and engraved with several vine-like twisting lines of no discernable pattern. Confused by such a foreign object and looking up in the next instant to ask what it was, he frowned at Nott’s sudden disappearance from the grounds and even more so as the boys voice rang out softly from somewhere within the graveyard.
“Bis interimitur qui suis armis perit..” Nott called out with a grin to himself, his vantage point granting him easy visual access to the puzzled look spreading across Draco’s features. “It’ll all make sense when the time comes. Just keep it close for now.”
Draco’s eyes continued to scan the area surrounding him for any sign of the boy to no avail, frowning slightly at the mention of such unfamiliar words - which he could only assume to be Latin - and repeating them several times inside his head, wondering where the vague air of recognition surrounding them stemmed from. ‘Bis interimitur qui suis armis perit‘..
Reaching the gates with the graven orb still in hand, he cast one last look around the graveyard for any sign of Nott, finding not even a single glimpse of movement aside from the occasional fluffy white dandelion seed drifting past his vision, and soon turned his back on the growing frustration of the scene, ready to make his way back to more familiar turf.
--
--
After the succession of information he had received from Nott, Draco’s return to the manor seemed rather unexpectedly surreal; even more so than the intolerably measureless snippets of current events that had fed such confusion to begin with. The manor had always been a place of innate comfort to Draco, with its expansive grounds not only having many pleasant settings to offer, but being perfectly accommodating should he want somewhere to hide away for hours at a time if he so chose to - not to mention the hundred or so rooms within it’s stone façade of a similar nature. But now, in the knowledge that as he had slept, its entirety had passed to his tenure given that he was the only remaining male heir; now that his Father was gone and he was effectively the lord of the manor, the place seemed oddly foreboding and uncomfortably foreign, as though it was nothing more than the lingering remnant of a dream he had once woken from in a nervous cold sweat. It was like having amnesia, he supposed; like waking up to something you neither knew nor understood, and wondering whether or not the information you had lost in that missing time would ever fully return to you in the true glory that it may well deserve to. Draco’s head was misted incomprehensibly with thoughts of the new world alongside his futile attempts to decipher their meaning, not to mention the nagging image of his father‘s rather sinister portrait above his tomb, the stinging remorse he felt over his lack of knowledge over Blaise and his departed mother, and more prominently than all, the tiny spherical object which he still held appraisingly in one hand, eyeing it every few steps with a near crippling uncertainty.
Still curiously twirling the decidedly useless looking object in one hand as he headed towards the large front doors of the manor, offering a lazy flick of his wand alongside a muttered incantation to unlock the entrance, he wandered inside entirely without direction and let his feet lead him forwards without a thought of a destination in mind. The mere act of pacing was enough; the thud of his footsteps like a metronome, keeping him on the right track regardless of where such a path might lead. Mere moments later, he had pocketed the peculiar copper sphere and found his hand clasping around a door handle in its place, his legs blindly leading him inside and allowing the sound of his footsteps to echo off of the familiar cavernous walls of his father’s office as the door softly clicked shut in his wake. Not having a clue why he was there, though not particularly caring to question it as soon as he realized where he was, he headed towards the large mahogany desk on the far side of the room and promptly set about turning the chair to face him; seeing such an act as the final nail in the proverbial coffin given that his father’s office was as close to a throne room as one could find in the manor, despite its many other palatial offerings. His fingers clasped onto the supple leather of the chair and he slowly span it to face him, only to rear back a moment later at what such a motion had presented him with.
An almost skeletal looking man sat in the chair; frail yet unmistakably powerful, with wrinkled skin clearly ravaged by the years and battles he had no doubt lived through and his hair hanging in stringy, coal-grey clumps around his partially balding head. The man was no stranger, although going on past experience, Draco had learnt that his appearance in any room didn’t generally tend to fall on the side of fortuitous.
“Mr Nott..” Draco said, eyes narrowed and feeling rather assaulted to find that one particular person sat in his father’s chair - especially when feeling so freshly bemused from an encounter with the elder man‘s son. Picking up on such sheltered distaste within an instant, the man offered a wheezy chuckle and motioned to the chair sat on the other side of the desk, his wand in hand and tapping in portentously measured thuds against the side of the desk; the sound seeming like a notably more sinister metronome by far.
“Please, call me Darius..”
Draco frowned at Darius’ ever raspy tone, following his gaze to the chair on the opposite side of the desk but remaining fixed to the spot, looming over the old man with his arms folded and an openly incensed look on his face.
“Ok then, Darius.. Now that such futile pleasantries are out of the way; I find myself suddenly very interested in what exactly you think you’re doing in my father’s chair? - In his office even?”
Darius, clearly more amused by the boy’s gall than he had previously been, laughed again; emitting a callous throaty sound that seemed so subtly mocking that Draco had to will his skin not to crawl at the implication of the sound.
“Don’t you mean your office, boy?”
“No.” Draco said quickly, through gritted teeth. “I meant exactly what I said. And don’t ever call me boy.”
Darius chuckled yet again, slowly raising his hands into the air as if in a motion of defeat, although Draco knew better than to assume such a fact to be as it appeared.
“Have it your way then; Draco.” He said with a mocking bow of his head, smiling a partially toothless smile which only seemed to accentuate the condescending impression of the previous motion. “If you’d really like to know the specifics of what I think I‘m doing, then I suppose there is no harm in indulging you. Currently, I’m going over this past month’s figures from our muggle revenue department; trying to sort out which leagues of their trade are worth keeping rather than torching, figuratively speaking. That and reviewing a few necessary amendments to the accord. Standard business really.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Darius merely smiled. “Well then, perhaps you should think a little more carefully when it comes to the phrasing of your enquiries, Mr Malfoy. Mine seemed a perfectly acceptable reply to your query, in my mind.” The man smirked, leaning back in the chair with his hands rested behind his head, the disrespect of such a leisurely action causing Draco’s blood to boil near instantaneously beneath the pallid surface of his skin. “As for what I’m doing here in a less pedantic sense; Well, someone had to take over from the lord of the manor when it came down to the business end of things, didn’t they? Given that you were.. Incapacitated, shall we say.. The position fell upon my shoulders to assume. Although, I can assure you that I take even less enjoyment in being stuck in this room than you have found upon discovering me here.”
Draco scowled at the man, highly unimpressed that Darius Nott, of all people, would be allowed to assume his Father’s position within an office that Lucius had once seemed more at home in than his own bedroom. Draco had heard many rumours and gossip over the years when it came to the adverse relationship of Darius and his father, most stories seeming to press upon the matter of a never ceasing school-boy-esque rivalry mingled with both families generations-old dislike of one another, as well as the occasional mention of something to do with the two men’s mutual affections towards Narcissa - the latter being a point that Draco had vehemently blocked from his mind every time someone had tried to impress the point on him. But knowing that Darius was in his house, in his Father’s.. No, in his office.. Was too much to bear when in possession of such a fresh psychological wound in the same vein. His teeth gritted even more tightly together, the enamel creaking under the severity of contact in a motion that threatened to leave Draco rather toothlessly akin to the old man sat in his father‘s chair.
“As novel as that idea sounds, I severely doubt that it holds much truth..” Draco spat out. “How dare you assume to know how I feel to see you sat there. Such thinking is beyond you I‘d imagine, Darius..”
The old man’s eyebrows lifted slowly, a steady, calculated grin spreading across his features as he shifted in his seat, making himself a little more comfortable. Draco, however, only felt more uncomfortable at such a gesture, and was forced to will his feet to stay firmly planted as Darius leant forwards in his chair, his face a harsh and businesslike mask all of a sudden as he directed a merciless glare at the boy stood before him.
“Such big words for such a young man..” He began, shaking his head. “But I’d mind your tone if I were you, boy. Your indecorous attitude towards your elders, - your superiors no less - despite being rather entertaining at first, has already started to wear dangerously thin. Bear in mind that given the death of your father, this is, in all technicalities, your work sat on his desk; therefore it is your work which I have been managing thus far, and given that I’ve been in charge of such matters for these last months, it will be considered my duty to pass my knowledge of these particular workings on to you despite how absurdly little the thought elates me.” His previously harsh features relaxed into a pitiless sneer as he sat back in his chair, suddenly calm again. “Now, the way I see it, is that you have two choices: You either show me the respect that is expected of you, and make it easy on yourself.. Or you don’t.”
Draco fought back a sneer in return, near choking on the newly formed lump in his throat in the process but refusing to swallow it as he steadied himself in preparation to speak with as little venom as possible; such an act near depleting him of his, already waning, equanimity.
“And.. What if I don’t?”
Darius merely smiled a rather unsettling smile, his wand once again tapping on the side of the desk, although this time with a far more menacing air which seemed equally reflected in the harshness of his inky blue gaze.
“Trust me, boy. You don’t want me to answer that..”
--
--
Pansy had been stood outside the door with her ear pressed to the cold wood, ever since she had been alerted by a rather highly strung house elf that Draco had returned to the manor and headed straight for what the creature had dubbed ‘his father‘s room‘. Having a rather good knowledge of the Malfoy’s in general from her years of chasing after Draco coupled with her last eight months of using the manor as headquarters in the aid of various Death Eater dealings, she knew precisely where the elf had been speaking of within an instant of the words leaving its parched lips. She had not overheard the conversation within the room in its entirety, but had been listening in long enough to be wearing a rather telling frown alongside tightly pursed lips, the look on her face clearly rather worried by how such an exchange was set to end.
“Eavesdropping is hardly a very fetching trait for a young lady such as yourself..”
Pansy jumped slightly, her shoulders quivering for a moment as she turned and saw Narcissa’s face behind her, wearing a lopsided grin. Sighing and putting a hand to her head, she took a step away from the door and towards the lady of the manor, offering a slight bow of her head.
“I-- My apologies, Narcissa..” she whispered, casting a worried glance back towards the office door before continuing. “It’s just that, as soon as I was informed of Draco’s return I felt obliged to see what he was up to given how carelessly I allowed him to slip out this morning.. My curiosity just got the better of me knowing that Dar--”
“It’s perfectly all right. You need not explain yourself.” Narcissa cut in effortlessly, stopping Pansy mid sentence. “Goodness, I doubt I could honestly recall the amount of times I’ve stood at that door doing the very same thing over the course of these many years..” She smiled. “A fine Malfoy you’ll make someday my dear, and given your absence in your own quarters last night, I take it that our strategy in line with such thinking is going.. Well?”
“Yes.” Pansy replied promptly. “All has gone quite according to plan so far.”
“Very good then.” Narcissa swept an arm out, gesturing Pansy away from the door as she began to pace slowly down the large, portrait lined hall. “Come, we’ll have a spot of tea in the parlour while we wait; I’m sure we have a few more things to discuss as it is. I’ll send one of the girls to stand watch and alert us when Draco is free of such tediously pressing obligations as Darius..”
Narcissa smiled kindly towards the girl, placing a slender fingered hand on her shoulder as Pansy returned the smile and allowed herself to be led away from the office and towards the plethora of doors in the adjacent hallway. Casting a casual glance over her shoulder as they turned the corner, she offered an encouraging smile towards the doorway she had previously been near camped outside; or more so towards the boy within such a room, regardless of whether or not he could see such a seemingly pointless token of tacit support.
Draco may have been a stubborn fool, but he was her stubborn fool, after all.
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