Interhouse Fest 2016: The Children Left Behind (2 of 2)
~oOo~
That summer, he was determined to put all those thoughts and feelings about his mother, Remus Lupin and his father out of his mind. Many times, it was on the tip of his tongue to ask his mother all the questions that burned inside him, but he couldn’t. He didn’t even ask for the stories anymore. He was too old for fairytales and pretty fictions and lies. He needed too desperately to believe in what he’d always thought. That Remus Lupin was a fairytale; his mother spun fantastical fictional stories, and his father won his mother over eventually no matter how their marriage began.
Without consciously setting out to do it, he found himself pulling away from his mother. He was still devoted to her, but he couldn’t help thinking there was so many things she was keeping from him, so many things she’d lied about. He knew her well enough to be pretty certain that the lies- in her mind at least- were for his own good, but still, distrust set in. But, it was only one of the things that happened that summer. There were whispers about a rejoining of secret societies and pureblood gatherings. Draco was quite pleased to discover that finally his father deemed him old enough to participate in some of his clandestine meetings.
What Draco had always assumed were family reunions where he’d been delegated to the “Kiddy Table” was now revealed to him as meetings, planning sessions. There were whispers of the Dark Lord’s return, which had seemed preposterous to Draco if he hadn’t spent the last three years at Hogwarts where every year ended with a dark revelation only hinted at to most students, but Draco wasn’t most students. He had a way of gathering information, making seemingly innocent queries in unlikely places that proved increasingly beneficial. He proved himself by sharing what he’d learned about Marauders and werewolves, scapegoats and escape artists. About rats and fulfilled prophecies.
He was their Golden Child. Their salvation and future. He had found his calling.
And every time he thought about his mother, thought about Remus Lupin- and he tried so very hard not to think of them together- he would throw himself further into the cause of his father, the cause of his family. He was going to restore them to their past glory. Nothing could touch him then, not even The Boy Who Lived or fictional werewolves who didn’t know their place belonged in stories and not in life.
The next year when everyone else was talking of Triwizard Tournaments and the loss of Quidditch, he did his duty and began his recruitments of students, while doing his part to undermine Potter’s place as Savior of the World. He tried not to be bitter when his mother didn’t visit that year like she had repeatedly the year before, the year of Remus Lupin.
Draco hadn’t heard anything about his old professor, or his cousin, the escaped convict. He was pretty sure his mother hadn’t either. There was something withered and almost heartbroken about her and Draco didn’t know if it were because of Remus Lupin disappearing again, or if it were the loss of her son’s unconditional devotion. But at the end of the year, when the Dark Lord rose, when the panic subsided and his loyal followers fell in line, Draco got a glimpse of what was really upsetting his mother so much.
He saw it the first time Voldemort came to their house. No one else picked up on it, not even Lucius, but Draco did. Draco who had spent so much of his life watching his mother, reading her every facial expression. He could see how very hard she was trying to keep her skin from crawling. How hard she tried to school her features to play the gracious host.
It was Draco’s first time in the Dark Lord’s presence and he understood to some extent his mother’s revulsion. Like with Dumbledore, it was hard for Draco to sort the divide between myth and reality. You expect so much from the characters in your stories, the heroes, the villains, the knights in shining armor. So far, none of them have lived up to the ideal.
And though he was too old for bedtime stories anymore, too old to go to his mother with all his concerns and questions, he couldn’t help himself. She still came to his room every night to see if you needed anything, to wish him pleasant sleep. “Mother?”
“Yes, dear,” she stood at the door, her voice so eager it broke Draco’s heart a little bit, like she’d been waiting so long for him to need her for anything again.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She turned to shut the door when he asked. “How did the Dark Lord convince everyone to follow him?”
She turned and looked around the room, clearly frightened. He watched her take some deep breaths, composed herself. By the time she perched on his bed, she was again her usual self. But she still spoke in a hushed whisper.
“At first, charisma. He was this man who came from nowhere, had no pedigree that anyone knew about, he exuded charisma and class. He just knew who we were, what we feared and the resentments that we’d had to swallow down for far too long. So we listened, and we gave,” she looked around again, “and we gave. We gave him our respect, our faith and then somehow, we gave him our lives. Now, we… we…” she faltered. “From charisma came power and power has lead to fear. Some of us, not all, follow him because there is no choice. Those who are not with him are against him. There is only black and white.”
“Are you afraid?”
She looked at him for a very long time before she answered. “I’m not. I’m cautious. Always cautious. I’m serious when I tell you in the environment we live in, it does not do well to ostracize Harry Potter. I know you hate when I lecture you on this, but I’d like very much if we, you and I, position ourselves so that no matter how this battle ends, how it all plays out, we are in a position to survive, to prosper even.”
“I’ll be a model student, Mother. But as for Potter, it’s never going to happen. I’m never going to be able to play nice where he is concerned.”
She sighed and smiled. “I know, and from what I’ve heard, you might not have to this year. Dumbledore and his Golden Child might be having a bad year and as long as you stay out of it as much as possible, you should be fine.”
He smiled too. “I’ll do my best.”
And he did. His mother was right; it was a good year for him and an incredibly bad one for his least favorite person. Draco again found his calling, this time in Law and Order. As a member of the Inquisitorial Squad he was instrumental in shaping and implementing order from the chaos of the Hogwarts under Headmaster Dumbledore’s neglect and short-sidedness. He loved policing and enforcing rules, especially after he learned what no one said aloud; the only people who have no rules are those who enforce them.
Power sizzled under his skin.
The more power he was given, the more he understood why people fought so hard to get more, to hold on to the little bit they had. He understood the allure of following a man who promised the lost power back to a group of people who saw it as their birthright. He just, for the life of him, couldn’t understand how so many people were so willing to follow when they were born to lead. It made him question every person he’d ever met in his parent’s circle.
Then the first week of the new year his parent’s circle got much bigger. Ten broke out from Azkaban and his side was ecstatic to what it all means. That a prison break was even possible. That the Dark Lord’s most devout were once again amongst them. It was like a sign that the fates were on their side. Draco thought the same, until he met them, his aunt that he’d never met, her husband and his brother, all the others.
They were fuckin’ nutters. The lot of them.
He took two very important things from his first meeting of the original and complete Death Eater Brigade: He never, ever wanted to wind up in Azkaban, not ever. And most importantly, he learned that there were two sorts, fanatic followers like his Aunt Bellatrix and pragmatic supporters like his mother who saw the Dark Lord and his seemingly random schemes and demands as a means to an end, nothing more. It wasn’t until he tried to sort which camp that his father belonged in that he realized that there were actually three sorts, and most of them fit in this last category, supporters trying desperately to convince Voldemort that they were fanatics. They would do anything to prove their devotion.
Like some bizarre project having to do with Sirius Black, Harry Potter and the Department of Mysteries. Some bizarre project that sent his father to Azkaban and changed Draco Malfoy’s life forever after.
The swift and corrupt trial of Lucius and the others was barely finished and his father carted off to the island prison before there was a powerful knock on the door of the Malfoy Manor. Moments later, a House Elf notified Narcissa and Draco that the Dark Lord himself was there to see them. As they stood to greet him, Narcissa clutched Draco’s arm frantically. She exuded grace and hospitality as she welcomed Voldemort to their home, but Draco could feel by the pressure on his amulet how very terrified she was.
“Again, My Lord, let me again apologize on behalf of my husband that the attempt on Harry Potter’s life failed-”
Yet again, Draco finished in his head.
But, that was the last snarky thought that entered his head for a long time, for he was suddenly deluged with an onslaught of thoughts, feelings and sensations. They all correlated with Voldemort looking him in the eye, studying him, for the first time in his life. He felt as if thoughts and small, unnecessary parts of his body were trying to float away, as if being pulled out, He also felt as if his heart and soul (if he’d believed in such things) were physically trying to recoil from the scrutiny. All the while, he felt something else too, he felt his mother’s fingers on his amulet, heard the sing-song chant he’d heard so many times before, this time only in his head, but effective just the same in steadying him, giving him power to fight the other sensations.
And while this all was happening, there was a conversation taking place too that he barely registered. But he did register the ingratiating smile on Voldemort’s distorted face and a velvety voice emanating from him. He remembered what his mother had said about charisma and believed it, but wondered if there wasn’t some sort of magical manipulation happening as well, some low-level Imperius. It was the only way he could rationalize how it was that while his whole being was telling him to run, hide get out as fast as he could- except for another unknown part of his physique that even more terrifyingly rose up to demand he reject his promotion in the ranks of Death Eaters, to instead fight- he found himself swearing allegiance to the Dark Lord.
Like I had a choice, he thought immediately after Voldemort had left, entrusting Draco with many high-profile and important tasks, and also inviting him to the next meeting.
Throughout this exchange, Narcissa remained calm and cordial. The minute the door closed behind Voldemort however, she crumbled to the floor in a display of terror and grief that Draco had never seen before. He bent down and attempted to help her to her feet, but she seemed incapable of gaining the strength to stand. He picked her up and carried her to the settee where he laid her down and kneeling beside, took her hand.
“Mother, you mustn’t worry. We will get through this. Together.”
She reached for him frantically, grasping at his left arm, clutching the amulet like she’d done so many times in his life when there was any sense of danger. This time she pleaded. “You must promise me, Draco, never, ever take this off. Promise.”
“I promise.”
“No, you must really mean it. No matter where you go, what you do, you have got to keep this on your wrist. It will protect you when I can’t.”
“Mother, I don’t need your protections.”
She sat up, her strength obviously restored as she continued to hold onto him, not allowing him to free himself. “You have to trust me on this without question, please! There are dangers that you can’t know, secrets that must be kept at any cost.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head vigorously. “I said without question.”
“You can not be serious.”
“Draco! I said no!”
Draco recoiled, pulling free finally. He’d never been spoken to like that from anyone, especially her. He didn’t know how to react, so he just walked out of the room.
The thing was though, he’d never even considered taking off his bracelet. He’d never had and he’d pretty much forgotten it was there most of the time. But for days after, that was all he thought of as he silently watched his mother fall apart. She spent all day wringing her fingers, and all night pacing back in forth in front of the large parlor window lit up by the full moon.
Just when she seemed to have calmed down, they were visited again by someone that sent her nerves on edge. Fenrir Greyback. He was sent as protection. Narcissa spent her time in her private rooms while he remained in the house rather than allow him to see what his presence was doing to her, but Draco saw it and wished he could do anything to ease her anxiety. But he too had a part to play, thankfully, he played the petulant heir-apparent very well. Even with- or especially with- people who made his skin crawl. Fenrir was repulsive and the way he looked at both himself and his mother froze Draco’s blood in his veins. It was predatory and ravenous and both of them made sure they were never alone with him. They even welcomed the company of Narcissa’s crazy sister, Bellatrix.
The two sisters had many raised-voice conversations behind closed doors that Draco didn’t even need to eavesdrop to know were about him and his role in Voldemort’s upcoming plans. One night, after a particularly vicious exchange, Bellatrix left in a huff, and shortly after, Narcissa also Apparated away without so much as an “I’ll be right back.”
Draco ran to his father’s study to retrieve a magical instrument that would allow him to find her if she were to speak his name, and of course she would. Wherever she was going, she was sure it was to discuss him. She seemed to be obsessed with his safety. He got it. He shared much of that obsession, of course, and was touched, but there would be no safety until Voldemort succeeded or was defeated. He’d always hoped for the first, but now, he didn’t know which solution would be better for him and his family.
It was only a moment after he’d retrieved the device, it emitted a small orb of light and when Draco touched it, he was transported instantly to the place his mother had gone. Thankfully, he was outside and he heard the voices coming from inside a small cabin in the woods. He didn’t even need to hear the voices to recognize where he was, who his mother was talking to. She’d described these forests, this house enough in her bedtime stories that he felt he had walked into a fable.
“...I don’t know what you think I can do, Cissa.”
“He’s in our house, breathing our air, stalking my son like he’s his next meal. Remus, you of all people know how dangerous he is, there has to be something you could do to protect… something you could do to get him out of my house…”
“The way I hear it, your son is very important to Voldemort’s plans, I’m sure he’s not going to let one of his pets use him as a chew toy.”
Draco had crept closer and could swear he could hear the intake of breath in his mother’s gasp. He went to stand beside a window and leaned over to see Lupin with his back to his mother, as if he couldn’t look at her. Draco’s first instinct was that Lupin was afraid of a spell being cast if he were to look at her, but then his mother reached out and touched Lupin’s arm and Draco saw in Remus’ reaction that he was terrified of something much more powerful than magic.
She whispered almost too quietly for Draco to hear. “Remus, please. If you ever loved me…”
Draco watched as the softening in Remus when she touched him, was replaced with a rigid and forceful anger. He swung around and grasped Narcissa’s arms. Draco took one look at the fire in Lupin’s eyes and drew out his wand.
“How dare you! How dare you use my devotion that you tossed aside as if it were nothing, against me! You knew how ardently I loved you, how dedicated I was to you. I would have given you anything! You made your choice.”
Narcissa wrapped her arms tightly around Lupin’s waist and this time her whisper was so low, Draco wasn’t even sure Remus could hear it. “I had no choice.”
Draco watched as Remus stood there, stunned, before he slowly and tentatively- as if in a dream he feared to wake up from- wrapped his arms around her too. She looked up to him with an expression Draco had never seen before in his mother. Remus though, obviously had, for without any hesitation this time, he bent his head and met his lips to hers.
Draco moved away from the window, putting his head against the side of the cabin and reeling. It was one thing to know about his mother and Remus in a long-ago past, but to see the acknowledgement of it and to see how much was still there all these years later was overwhelming. It hit him that in even this small exchange, he saw more love and passion from her to him than he’d ever seen between her and his own father.
“I know you can’t tell me what Draco’s tasked with for your and his safety, you took a reckless risk just coming here,” Remus said in a low voice, drawing Draco back to the window. They were still holding onto each other, though not as desperately now, more like it was the only place they belonged. “I wish I could do something, but that would be just as dangerous. He’ll be going back to school soon, yes? Go to Snape.”
“Severus? You trust him?”
Remus stroked her back. “I don’t trust Snape in a lot of things. But to protect a child, your child? Without a doubt, you can trust him.”
She didn’t respond, just continued to rest her head on his chest, her arms still wrapped around him. Remus still looked like he was sure this was a dream that he would soon wake up from. He took one last deep breath, held her tight for a moment before saying, “You should go.”
She sighed, but made no attempt to separate herself. “I had to come. I’ve wanted to so many times before but…”
“You couldn’t. Can’t. We can’t be what we were. You have a husband and a child-”
“And you’ve got my niece.”
Remus froze. “I wouldn’t say I’ve got Nymphadora.”
“I hope she makes you happy. You deserve to be happy, Remus, and I don’t think you have been for a very long time.”
“It’s been a very long war.”
“I’m sorry about Sirius. I know he meant a lot to you.”
There was a hitch in his breathing before he pushed her gently away. “I can’t… it hurts too much, seeing you, holding you, pretending that the world outside doesn’t exist, that it’s just you and me and there’s no sides to choose, no dangers around every corner. If I look at you too long, if I feel you in my arms for another minute, I’ll never have the strength to go back, to fight. I’ll never be able to let you go again, the world be damned.”
She reached out as if to stop him, plead with him to do just that- Draco saw it all there in her eyes- but she stopped herself. Instead she raised the hood to her travel cloak and turned toward the door.
“Don’t worry about Greyback,” Remus called when she opened the door. “He wouldn’t risk angering his master, not now. Just make sure you and Draco… and anyone else you care about isn’t around in the days before and after the full moon, okay?”
She turned and smiled but didn’t say anything else before she walked out into the night.
Draco heard the pop of her Apparation, but stayed and watched the man she’d left behind… again. He just stood there for a long time; as if afraid he’d go after her if he could muster the strength to move. But then when he was sure she was gone, he went to a corner of the cabin, knelt down and pulled up a base board and reached in and withdrew a dusty, beat up metal box. He sat it down on a table that looked like it got repaired on a regular basis, and pulling out his wand and running it over the box, opened it.
When Remus held up what he’d removed from the box, Draco gasped. It was an emerald the exact shape and size as the one Draco wore on his wrist. This one hung from a thick golden chain. If Draco had any doubt of who’d given Remus the gem- which he didn’t- they would be dashed when the man raised the emerald to his pursed lips. “Always, my love.”
He staggered backwards away from the cabin, tripping over tree roots and shrubbery without thought. When he’d finally gotten far enough away that he could Apparate without being heard, he did so. Later, he was amazed that he hadn’t Splinched himself, or gotten busted by the Ministry stooges. But neither of those things seemed nearly as life-altering as the thoughts and realizations he had running through his mind.
How were there two “Black Family Heirlooms” and why did she give one to Remus Lupin? What was the connection between the two stones? If they were for protection, what was it protecting him from? Why didn’t he have to wear it at all times? And then finally he arrived at: What would happen if he took it off?
He ran up to his room, cast as many protective spells as he knew, and leaned against his door, took a deep breath and did something he’d never done before in his life, he defied his mother, he slipped the clasp and let the amulet fall to the ground.
It happened instantly, painlessly and yet he still staggered against it. He felt his whole body was shifting and changing. He made his way to the mirror over his dresser and shrieked. The man standing before him was not him, was not Draco Malfoy. His nose was stubbed, his mouth was fuller, and his hair instead of the palest of blonds was light brown. But it was the eyes that revealed all he needed to know, no longer did he have the steely grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, he now had the soft green eyes of Remus Lupin.
It was all too much. His head felt like it was going to explode and he fleetingly wondered if his insides had changed as well. He went back and retrieved the bracelet, terrified that he’d need the chant of his mother’s to restore its power, but sighed when the moment its clasp fell into place, so did his world. He was him again.
The next morning he was amazed that he’d actually fallen asleep and had a dreamless sleep. He’d only remembered tossing and turning reliving every conversation he’d ever had with his mother, especially the ones that had to do with what he had assumed at the time was his father. How many times did he ask if his father was a good man, and how many times did she look him in the eye- always holding his arm, touching his bracelet- and say yes, “Yes, your father is the greatest of men.”
How had he never seen it? He berated himself, remembering how his mother could hardly even look at Lucius. How could he possibly of thought she’d hold him in that high of regard, even to her son? That train of thought, however soon turned to a rage that bordered on an odd admiration for his mother’s deceits and lies. How was he supposed to have seen something she worked so very hard to conceal? Why did she have to conceal it?
Well no, he didn’t wonder that, he knew the dangers they both faced, and deep down he knew these dangers weren’t all her fault and how could she put them in this position, but it was hard to hold on to anything close to charitable feelings towards her- or Remus Lupin- at the moment. And he probably would have wallowed in these self-pitying thoughts if that morning he hadn’t been woken up by a House Elf telling him that the Dark Lord had summoned him. His blood ran cold. It was really the worst day to have to stand face to face with Voldemort.
As much as he hated to admit it; he needed his mother. He needed her example for putting on a good face and playing a part, but he really needed her to hold his hand and do her chanty thing. Badly. He did not trust himself to keep it together if anything close to what happened last time he faced the Dark Lord recurred.
He made his way down to his visitor. His mother was waiting for him outside the door. He studied her demeanor, totally calm, totally composed and he mimicked it. Taking her hand, they walked in together. The chanting he had heard in his head the last time they’d faced Voldemort, was there again, only this time it completely halted all his other feelings. Nothing touched him, not even the fear when Voldemort began mapping out for Draco all that was to be required of him to make up for his father’s failures and how to restore the Malfoy good name. The irony of being tasked with this on the day after discovering that he wasn't, in fact, a Malfoy at all was not lost on Draco, but he hid it well. He also hid his doubt in Voldemort’s objectives when he was told that his most important mission this year was to kill Headmaster Dumbledore. Narcissa even gasped at this news, but not Draco, he was numb.
He bit his tongue so hard he tasted the ting of blood, and instead of saying what was the most obvious of things- if Voldemort wanted him to kill someone, why the fuck wouldn’t it be Potter himself? He could do that any day, anywhere. But no, he had to kill the only wizard, rumor had it, that Voldemort himself feared, sure, no problem. He kept his mouth shut, through most of the visit, he was barely paying attention, nodding when he felt it appropriate, “Yes, My Lord”ing when it fit. What he was really doing was focusing on the chant in his head. He was going to need that in the coming year far more than he’d need what the Dark Lord obviously thought were uplifting words of wisdom.
That year, he did as he was told, attempted to do every task given to him. He had Professor Snape breathing down his neck- obviously his mother had taken her lover’s suggestion and went to Snape- and while he didn’t trust Snape with the details of his mission, he did ask Snape to teach him Occlumency. He knew Harry had learned from their professor the year before and Draco was sure he’d need it himself by the time this was over and he was free.
Even though he played the part of the dutiful protégée, Dumbledore was right when he had Draco on the Astronomy Tower; his heart just wasn’t in it. He just couldn’t get his mind off of the idea of his mother and who she was with Remus Lupin, who he could have been, the life he could have had. What would that have been like? He didn’t know that much about Lupin, but what he did know made him want more, want to know more, want to… he didn’t know, have some sort of relationship? Something. Mostly, he just wanted Lupin to know about him, know he existed.
And there was Harry Potter and the fucking Weasleys having Christmas holiday with him. He’d hated Potter for a long time for a lot of reasons, but this one was such a new sensation, such a new emotion, it consumed him, until one day, already at the end of his rope with too many responsibilities, and all his jealousies bubbled over and caused him to be incredibly reckless. Fortunately- and unfortunately- Potter was even more reckless.
Draco never recovered from that. He and Voldemort now had the same ultimate goal: destroying Harry Potter. They just had very different ideas of how that could be achieved. But, since Draco was a child, and Voldemort was the Dark Lord, Draco’s ideas meant nothing. And after he failed so spectacularly in almost all of his duties, they meant less than nothing. He learned not to have any ideas. He learned how to be a good mindless, soulless soldier, like his family before him.
That summer it hardly even registered that Voldemort and the most unsavory of his followers had moved into the manor, or that Lucius and the rest of the incarcerated prisoners were set free now that the Dementors served a new master. His new mantra was the same as the one his mother had been muttering under her breath for years now, Just survive, just get through this.
Then he went back to school and saw what it really meant to have his side running the government, winning the war. A part of him died.
Another part of him thought of his mother, and how she must have been having these same feelings for years- at least since Voldemort rose from the dead and maybe even longer- and unlike him, she had made the choice to align herself with this side. How many times since must she have berated herself? Not that she’d have had any easier life if she’d chosen differently, still, the things she sacrificed, and for what?
A few months into his last year at Hogwarts, Draco came across a wireless left on to a station he’d never heard before, nor had anyone else he knew, he thought as he listened. There was a commentator and two correspondents discussing the news of the day. But it was different news than he’d been hearing from his friends and the staff that still shared news with Slytherins. This was news of sightings of Harry Potter and of enclaves where the resistance was gathering strength and support. This was people paying tribute to those they’d lost so that they would not be forgotten.
His first thought as he listened was, what would his reward be for alerting the authorities to this illegal broadcast, but as he listened that thought was replaced with another thought. Two men, Royal and Romulus were discussing the student resistance group known as Dumbledore’s Army. Draco, of course, knew all about them, even knew who most of them were. No, what stopped him was the voice of Romulus. He knew who that was, recognized his voice as if he’d heard it every day of his life, and was shocked when the name that came to his mind wasn’t Remus, but Father.
He nicked the wireless, just in case it was the only one that would broadcast the radio station, and the next time he found the station- using the password Phoenix- he was in his room, his drapes closed, a silencing spell cast. When he was absolutely sure that he was alone in the room, he slipped off his bracelet and slipped off the Malfoy.
Every night he tuned in he learned more, not about the news of the day- he hardly understood with all their secret names and covert language- but about his father. He learned he was braver, stronger and smart, but also suffered sometimes from a crippling self-doubt He marveled that Remus was actually really funny when he was with people he trusted, people that knew him. He was a good person, not in the dark vs light side, or even the moralistic sense- though Draco conceded that both of those things were maybe true- but in the purest sense of what made a man good; kind, thoughtful and extremely loyal. Draco wondered fleetingly when those things became important to him. Surely not when he had gathered his group of friends to him.
Not that he really had friends anymore. He found it easier to exist these days when he kept mostly to himself. Subsequently, Crabbe, Goyle and all the rest, stopped going to him for leadership. For a while, Draco missed being the one with the plans, the one with followers, but he watched these people he’d once called friends gleefully torture firsties with new regime sanctioned methods and his stomach turned. Not that he didn’t still relish the idea of certain people being tortured, fantasized about doing it himself, but to children? Innocents?
However, no matter his changing beliefs, he played his part, always played his part, but again he heard Dumbledore’s voice in his head, “...I wonder whether your heart has been really in it.”
When he went home for Christmas break, he saw that he was not the only one who’s heart was no longer in it; his mother looked like all these people in her house, all the goings on in the confines of her family’s home was wearing on her drastically. Even Lucius, never really the same since Azkaban, seemed like a shell of his former self. His transformation so drastic that he wondered if he’d ever be able to regain any of his past stature and clout.
They were all prisoners in their own home. And they weren’t the only ones. Draco was terrified when he’d learned that while his mother and her Death Eater escorts were at the train station picking him up, there were others taking Luna Lovegood by force to the same location.
So many nights, he toyed with the idea of slipping off his bracelet, becoming someone else and going to Luna’s rescue. It’s what his father would do, wasn’t it? In the end though, he did nothing except become ridiculously relieved when the holidays were over.
While in school, while spending more and more time alone and feeling like he’d never belong anywhere anymore, the desire to remove his bracelet got stronger and stronger. He could just take it off and go away and be anyone he wanted to be, anywhere he wanted to be. First though, he’d have to work up the nerve to take it off when he wasn’t under protection spells in the confines of his bedding, which he’d never done. It didn’t stop him from planning it out in every detail. He’d first need to get out of Hogwarts, how? He knew there was a way, he’d heard Longbottom on Potterwatch a few times- under a codename of course, but he knew it was him- and he knew they weren’t broadcasting from the castle. He toyed with the idea of following Neville, putting a trace on him, but the second time he was on the broadcast, he was joined by Romulus and that odd jealousy he’d felt about Potter’s friendship with Remus was back with a vengeance.
Instead of following Neville, because he didn’t see how that could happen, even if he wasn’t Draco Malfoy anymore, he’d still be discovered. Longbottom might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t an imbecile- not anymore anyway- he’d wait until Easter holiday. He’d ride the train to the station and then just disappear. Leave behind all he was, all he was supposed to become; leave behind his life, his associations, his status and his family. All of it.
Where would he go to ride out the war? He hadn’t thought that far forward. Maybe he’d live amongst the Muggles, attempt to blend in. His skin crawled. No, he wasn’t ready for that yet. He might be ready to let the Malfoy go, but he was still a pure-blood wizard raised on the axiom of not just “otherness” with Muggles, but also of superiority. He wasn’t ready to test that belief just yet.
None of his plans mattered anyway, because the first thing he saw when he got off the train was his mother. She’d aged another decade in the months since he’d last been home. She didn’t even attempt to hide her fear, her panic as she searched the crowd for him. He couldn’t leave her. Not now, not when her whole life was uncertainty, not after she’d spent her whole life protecting him.
So, he sighed, clasped tightly the amulet he’d been about to remove, and with his head bowed low, followed his mother and her ever present “protectors” to the Apparation spot and went dutifully to the prison that he once called home.
The real shift came for him during that trip home, when this time, when asking himself what his real father would do, while standing before Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger in his house, surrounded by his raving aunt and her sleazy cohorts, including the werewolf who was responsible for Remus’ curse, instead of taking the coward’s way out, he lied. He stood there and looked Harry Potter, the man he’d hated for what seemed his whole life in the eye, and he had the chance to end it all, to get his ultimate and final revenge. Instead, after a long moment, he, grasped the bracelet on his left hand with his right and took a deep breath, looked at his mother, and lied.
There was a flicker in her eye that he wasn’t sure the meaning of, but he hardly took the time to question it because there was such an immense feeling of weight being lifted, of a calming peace restored, that he couldn’t focus on anything else.
If he needed a sign that what he had done had been the right thing, moments later, after chaos had reigned and he’d stomached Bellatrix’s torture of Granger, something that he’d have happily enjoyed even a year ago, after he’d lost his wand to fucking Harry Potter, after he’d watched a dagger his aunt kept strapped to her thigh, fly into the chest of a House Elf he’d known his whole life, after he’d had a chandelier smash to the ground inches from him, after he’d survived all that, he’d discovered that not only had Potter and friends gotten away, but they’d taken Lovegood and the old wandmaker with them.
Something like redemption blossomed in his chest and stayed there for a long time after.
It was there when he returned to school and was fueled by the voice of his father on the radio as more and more broadcasts made their way over the wireless. He pieced together through vague mentions that Remus and Nymphadora had had a baby. While he was jealous of Harry and Neville’s friendship, mentorship and inclusions in his father’s life that he’d never had, he didn’t feel the same about this child. He was rather shocked by his lack of animosity seeing as how this kid was going to get the life that should have been his, but he just couldn’t muster that emotion. Instead, it was another reason to wish for a speedy conclusion to this seemingly never-ending war.
It was there when he stood in the Room of Requirement, again looking in the eye of the man he once wished suffering upon daily and instead of wielding any power he had left with his friends to destroy him, he fought to protect him as well as he could without divulging his changing allegiances. And sure, technically Potter and Weasley saved his life a time or two, Draco also saved theirs whether they were aware of it or not.
And in the end, it was there as he rounded a corner and saw as Antonin Dolohov drew his wand at Remus and sent him careening down a flight of stairs. He watched as his father, that he’d hardly ever shared a single sentence with lay in a motionless lump. Without even a thought, he pointed his wand at Dolohov and slammed him against the wall and watched him bounce off it. He didn’t stick around to see if he’d actually killed the man or just damaged him. Sprinting down to Remus he bent down, looking around for anyone who could help, anyone who could fix him. He was even afraid to turn him around, but he did, he had to see him, had to have Remus look at him if he could.
“Draco,” Remus stuttered, blood caking the corners of his mouth. “Please, listen… take a message… a message to your mother…”
“My mother?”
Remus winced. “No time to… to explain-”
“No need to explain,” Draco said, and then with a deep breath, he slipped his amulet off and let it fall to the floor. He could track his transformation on his father’s face. Confusion, shock and then a stunned understanding.
“I don’t… how? Why?” Remus gasped, but he didn’t seem to be looking for the answers, more like working it out in his own mind. “All this time? A son?”
He weakly reached up and wrapped his fingers around the back of Draco’s neck and pulled him down closer. “Look at me.”
Remus studied Draco’s face for a long moment before he settled at his eyes. “You have my eyes,” he whispered, amazed.
He pulled Draco even closer, their foreheads touching. Remus sobbed. “Two sons that I never got… that I will never…”
There was a prickle in the back of Draco’s eye that he was unfamiliar with, he closed them and took a deep breath, holding on to the moment. There were so many things he wanted to say, to know, so many things he wanted to tell him.
“I know I have no right to…”
Draco rubbed his head against Remus’, “Anything.”
“Ask your mother to tell you about me, the me she knew, then please… please tell Teddy… tell my son these stories. I want him… want him to know me from then… the best version of me… please…”
The prickle in Draco’s eyes stopped and dripped down his face in big salty tears. “My whole life, from the moment I understood language, you were a fairy tale my mother told me every night. I promise, Teddy will hear these stories.”
Remus wheezed a wet-chested sob. “I’m so sorry!”
“No, no, no,” Draco chanted because she didn’t know what to say, he just did not want the last words from his father’s lips to be ‘I’m sorry.’
“Draco, Draco, Draco.” His eyes scanned around him as if he was struggling to see him. His hand, still wrapped around Draco’s neck, moved to his cheek. “Tell your mother… tell her… I understand… I understand everything now…”
Draco nodded. He did too. He understood that her whole life, every decision she’d made, every choice had been to protect him, to give him the life she thought he deserved.
Draco watched through the blur of his tears as Remus breathed his last. He was just reaching to slide his eyelids down when he heard a sob. He looked up and watched as his mother slowly made her way to them, stumbling over debris. Her hand covered her mouth, and tears flowed down her cheeks. Draco hadn’t even noticed that there were people all around, fighting, weeping over their dead. He was just one of the number, no one who needed any notice. She was almost to them when she stopped with another sob. Draco looked to where she had stopped; Nymphadora lay a few meters away from her husband.
Draco’s first thought was of Teddy. He had an almost urgent need to go to him and protect him. Then he thought of how he had taken Remus’ last moments away from his wife. He didn’t regret a single moment he had with him, they were the only ones he ever got and he was due. Still…
He stood up and cast a levitation spell that raised Remus gently off the ground and with a point from Draco’s wand, sent him slowly to lie beside his wife’s side.
Now he was standing beside his mother, who was studying him. “Draco?” she asked as if she still couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her.
Draco turned to her and without a word, wrapped his arms around her and just wept. “I… I barely… barely knew him…”
She held him tight. “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” she chanted into his hair.
“You could have told me. I would have understood. I would have kept your secret. It could have been our secret.”
“I couldn’t… couldn’t do that to you…”
He didn’t want to argue. It wasn’t worth it.
He pulled away and took he hand and began to walk with her out of the castle. She held firm. “Draco, where is your bracelet?”
“No mother, I’m done with that. This is who I am, who I’m always going to be from now on. You can either come with me like this, start a new life in the open, being who we are, loving who we love, or you can stay here and maybe be safe, maybe be protected but maybe never be free, be at peace.”
“But, where will we go?”
“I don’t know where we’ll wind up, but I know the first place we have to go.” She studied him so he explained, “I have a brother who’s going to need me. You have sister who’s lost a child who’s going to need you.”
She looked around the castle for a long minute. He did likewise. It no longer mattered who won and who lost. He’d already lost and he’d already won and now he was just determined to live.
To just live.
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That summer, he was determined to put all those thoughts and feelings about his mother, Remus Lupin and his father out of his mind. Many times, it was on the tip of his tongue to ask his mother all the questions that burned inside him, but he couldn’t. He didn’t even ask for the stories anymore. He was too old for fairytales and pretty fictions and lies. He needed too desperately to believe in what he’d always thought. That Remus Lupin was a fairytale; his mother spun fantastical fictional stories, and his father won his mother over eventually no matter how their marriage began.
Without consciously setting out to do it, he found himself pulling away from his mother. He was still devoted to her, but he couldn’t help thinking there was so many things she was keeping from him, so many things she’d lied about. He knew her well enough to be pretty certain that the lies- in her mind at least- were for his own good, but still, distrust set in. But, it was only one of the things that happened that summer. There were whispers about a rejoining of secret societies and pureblood gatherings. Draco was quite pleased to discover that finally his father deemed him old enough to participate in some of his clandestine meetings.
What Draco had always assumed were family reunions where he’d been delegated to the “Kiddy Table” was now revealed to him as meetings, planning sessions. There were whispers of the Dark Lord’s return, which had seemed preposterous to Draco if he hadn’t spent the last three years at Hogwarts where every year ended with a dark revelation only hinted at to most students, but Draco wasn’t most students. He had a way of gathering information, making seemingly innocent queries in unlikely places that proved increasingly beneficial. He proved himself by sharing what he’d learned about Marauders and werewolves, scapegoats and escape artists. About rats and fulfilled prophecies.
He was their Golden Child. Their salvation and future. He had found his calling.
And every time he thought about his mother, thought about Remus Lupin- and he tried so very hard not to think of them together- he would throw himself further into the cause of his father, the cause of his family. He was going to restore them to their past glory. Nothing could touch him then, not even The Boy Who Lived or fictional werewolves who didn’t know their place belonged in stories and not in life.
The next year when everyone else was talking of Triwizard Tournaments and the loss of Quidditch, he did his duty and began his recruitments of students, while doing his part to undermine Potter’s place as Savior of the World. He tried not to be bitter when his mother didn’t visit that year like she had repeatedly the year before, the year of Remus Lupin.
Draco hadn’t heard anything about his old professor, or his cousin, the escaped convict. He was pretty sure his mother hadn’t either. There was something withered and almost heartbroken about her and Draco didn’t know if it were because of Remus Lupin disappearing again, or if it were the loss of her son’s unconditional devotion. But at the end of the year, when the Dark Lord rose, when the panic subsided and his loyal followers fell in line, Draco got a glimpse of what was really upsetting his mother so much.
He saw it the first time Voldemort came to their house. No one else picked up on it, not even Lucius, but Draco did. Draco who had spent so much of his life watching his mother, reading her every facial expression. He could see how very hard she was trying to keep her skin from crawling. How hard she tried to school her features to play the gracious host.
It was Draco’s first time in the Dark Lord’s presence and he understood to some extent his mother’s revulsion. Like with Dumbledore, it was hard for Draco to sort the divide between myth and reality. You expect so much from the characters in your stories, the heroes, the villains, the knights in shining armor. So far, none of them have lived up to the ideal.
And though he was too old for bedtime stories anymore, too old to go to his mother with all his concerns and questions, he couldn’t help himself. She still came to his room every night to see if you needed anything, to wish him pleasant sleep. “Mother?”
“Yes, dear,” she stood at the door, her voice so eager it broke Draco’s heart a little bit, like she’d been waiting so long for him to need her for anything again.
“May I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
She turned to shut the door when he asked. “How did the Dark Lord convince everyone to follow him?”
She turned and looked around the room, clearly frightened. He watched her take some deep breaths, composed herself. By the time she perched on his bed, she was again her usual self. But she still spoke in a hushed whisper.
“At first, charisma. He was this man who came from nowhere, had no pedigree that anyone knew about, he exuded charisma and class. He just knew who we were, what we feared and the resentments that we’d had to swallow down for far too long. So we listened, and we gave,” she looked around again, “and we gave. We gave him our respect, our faith and then somehow, we gave him our lives. Now, we… we…” she faltered. “From charisma came power and power has lead to fear. Some of us, not all, follow him because there is no choice. Those who are not with him are against him. There is only black and white.”
“Are you afraid?”
She looked at him for a very long time before she answered. “I’m not. I’m cautious. Always cautious. I’m serious when I tell you in the environment we live in, it does not do well to ostracize Harry Potter. I know you hate when I lecture you on this, but I’d like very much if we, you and I, position ourselves so that no matter how this battle ends, how it all plays out, we are in a position to survive, to prosper even.”
“I’ll be a model student, Mother. But as for Potter, it’s never going to happen. I’m never going to be able to play nice where he is concerned.”
She sighed and smiled. “I know, and from what I’ve heard, you might not have to this year. Dumbledore and his Golden Child might be having a bad year and as long as you stay out of it as much as possible, you should be fine.”
He smiled too. “I’ll do my best.”
And he did. His mother was right; it was a good year for him and an incredibly bad one for his least favorite person. Draco again found his calling, this time in Law and Order. As a member of the Inquisitorial Squad he was instrumental in shaping and implementing order from the chaos of the Hogwarts under Headmaster Dumbledore’s neglect and short-sidedness. He loved policing and enforcing rules, especially after he learned what no one said aloud; the only people who have no rules are those who enforce them.
Power sizzled under his skin.
The more power he was given, the more he understood why people fought so hard to get more, to hold on to the little bit they had. He understood the allure of following a man who promised the lost power back to a group of people who saw it as their birthright. He just, for the life of him, couldn’t understand how so many people were so willing to follow when they were born to lead. It made him question every person he’d ever met in his parent’s circle.
Then the first week of the new year his parent’s circle got much bigger. Ten broke out from Azkaban and his side was ecstatic to what it all means. That a prison break was even possible. That the Dark Lord’s most devout were once again amongst them. It was like a sign that the fates were on their side. Draco thought the same, until he met them, his aunt that he’d never met, her husband and his brother, all the others.
They were fuckin’ nutters. The lot of them.
He took two very important things from his first meeting of the original and complete Death Eater Brigade: He never, ever wanted to wind up in Azkaban, not ever. And most importantly, he learned that there were two sorts, fanatic followers like his Aunt Bellatrix and pragmatic supporters like his mother who saw the Dark Lord and his seemingly random schemes and demands as a means to an end, nothing more. It wasn’t until he tried to sort which camp that his father belonged in that he realized that there were actually three sorts, and most of them fit in this last category, supporters trying desperately to convince Voldemort that they were fanatics. They would do anything to prove their devotion.
Like some bizarre project having to do with Sirius Black, Harry Potter and the Department of Mysteries. Some bizarre project that sent his father to Azkaban and changed Draco Malfoy’s life forever after.
The swift and corrupt trial of Lucius and the others was barely finished and his father carted off to the island prison before there was a powerful knock on the door of the Malfoy Manor. Moments later, a House Elf notified Narcissa and Draco that the Dark Lord himself was there to see them. As they stood to greet him, Narcissa clutched Draco’s arm frantically. She exuded grace and hospitality as she welcomed Voldemort to their home, but Draco could feel by the pressure on his amulet how very terrified she was.
“Again, My Lord, let me again apologize on behalf of my husband that the attempt on Harry Potter’s life failed-”
Yet again, Draco finished in his head.
But, that was the last snarky thought that entered his head for a long time, for he was suddenly deluged with an onslaught of thoughts, feelings and sensations. They all correlated with Voldemort looking him in the eye, studying him, for the first time in his life. He felt as if thoughts and small, unnecessary parts of his body were trying to float away, as if being pulled out, He also felt as if his heart and soul (if he’d believed in such things) were physically trying to recoil from the scrutiny. All the while, he felt something else too, he felt his mother’s fingers on his amulet, heard the sing-song chant he’d heard so many times before, this time only in his head, but effective just the same in steadying him, giving him power to fight the other sensations.
And while this all was happening, there was a conversation taking place too that he barely registered. But he did register the ingratiating smile on Voldemort’s distorted face and a velvety voice emanating from him. He remembered what his mother had said about charisma and believed it, but wondered if there wasn’t some sort of magical manipulation happening as well, some low-level Imperius. It was the only way he could rationalize how it was that while his whole being was telling him to run, hide get out as fast as he could- except for another unknown part of his physique that even more terrifyingly rose up to demand he reject his promotion in the ranks of Death Eaters, to instead fight- he found himself swearing allegiance to the Dark Lord.
Like I had a choice, he thought immediately after Voldemort had left, entrusting Draco with many high-profile and important tasks, and also inviting him to the next meeting.
Throughout this exchange, Narcissa remained calm and cordial. The minute the door closed behind Voldemort however, she crumbled to the floor in a display of terror and grief that Draco had never seen before. He bent down and attempted to help her to her feet, but she seemed incapable of gaining the strength to stand. He picked her up and carried her to the settee where he laid her down and kneeling beside, took her hand.
“Mother, you mustn’t worry. We will get through this. Together.”
She reached for him frantically, grasping at his left arm, clutching the amulet like she’d done so many times in his life when there was any sense of danger. This time she pleaded. “You must promise me, Draco, never, ever take this off. Promise.”
“I promise.”
“No, you must really mean it. No matter where you go, what you do, you have got to keep this on your wrist. It will protect you when I can’t.”
“Mother, I don’t need your protections.”
She sat up, her strength obviously restored as she continued to hold onto him, not allowing him to free himself. “You have to trust me on this without question, please! There are dangers that you can’t know, secrets that must be kept at any cost.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head vigorously. “I said without question.”
“You can not be serious.”
“Draco! I said no!”
Draco recoiled, pulling free finally. He’d never been spoken to like that from anyone, especially her. He didn’t know how to react, so he just walked out of the room.
The thing was though, he’d never even considered taking off his bracelet. He’d never had and he’d pretty much forgotten it was there most of the time. But for days after, that was all he thought of as he silently watched his mother fall apart. She spent all day wringing her fingers, and all night pacing back in forth in front of the large parlor window lit up by the full moon.
Just when she seemed to have calmed down, they were visited again by someone that sent her nerves on edge. Fenrir Greyback. He was sent as protection. Narcissa spent her time in her private rooms while he remained in the house rather than allow him to see what his presence was doing to her, but Draco saw it and wished he could do anything to ease her anxiety. But he too had a part to play, thankfully, he played the petulant heir-apparent very well. Even with- or especially with- people who made his skin crawl. Fenrir was repulsive and the way he looked at both himself and his mother froze Draco’s blood in his veins. It was predatory and ravenous and both of them made sure they were never alone with him. They even welcomed the company of Narcissa’s crazy sister, Bellatrix.
The two sisters had many raised-voice conversations behind closed doors that Draco didn’t even need to eavesdrop to know were about him and his role in Voldemort’s upcoming plans. One night, after a particularly vicious exchange, Bellatrix left in a huff, and shortly after, Narcissa also Apparated away without so much as an “I’ll be right back.”
Draco ran to his father’s study to retrieve a magical instrument that would allow him to find her if she were to speak his name, and of course she would. Wherever she was going, she was sure it was to discuss him. She seemed to be obsessed with his safety. He got it. He shared much of that obsession, of course, and was touched, but there would be no safety until Voldemort succeeded or was defeated. He’d always hoped for the first, but now, he didn’t know which solution would be better for him and his family.
It was only a moment after he’d retrieved the device, it emitted a small orb of light and when Draco touched it, he was transported instantly to the place his mother had gone. Thankfully, he was outside and he heard the voices coming from inside a small cabin in the woods. He didn’t even need to hear the voices to recognize where he was, who his mother was talking to. She’d described these forests, this house enough in her bedtime stories that he felt he had walked into a fable.
“...I don’t know what you think I can do, Cissa.”
“He’s in our house, breathing our air, stalking my son like he’s his next meal. Remus, you of all people know how dangerous he is, there has to be something you could do to protect… something you could do to get him out of my house…”
“The way I hear it, your son is very important to Voldemort’s plans, I’m sure he’s not going to let one of his pets use him as a chew toy.”
Draco had crept closer and could swear he could hear the intake of breath in his mother’s gasp. He went to stand beside a window and leaned over to see Lupin with his back to his mother, as if he couldn’t look at her. Draco’s first instinct was that Lupin was afraid of a spell being cast if he were to look at her, but then his mother reached out and touched Lupin’s arm and Draco saw in Remus’ reaction that he was terrified of something much more powerful than magic.
She whispered almost too quietly for Draco to hear. “Remus, please. If you ever loved me…”
Draco watched as the softening in Remus when she touched him, was replaced with a rigid and forceful anger. He swung around and grasped Narcissa’s arms. Draco took one look at the fire in Lupin’s eyes and drew out his wand.
“How dare you! How dare you use my devotion that you tossed aside as if it were nothing, against me! You knew how ardently I loved you, how dedicated I was to you. I would have given you anything! You made your choice.”
Narcissa wrapped her arms tightly around Lupin’s waist and this time her whisper was so low, Draco wasn’t even sure Remus could hear it. “I had no choice.”
Draco watched as Remus stood there, stunned, before he slowly and tentatively- as if in a dream he feared to wake up from- wrapped his arms around her too. She looked up to him with an expression Draco had never seen before in his mother. Remus though, obviously had, for without any hesitation this time, he bent his head and met his lips to hers.
Draco moved away from the window, putting his head against the side of the cabin and reeling. It was one thing to know about his mother and Remus in a long-ago past, but to see the acknowledgement of it and to see how much was still there all these years later was overwhelming. It hit him that in even this small exchange, he saw more love and passion from her to him than he’d ever seen between her and his own father.
“I know you can’t tell me what Draco’s tasked with for your and his safety, you took a reckless risk just coming here,” Remus said in a low voice, drawing Draco back to the window. They were still holding onto each other, though not as desperately now, more like it was the only place they belonged. “I wish I could do something, but that would be just as dangerous. He’ll be going back to school soon, yes? Go to Snape.”
“Severus? You trust him?”
Remus stroked her back. “I don’t trust Snape in a lot of things. But to protect a child, your child? Without a doubt, you can trust him.”
She didn’t respond, just continued to rest her head on his chest, her arms still wrapped around him. Remus still looked like he was sure this was a dream that he would soon wake up from. He took one last deep breath, held her tight for a moment before saying, “You should go.”
She sighed, but made no attempt to separate herself. “I had to come. I’ve wanted to so many times before but…”
“You couldn’t. Can’t. We can’t be what we were. You have a husband and a child-”
“And you’ve got my niece.”
Remus froze. “I wouldn’t say I’ve got Nymphadora.”
“I hope she makes you happy. You deserve to be happy, Remus, and I don’t think you have been for a very long time.”
“It’s been a very long war.”
“I’m sorry about Sirius. I know he meant a lot to you.”
There was a hitch in his breathing before he pushed her gently away. “I can’t… it hurts too much, seeing you, holding you, pretending that the world outside doesn’t exist, that it’s just you and me and there’s no sides to choose, no dangers around every corner. If I look at you too long, if I feel you in my arms for another minute, I’ll never have the strength to go back, to fight. I’ll never be able to let you go again, the world be damned.”
She reached out as if to stop him, plead with him to do just that- Draco saw it all there in her eyes- but she stopped herself. Instead she raised the hood to her travel cloak and turned toward the door.
“Don’t worry about Greyback,” Remus called when she opened the door. “He wouldn’t risk angering his master, not now. Just make sure you and Draco… and anyone else you care about isn’t around in the days before and after the full moon, okay?”
She turned and smiled but didn’t say anything else before she walked out into the night.
Draco heard the pop of her Apparation, but stayed and watched the man she’d left behind… again. He just stood there for a long time; as if afraid he’d go after her if he could muster the strength to move. But then when he was sure she was gone, he went to a corner of the cabin, knelt down and pulled up a base board and reached in and withdrew a dusty, beat up metal box. He sat it down on a table that looked like it got repaired on a regular basis, and pulling out his wand and running it over the box, opened it.
When Remus held up what he’d removed from the box, Draco gasped. It was an emerald the exact shape and size as the one Draco wore on his wrist. This one hung from a thick golden chain. If Draco had any doubt of who’d given Remus the gem- which he didn’t- they would be dashed when the man raised the emerald to his pursed lips. “Always, my love.”
He staggered backwards away from the cabin, tripping over tree roots and shrubbery without thought. When he’d finally gotten far enough away that he could Apparate without being heard, he did so. Later, he was amazed that he hadn’t Splinched himself, or gotten busted by the Ministry stooges. But neither of those things seemed nearly as life-altering as the thoughts and realizations he had running through his mind.
How were there two “Black Family Heirlooms” and why did she give one to Remus Lupin? What was the connection between the two stones? If they were for protection, what was it protecting him from? Why didn’t he have to wear it at all times? And then finally he arrived at: What would happen if he took it off?
He ran up to his room, cast as many protective spells as he knew, and leaned against his door, took a deep breath and did something he’d never done before in his life, he defied his mother, he slipped the clasp and let the amulet fall to the ground.
It happened instantly, painlessly and yet he still staggered against it. He felt his whole body was shifting and changing. He made his way to the mirror over his dresser and shrieked. The man standing before him was not him, was not Draco Malfoy. His nose was stubbed, his mouth was fuller, and his hair instead of the palest of blonds was light brown. But it was the eyes that revealed all he needed to know, no longer did he have the steely grey eyes of Lucius Malfoy, he now had the soft green eyes of Remus Lupin.
It was all too much. His head felt like it was going to explode and he fleetingly wondered if his insides had changed as well. He went back and retrieved the bracelet, terrified that he’d need the chant of his mother’s to restore its power, but sighed when the moment its clasp fell into place, so did his world. He was him again.
The next morning he was amazed that he’d actually fallen asleep and had a dreamless sleep. He’d only remembered tossing and turning reliving every conversation he’d ever had with his mother, especially the ones that had to do with what he had assumed at the time was his father. How many times did he ask if his father was a good man, and how many times did she look him in the eye- always holding his arm, touching his bracelet- and say yes, “Yes, your father is the greatest of men.”
How had he never seen it? He berated himself, remembering how his mother could hardly even look at Lucius. How could he possibly of thought she’d hold him in that high of regard, even to her son? That train of thought, however soon turned to a rage that bordered on an odd admiration for his mother’s deceits and lies. How was he supposed to have seen something she worked so very hard to conceal? Why did she have to conceal it?
Well no, he didn’t wonder that, he knew the dangers they both faced, and deep down he knew these dangers weren’t all her fault and how could she put them in this position, but it was hard to hold on to anything close to charitable feelings towards her- or Remus Lupin- at the moment. And he probably would have wallowed in these self-pitying thoughts if that morning he hadn’t been woken up by a House Elf telling him that the Dark Lord had summoned him. His blood ran cold. It was really the worst day to have to stand face to face with Voldemort.
As much as he hated to admit it; he needed his mother. He needed her example for putting on a good face and playing a part, but he really needed her to hold his hand and do her chanty thing. Badly. He did not trust himself to keep it together if anything close to what happened last time he faced the Dark Lord recurred.
He made his way down to his visitor. His mother was waiting for him outside the door. He studied her demeanor, totally calm, totally composed and he mimicked it. Taking her hand, they walked in together. The chanting he had heard in his head the last time they’d faced Voldemort, was there again, only this time it completely halted all his other feelings. Nothing touched him, not even the fear when Voldemort began mapping out for Draco all that was to be required of him to make up for his father’s failures and how to restore the Malfoy good name. The irony of being tasked with this on the day after discovering that he wasn't, in fact, a Malfoy at all was not lost on Draco, but he hid it well. He also hid his doubt in Voldemort’s objectives when he was told that his most important mission this year was to kill Headmaster Dumbledore. Narcissa even gasped at this news, but not Draco, he was numb.
He bit his tongue so hard he tasted the ting of blood, and instead of saying what was the most obvious of things- if Voldemort wanted him to kill someone, why the fuck wouldn’t it be Potter himself? He could do that any day, anywhere. But no, he had to kill the only wizard, rumor had it, that Voldemort himself feared, sure, no problem. He kept his mouth shut, through most of the visit, he was barely paying attention, nodding when he felt it appropriate, “Yes, My Lord”ing when it fit. What he was really doing was focusing on the chant in his head. He was going to need that in the coming year far more than he’d need what the Dark Lord obviously thought were uplifting words of wisdom.
That year, he did as he was told, attempted to do every task given to him. He had Professor Snape breathing down his neck- obviously his mother had taken her lover’s suggestion and went to Snape- and while he didn’t trust Snape with the details of his mission, he did ask Snape to teach him Occlumency. He knew Harry had learned from their professor the year before and Draco was sure he’d need it himself by the time this was over and he was free.
Even though he played the part of the dutiful protégée, Dumbledore was right when he had Draco on the Astronomy Tower; his heart just wasn’t in it. He just couldn’t get his mind off of the idea of his mother and who she was with Remus Lupin, who he could have been, the life he could have had. What would that have been like? He didn’t know that much about Lupin, but what he did know made him want more, want to know more, want to… he didn’t know, have some sort of relationship? Something. Mostly, he just wanted Lupin to know about him, know he existed.
And there was Harry Potter and the fucking Weasleys having Christmas holiday with him. He’d hated Potter for a long time for a lot of reasons, but this one was such a new sensation, such a new emotion, it consumed him, until one day, already at the end of his rope with too many responsibilities, and all his jealousies bubbled over and caused him to be incredibly reckless. Fortunately- and unfortunately- Potter was even more reckless.
Draco never recovered from that. He and Voldemort now had the same ultimate goal: destroying Harry Potter. They just had very different ideas of how that could be achieved. But, since Draco was a child, and Voldemort was the Dark Lord, Draco’s ideas meant nothing. And after he failed so spectacularly in almost all of his duties, they meant less than nothing. He learned not to have any ideas. He learned how to be a good mindless, soulless soldier, like his family before him.
That summer it hardly even registered that Voldemort and the most unsavory of his followers had moved into the manor, or that Lucius and the rest of the incarcerated prisoners were set free now that the Dementors served a new master. His new mantra was the same as the one his mother had been muttering under her breath for years now, Just survive, just get through this.
Then he went back to school and saw what it really meant to have his side running the government, winning the war. A part of him died.
Another part of him thought of his mother, and how she must have been having these same feelings for years- at least since Voldemort rose from the dead and maybe even longer- and unlike him, she had made the choice to align herself with this side. How many times since must she have berated herself? Not that she’d have had any easier life if she’d chosen differently, still, the things she sacrificed, and for what?
A few months into his last year at Hogwarts, Draco came across a wireless left on to a station he’d never heard before, nor had anyone else he knew, he thought as he listened. There was a commentator and two correspondents discussing the news of the day. But it was different news than he’d been hearing from his friends and the staff that still shared news with Slytherins. This was news of sightings of Harry Potter and of enclaves where the resistance was gathering strength and support. This was people paying tribute to those they’d lost so that they would not be forgotten.
His first thought as he listened was, what would his reward be for alerting the authorities to this illegal broadcast, but as he listened that thought was replaced with another thought. Two men, Royal and Romulus were discussing the student resistance group known as Dumbledore’s Army. Draco, of course, knew all about them, even knew who most of them were. No, what stopped him was the voice of Romulus. He knew who that was, recognized his voice as if he’d heard it every day of his life, and was shocked when the name that came to his mind wasn’t Remus, but Father.
He nicked the wireless, just in case it was the only one that would broadcast the radio station, and the next time he found the station- using the password Phoenix- he was in his room, his drapes closed, a silencing spell cast. When he was absolutely sure that he was alone in the room, he slipped off his bracelet and slipped off the Malfoy.
Every night he tuned in he learned more, not about the news of the day- he hardly understood with all their secret names and covert language- but about his father. He learned he was braver, stronger and smart, but also suffered sometimes from a crippling self-doubt He marveled that Remus was actually really funny when he was with people he trusted, people that knew him. He was a good person, not in the dark vs light side, or even the moralistic sense- though Draco conceded that both of those things were maybe true- but in the purest sense of what made a man good; kind, thoughtful and extremely loyal. Draco wondered fleetingly when those things became important to him. Surely not when he had gathered his group of friends to him.
Not that he really had friends anymore. He found it easier to exist these days when he kept mostly to himself. Subsequently, Crabbe, Goyle and all the rest, stopped going to him for leadership. For a while, Draco missed being the one with the plans, the one with followers, but he watched these people he’d once called friends gleefully torture firsties with new regime sanctioned methods and his stomach turned. Not that he didn’t still relish the idea of certain people being tortured, fantasized about doing it himself, but to children? Innocents?
However, no matter his changing beliefs, he played his part, always played his part, but again he heard Dumbledore’s voice in his head, “...I wonder whether your heart has been really in it.”
When he went home for Christmas break, he saw that he was not the only one who’s heart was no longer in it; his mother looked like all these people in her house, all the goings on in the confines of her family’s home was wearing on her drastically. Even Lucius, never really the same since Azkaban, seemed like a shell of his former self. His transformation so drastic that he wondered if he’d ever be able to regain any of his past stature and clout.
They were all prisoners in their own home. And they weren’t the only ones. Draco was terrified when he’d learned that while his mother and her Death Eater escorts were at the train station picking him up, there were others taking Luna Lovegood by force to the same location.
So many nights, he toyed with the idea of slipping off his bracelet, becoming someone else and going to Luna’s rescue. It’s what his father would do, wasn’t it? In the end though, he did nothing except become ridiculously relieved when the holidays were over.
While in school, while spending more and more time alone and feeling like he’d never belong anywhere anymore, the desire to remove his bracelet got stronger and stronger. He could just take it off and go away and be anyone he wanted to be, anywhere he wanted to be. First though, he’d have to work up the nerve to take it off when he wasn’t under protection spells in the confines of his bedding, which he’d never done. It didn’t stop him from planning it out in every detail. He’d first need to get out of Hogwarts, how? He knew there was a way, he’d heard Longbottom on Potterwatch a few times- under a codename of course, but he knew it was him- and he knew they weren’t broadcasting from the castle. He toyed with the idea of following Neville, putting a trace on him, but the second time he was on the broadcast, he was joined by Romulus and that odd jealousy he’d felt about Potter’s friendship with Remus was back with a vengeance.
Instead of following Neville, because he didn’t see how that could happen, even if he wasn’t Draco Malfoy anymore, he’d still be discovered. Longbottom might be a lot of things, but he wasn’t an imbecile- not anymore anyway- he’d wait until Easter holiday. He’d ride the train to the station and then just disappear. Leave behind all he was, all he was supposed to become; leave behind his life, his associations, his status and his family. All of it.
Where would he go to ride out the war? He hadn’t thought that far forward. Maybe he’d live amongst the Muggles, attempt to blend in. His skin crawled. No, he wasn’t ready for that yet. He might be ready to let the Malfoy go, but he was still a pure-blood wizard raised on the axiom of not just “otherness” with Muggles, but also of superiority. He wasn’t ready to test that belief just yet.
None of his plans mattered anyway, because the first thing he saw when he got off the train was his mother. She’d aged another decade in the months since he’d last been home. She didn’t even attempt to hide her fear, her panic as she searched the crowd for him. He couldn’t leave her. Not now, not when her whole life was uncertainty, not after she’d spent her whole life protecting him.
So, he sighed, clasped tightly the amulet he’d been about to remove, and with his head bowed low, followed his mother and her ever present “protectors” to the Apparation spot and went dutifully to the prison that he once called home.
The real shift came for him during that trip home, when this time, when asking himself what his real father would do, while standing before Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger in his house, surrounded by his raving aunt and her sleazy cohorts, including the werewolf who was responsible for Remus’ curse, instead of taking the coward’s way out, he lied. He stood there and looked Harry Potter, the man he’d hated for what seemed his whole life in the eye, and he had the chance to end it all, to get his ultimate and final revenge. Instead, after a long moment, he, grasped the bracelet on his left hand with his right and took a deep breath, looked at his mother, and lied.
There was a flicker in her eye that he wasn’t sure the meaning of, but he hardly took the time to question it because there was such an immense feeling of weight being lifted, of a calming peace restored, that he couldn’t focus on anything else.
If he needed a sign that what he had done had been the right thing, moments later, after chaos had reigned and he’d stomached Bellatrix’s torture of Granger, something that he’d have happily enjoyed even a year ago, after he’d lost his wand to fucking Harry Potter, after he’d watched a dagger his aunt kept strapped to her thigh, fly into the chest of a House Elf he’d known his whole life, after he’d had a chandelier smash to the ground inches from him, after he’d survived all that, he’d discovered that not only had Potter and friends gotten away, but they’d taken Lovegood and the old wandmaker with them.
Something like redemption blossomed in his chest and stayed there for a long time after.
It was there when he returned to school and was fueled by the voice of his father on the radio as more and more broadcasts made their way over the wireless. He pieced together through vague mentions that Remus and Nymphadora had had a baby. While he was jealous of Harry and Neville’s friendship, mentorship and inclusions in his father’s life that he’d never had, he didn’t feel the same about this child. He was rather shocked by his lack of animosity seeing as how this kid was going to get the life that should have been his, but he just couldn’t muster that emotion. Instead, it was another reason to wish for a speedy conclusion to this seemingly never-ending war.
It was there when he stood in the Room of Requirement, again looking in the eye of the man he once wished suffering upon daily and instead of wielding any power he had left with his friends to destroy him, he fought to protect him as well as he could without divulging his changing allegiances. And sure, technically Potter and Weasley saved his life a time or two, Draco also saved theirs whether they were aware of it or not.
And in the end, it was there as he rounded a corner and saw as Antonin Dolohov drew his wand at Remus and sent him careening down a flight of stairs. He watched as his father, that he’d hardly ever shared a single sentence with lay in a motionless lump. Without even a thought, he pointed his wand at Dolohov and slammed him against the wall and watched him bounce off it. He didn’t stick around to see if he’d actually killed the man or just damaged him. Sprinting down to Remus he bent down, looking around for anyone who could help, anyone who could fix him. He was even afraid to turn him around, but he did, he had to see him, had to have Remus look at him if he could.
“Draco,” Remus stuttered, blood caking the corners of his mouth. “Please, listen… take a message… a message to your mother…”
“My mother?”
Remus winced. “No time to… to explain-”
“No need to explain,” Draco said, and then with a deep breath, he slipped his amulet off and let it fall to the floor. He could track his transformation on his father’s face. Confusion, shock and then a stunned understanding.
“I don’t… how? Why?” Remus gasped, but he didn’t seem to be looking for the answers, more like working it out in his own mind. “All this time? A son?”
He weakly reached up and wrapped his fingers around the back of Draco’s neck and pulled him down closer. “Look at me.”
Remus studied Draco’s face for a long moment before he settled at his eyes. “You have my eyes,” he whispered, amazed.
He pulled Draco even closer, their foreheads touching. Remus sobbed. “Two sons that I never got… that I will never…”
There was a prickle in the back of Draco’s eye that he was unfamiliar with, he closed them and took a deep breath, holding on to the moment. There were so many things he wanted to say, to know, so many things he wanted to tell him.
“I know I have no right to…”
Draco rubbed his head against Remus’, “Anything.”
“Ask your mother to tell you about me, the me she knew, then please… please tell Teddy… tell my son these stories. I want him… want him to know me from then… the best version of me… please…”
The prickle in Draco’s eyes stopped and dripped down his face in big salty tears. “My whole life, from the moment I understood language, you were a fairy tale my mother told me every night. I promise, Teddy will hear these stories.”
Remus wheezed a wet-chested sob. “I’m so sorry!”
“No, no, no,” Draco chanted because she didn’t know what to say, he just did not want the last words from his father’s lips to be ‘I’m sorry.’
“Draco, Draco, Draco.” His eyes scanned around him as if he was struggling to see him. His hand, still wrapped around Draco’s neck, moved to his cheek. “Tell your mother… tell her… I understand… I understand everything now…”
Draco nodded. He did too. He understood that her whole life, every decision she’d made, every choice had been to protect him, to give him the life she thought he deserved.
Draco watched through the blur of his tears as Remus breathed his last. He was just reaching to slide his eyelids down when he heard a sob. He looked up and watched as his mother slowly made her way to them, stumbling over debris. Her hand covered her mouth, and tears flowed down her cheeks. Draco hadn’t even noticed that there were people all around, fighting, weeping over their dead. He was just one of the number, no one who needed any notice. She was almost to them when she stopped with another sob. Draco looked to where she had stopped; Nymphadora lay a few meters away from her husband.
Draco’s first thought was of Teddy. He had an almost urgent need to go to him and protect him. Then he thought of how he had taken Remus’ last moments away from his wife. He didn’t regret a single moment he had with him, they were the only ones he ever got and he was due. Still…
He stood up and cast a levitation spell that raised Remus gently off the ground and with a point from Draco’s wand, sent him slowly to lie beside his wife’s side.
Now he was standing beside his mother, who was studying him. “Draco?” she asked as if she still couldn’t believe what her eyes were telling her.
Draco turned to her and without a word, wrapped his arms around her and just wept. “I… I barely… barely knew him…”
She held him tight. “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” she chanted into his hair.
“You could have told me. I would have understood. I would have kept your secret. It could have been our secret.”
“I couldn’t… couldn’t do that to you…”
He didn’t want to argue. It wasn’t worth it.
He pulled away and took he hand and began to walk with her out of the castle. She held firm. “Draco, where is your bracelet?”
“No mother, I’m done with that. This is who I am, who I’m always going to be from now on. You can either come with me like this, start a new life in the open, being who we are, loving who we love, or you can stay here and maybe be safe, maybe be protected but maybe never be free, be at peace.”
“But, where will we go?”
“I don’t know where we’ll wind up, but I know the first place we have to go.” She studied him so he explained, “I have a brother who’s going to need me. You have sister who’s lost a child who’s going to need you.”
She looked around the castle for a long minute. He did likewise. It no longer mattered who won and who lost. He’d already lost and he’d already won and now he was just determined to live.
To just live.
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