The Affairs of Men - Part 1 of 2
Title: The Affairs of Men (Part 1 of 2)
Author: sesheta_66
Beta: softly_sweetly
Word count: ~ 17,500
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Having just survived the war, Draco prepares, with some trepidation, for life to get back to normal, or as normal as it can be after war. What he is not prepared for is upheaval, the complete transformation of the world in which he lives. How he chooses to react and move on will determine his fate in this post-war wizarding world.
Prompt: Originally written as Team EWE's contribution for hd_worldcup's prompt of The Tower. Click links for the meaning and the story.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein belong to JK Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over the age of 18.
Author’s Notes: All quotations contained herein are from various works of William Shakespeare. Special thanks for the ongoing support of alaana_fair and to my awesome team mates winnett, alisanne, sansa1970 and eeyore9990 for their keen eyes and excellent suggestions.
The Affairs of Men
"A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser."
May 2, 1998
When all was said and done, the battle fought, the light side victorious, and Potter ever the hero, Draco sat in the Great Hall with his parents, unsure of what the future would hold for them. Somehow, though, when he glanced over to see Potter with Lovegood, the clenching in his chest loosened just a little.
When Loony called out some ridiculous distraction, Draco hadn't looked away; he kept watching Potter. Well, that was what he did, wasn't it? He watched Potter. Just like Potter watched him. He saw the hero use the distraction to don his Invisibility Cloak and disappear. For a few heart-stopping moments, Draco had thought Potter was going to approach him. And for the first time that he could recall, Draco wanted him to.
He hadn't, of course, and Draco watched as Granger and the weasel both turned in the same direction, nodded and left the room. Draco had been surprised at the depth of his disappointment. He had hoped, for a fleeting moment, that something had changed. Of course it hadn't. Potter had saved him, yes, but that was what he did - he saved people. The fact that it had been Draco was irrelevant. Feeling as insignificant as always when it came to Potter, he turned to his parents.
"Let's go home," he said quietly. He was anxious to get on with his life, and put this horrible chapter behind him. He couldn't do that sitting here.
Narcissa's face revealed her fear. "I think ... perhaps we should wait for a while, Draco. We don't know how safe it is." Lucius stared off at a distant wall and said nothing. That spoke volumes.
His mother was right. Draco's stomach clenched at the thought that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had taken over the Manor. It was over, but could he ever go home again? Could he ever look at the place the same way? Would he ever feel safe there again? He had heard rumblings of some Death Eaters around the country being rounded up. Did that include further confrontation and conflict at his house? Better to wait it out in safety.
An hour, maybe more had passed, and Lucius still sat staring, saying nothing. Narcissa had tried to make small talk, but it was all so pointless. Draco wanted, needed to get out of there. The walls were closing in and it was stifling.
"I need to go for a walk," Draco said to his mother. "I won't be long."
"But, Draco ... is it safe?"
"Safe?" he hissed. He really was on the edge. "I don't care if it's safe, Mother. I just can't sit here any longer."
"But ..." She turned to Lucius and put a hand on his arm. He continued to stare, providing her no support. "Please be careful."
Draco barely resisted rolling his eyes, gave her a curt nod and left the Great Hall. No destination in mind, he wandered outside, wanting fresh air. His legs carried him to the edge of the lake where he sat down staring out at the calm water.
There was a rustling behind him, and Draco instinctively reached for his wand. Right, no wand, he thought, remembering that Potter had his wand, and his mother's had burned up in the Room of Hidden Things. He turned around to see Luna Lovegood walking towards him. Maybe his mother had been right and he should have stayed inside.
"Come to exact revenge, Lovegood?"
"Whatever for?" she asked in that annoyingly airy voice of hers.
Draco pierced her with an incredulous look. She was in Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake! She couldn't possibly be that stupid. "Never mind."
"Well, it wasn't you who took me and held me against my will, was it? I mean, you were a prisoner too. You just weren't locked up in the traditional way." She stared off across the lake. "It's pretty here, don't you think?" she asked as though they were old friends who had met up to chat, and they hadn't just been on opposite sides of a war.
"What do you want?" Draco snapped.
"Fresh air. The nargles are more likely to be attracted to all the noise inside."
Draco didn't ask. "So why sit out here with me if you're not going to hex me?"
"I thought you could use the company, since all your friends are already gone."
He looked at her and saw nothing but sincerity in her face. He nodded his acceptance, then turned his attention back to the lake. They sat there in silence for minutes, and surprisingly it wasn't at all uncomfortable.
"I'm going to do some Tarot readings inside for people. Did you want yours done?" she asked suddenly.
"What?" he asked incredulously. She really was a bit strange. More than a bit, actually. "Why would I want something like that now?"
"Well," she explained, completely unfazed by his reaction, "I thought people might want to take the opportunity to look ahead, you know. See what life might have in store for them in the future." She smiled down at him as she got up to leave. "I'll be in the Great Hall."
"Wait!" he called. Why he did it, he didn't know. "Maybe I'll draw one card, and see what it says. Just ... well, just ... why not?"
"Okay," she said, "but you realize that even one card should be taken seriously."
"Yeah," he replied, thinking it was anything but serious. Precisely why he was entertaining it. Doing something that felt normal, even if he didn't take Divination or put much stock in it. Something that was a part of their world that had nothing to do with the war.
She held the deck for him and he drew a card: The Tower. She furrowed her brows, looked as though she were deep in concentration, then smiled. "Well that makes sense," she said in her usual airy voice.
Draco scowled. "I suppose you think that's funny, after what happened on the Astronomy Tower!" he raged. He couldn't believe he was stupid enough to believe that she hadn't come there to do something to him as payback. She was taunting him. The whole deck was probably the stupid Tower card.
"I'm sure I have no idea --"
He cut her off by grabbing the deck of cards and rifling through it. It was a normal Tarot deck. Only one Tower card.
"May I have the deck back now?" she asked, looking a little more befuddled than usual. He handed her back the deck, but held onto the card he had drawn. "What did you mean by the Astronomy Tower?"
"Dumbledore."
"Oh, were you there too?" she asked. "I heard that Harry was, and Snape, and some Death Eaters.
"You didn't know I was there?"
"No." Her face didn't appear to be concealing anything.
"Well then, why did you say the card is appropriate for me?"
"Because it would make sense that you have a lot of change in store for you. It will be difficult, but it could mark the beginning of a new life for you."
"Oh."
"May I have the card back now? I'd like to go inside."
"Oh, right." He handed the card back to her. "Here you go."
He thought about what she said for all of a quarter of an hour, then dismissed it as he almost always dismissed anything to do with divination. Of course he was in for change. After all, wasn't everyone?
"And where the offence is, let the great axe fall."
May 4-12, 1998
The Ministry officials didn't waste much time coming to the Manor for Lucius. They had, Draco noted, waited until the following day - plenty of time for his father to have fled to one of the numerous Malfoy properties scattered across the continent. But Lucius hadn't fled. He knew the Dementors would never be returned to Azkaban, and he told his wife and son that he was prepared to pay for his actions. Highly un-Slytherin-like, but Draco had felt oddly proud of his father that day. Of course, when he thought about it, he figured it was the safest thing for his father to do, given that he'd have Aurors and Death Eaters after him if he were out on the run, and wouldn't live to see the next week.
"Be strong for your mother," he had told Draco. "She will need your support."
"Of course, Father. You can count on me," Draco had assured him.
It was the last time he ever saw Lucius alive. The Death Eaters in Azkaban made short order of slitting his throat and leaving him to die slowly. Well, that was the story they told Draco and Narcissa three days later. Remembering his father's words, he rather suspected that Lucius knew he would never return.
The small memorial service they held for him was attended by Draco and Narcissa. Not one of his father's former friends or business associates or even contacts at the Ministry attended. True, most of his former friends were dead, in Azkaban, or had fled the country, but still. That, more than Lucius's death, shook Draco to the core. He began to wonder who would attend his own funeral, were he to die tomorrow. His mother shook him out of that train of thought as she led him back to the house.
May 15, 1998
"I've decided to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts," Draco told Narcissa over dinner. "There was a front-page article requesting assistance from anyone and everyone willing to pitch in."
"That's nice, dear," Narcissa replied. Draco sensed some hesitation in her voice.
"It's the least I can do," he said.
She nodded. "Very well ... but are you sure you want to go back there?"
"I'm sure."
"Alright then." She gave him a worried look, but said no more.
He sent his form in the next morning, addressed to Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress.
May 18, 1998
Draco opened the scroll anxiously, wondering what he would be assigned to do. He hadn't put any restrictions on his form, but after thinking about it, he realized that he didn't think he could work on either the Astronomy Tower or the Room of Hidden Things. Too many bad memories, and the shame of them might be too much to bear.
As it turned out, he needn't have worried.
Dear Mr Malfoy:
While I appreciate the sentiment you put forward in your letter, I cannot in good conscience agree to have you attend the school to work on repairs.
I am sure you understand that the safety and security of students, and all workers, is my top priority. I believe that your presence would cause unnecessary disruption, so I am declining your request.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Well shit. Draco hadn't considered that he might be refused. After all, he was volunteering to help. Who refuses help?
May 22, 1998
Draco was eating breakfast when Narcissa strolled onto the deck to join him, Daily Prophet in hand.
"They are holding N.E.W.T. tests at the Ministry for Hogwarts' students," she offered. "It says here that Hogwarts is holding a special four-week course starting July 1, to bring students up to speed, if they're interested. I presume you'll attend?"
"It's at Hogwarts?" The memory of McGonagall's letter was still eating away at him, and the last thing he wanted to do was walk through those doors this soon. He hadn't yet told his mother about the letter.
"No, no. The castle isn't yet fit for habitation or classes, so they're holding them at the Ministry. Shall I sign you up?"
"Mother," he drawled, "I am a fully qualified wizard, and nearly eighteen years of age. I do believe I am capable of completing an application form."
"Very well then." She smiled at him. "I'm glad you are doing this."
Draco sent the application by owl that afternoon.
May 24, 1998
A strange owl landed beside Draco's lunch plate, and he hastened to withdraw the scroll attached.
Dear Mr Malfoy:
Surely you hadn't expected to be accepted into classes run by Hogwarts after the last letter I sent you? As I said in my last correspondence, I cannot in good conscience agree to have you attend the school. That was not restricted to the building, but everything the school offers.
I have taken the liberty of enclosing contact information for registration at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, should you wish to attend classes there in the autumn to attain your N.E.W.T.s.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Anger boiled inside him as he read the letter over several times. It was one thing to refuse his help, but quite another to turn away a student who had attended the school for nearly seven years. What the hell was she playing at?
Dear Headmistress McGonagall:
I was surprised, disappointed, and rather shocked at your letters. While I understand you refusing voluntary help, I hardly see the need to refuse me classes.
I attended Hogwarts for nearly seven years, and it stands to reason I would finish my magical education there. Were I to attend another school, I would have to repeat my entire seventh year. Surely you understand that I should prefer to wrap things up as quickly as possible.
I always understood that Hogwarts didn't turn away anyone that wished to attend. Therefore, I am asking you to reconsider my request.
Draco Malfoy
May 26, 1998
The next strange owl arrived at breakfast, and Draco withdraw the scroll, expecting a better reply this time.
Dear Mr Malfoy:
Why you would be surprised at my replies frankly astounds me. Need I list all the things that you have done in the recent past to earn my ire?
Yes, you attended Hogwarts for seven years. Might I remind you that in your sixth year you nearly killed two students in your attempt to kill the Headmaster? If that behaviour does not constitute grounds for expulsion, I am at a loss as to what would.
The fact that you would 'prefer to wrap things up as quickly as possible' matters not to me. Your audacity clearly knows no bounds.
Hogwarts, under Albus Dumbledore's tutelage, may not have refused any student. But I am not Albus Dumbledore, and these are new times.
For your convenience, I have again enclosed contact information for registration at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Draco was shaking with rage when he finished reading the letter. The nerve of her to speak to him that way! He was a Malfoy. Who the hell was she, but some stupid teacher who got bumped up because she's the bloody Head of stupid Gryffindor House?
Well, he'd fix her. He'd write to the Ministry and get this all worked out. He was going to take his tests and he would get his qualifications, and then he would open his own apothecary. He would not waste another year in school! And the nerve, to tell him that he had to leave the country to get his education. She would pay.
He spent the next couple days appealing to all the wizards he could recall that his father was acquainted with in the Ministry. He explained his situation, and the unfairness of it all. Then he naturally reminded them of the contributions made by his father, and hinted that he might be persuaded to carry on such donations.
Satisfied that it all would work out, he sent the letters off.
"You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care."
May 28-31, 1998
The letters Draco received in reply came over three consecutive days. Some were his letters returned, unopened, with No longer under Ministry employ scrolled on them. There were eight of those. Apparently the Ministry didn't lose time ousting those they suspected of corruption.
Another five were form letters, indicating that they had no jurisdiction over Hogwarts business, but that he was welcome to register for and take his exams. But sorry, there was no alternative training provided elsewhere.
The last three letters were not so kind. In fact, they had been harder to take than McGonagall's letter.
You don't seriously expect any assistance from the Ministry ...
Surely you can see that the days of your father's influence are long gone ...
Just because he bullied his way in ...
His money may have bought him favours in the past ...
Your money is no good here ...
Run along and do your final year at a foreign school ...
While you're there, you might want to take up residence ...
Perhaps you can take your mother with you ...
Death Eaters need not apply ...
But his father had commanded respect from these people! How dare they treat Draco this way, dismiss him like a common ... well, like a commoner?
"My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirred;
And I myself see not the bottom of it."
June 5, 1998
Draco and Narcissa celebrated his eighteenth birthday by going to his favourite restaurant. It was a subdued affair, and the loss of his father and friends was weighing heavily on him. He barely tasted his food, and his thoughts were on the letters he had received. It was one thing to be shunned by select groups of people, but when everyone seemed to be discarding you, as though you weren't worth acknowledging, it was rather disheartening to say the least.
Sitting in an establishment he had frequented with his parents over the years, everything felt wrong somehow. The staff were pleasant enough, but gone were the pleasant greetings from other patrons, gone was the over-the-top gushing of the owner, and absent was their ability to obtain their 'usual' table. Small things, perhaps, but something that Draco had expected to be familiar and comforting in these days of upheaval was anything but. He felt more lost than ever.
"Draco darling, you seem ... preoccupied," Narcissa ventured, as for the fifth time that evening he'd missed something she had said.
"I'm just thinking about how much everything has changed."
Narcissa took her son's hand in her own. "I know, dear. Unfortunately, that's what war does. Even those left behind, seemingly unharmed, are forever changed by the events that transpired. Nothing will ever really be the same."
"No, it won't."
"And I know you miss your father terribly. I do too. But you must know that he wouldn't want you to lose yourself in memories. He would tell you to show the Malfoy strength and move on, look ahead."
"I know, Mother."
"Well then, you must do so. Look ahead to getting your N.E.W.T.s out of the way, and then you can work towards your qualifications. Then you can set up the apothecary you have been speaking of since your first class with Severus. Move on with your life. No more dwelling on the past."
Draco didn't have the heart to tell her about the letters. Not that day. He couldn't take the look of pity that he knew would be written on her face. So he did what he did best. He swallowed his emotions and drew on his Slytherin spirit. He put on a smile and lifted his glass in a toast. "To the future," he said.
"To the future."
June 13, 1998
"What's the matter, Draco? You seem bothered by something. Your birthday was over a week ago, yet you haven't been the same since," Narcissa observed. "Could it be the upcoming N.E.W.T. tests? Are you worried about them?"
"I'm not taking the tests," he said as casually as he could. There was no sense prolonging the inevitable. He had received no further correspondence from anyone at the Ministry, and presumed the rest of the officials he had written to simply didn't deem his letters worthy of response.
She gave him a puzzled look. "I don't understand, Draco. I thought you wanted to 'get on with things.' Isn't that what you said?"
"Yes, Mother, but apparently Minerva McGonagall has other ideas for me."
"What does that woman have to do with it? I thought the Ministry was conducting the testing."
"They are, but the preparatory classes are offered by Hogwarts."
"I fail to see the problem, Draco."
"They are being held at the Ministry, but McGonagall won't accept me into the classes. She says I'm welcome to sign up to repeat my seventh year at Durmstrang or Beauxbatons."
"What?" Her voice was calm but menacing.
"She wouldn't accept my offer of help at Hogwarts, claiming the students' safety as the reason. While I don't pose a threat, and she very well knows that, it's her way of punishing me because she felt the Ministry didn't do enough."
"She has no right --"
"Actually, Mother, she has every right to refuse me entrance to Hogwarts. Just because Dumbledore would have accepted my presence does not mean she will. But I never imagined she would refuse me schooling."
"So take the tests without the extra classes. See how you do."
"I don't believe I'm ready, not if I want the marks I'll need for someone to take me on as an apprentice. Between the classes at school, half of which were a joke, and having the Dark Lord living here, I can't honestly say what I learned last year. No, if I were to do that, and do poorly, I would have to wait until the next round of exams in the spring to take the tests again. Then, even if I did well, my marks would be pooled together, and they would take the average. I can't risk that."
"Well, we'll just see about this," Narcissa began. She named the very officials that Draco had already written to. Resigned to telling her the whole story, he retrieved the replies and handed them to her. She went silent, her face like stone, even paler than usual. "Give me a week," she said. "I am going to remind them just whom they are dealing with." Draco knew that tone. It was the one that told him he'd pushed too far when he was a child. It was the one that even sent a chill down Lucius's spine. It was the one that meant she was about to exert all the Malfoy and Black power she had at her disposal.
Not that he wanted her help. He was an adult, for Merlin's sake. But he was at his wit's end. Perhaps she could fix what he hadn't been able to. Perhaps she knew of someone at the Ministry that he didn't. Someone that wouldn't be afraid to stand up to the Headmistress.
"While I appreciate your righteous indignation on my behalf, Mother, I suspect they already know exactly whom they're dealing with, which is the very problem."
June 20, 1998
One week later, Draco's mood was no better. Narcissa had received the same welcome as Draco had, and now she was brooding as well. The house elves were doing their best to stay out of sight.
Draco's mind was whirling with images from his past. He replayed his life so many times, altering this detail or that to see if his mind could conjure up a better outcome. He even went so far as to imagine a friendship with Potter, one that started with an accepted handshake rather than a dismissal.
Frustrated with his situation and angry with his lot in life, Draco found himself lost in thought. On one such occasion, he was in his father's study, and one of the portraits - his great, great, great grandfather - interrupted his thoughts.
"Sulking won't help, you know."
Draco nearly fell out of the chair. The portraits in his father's study had never spoken to him before. Squaring his shoulders and taking a fortifying breath, he turned to speak with his ancestor.
"I am hardly sulking."
"Oh, really. What would you call it then? Moping? You've spent an inordinate amount of time in here lately, just staring off into space. You can't change anything by dwelling on it. Inaction leads nowhere. Whatever it is that's troubling you, I assure you that you are not the first, nor will you be the last, to suffer. We Malfoys are resilient. Look ahead and take some action boy!"
"I've tried, but that stupid cow McGonagall won't let me attend her stupid classes."
"Foiled by a teacher?"
"Headmistress now. She used to be bad enough as a professor and Head of Gryffindor, but now --" His rant was interrupted by a bark of laughter.
"You mean to tell me that you are sitting in here sulking because a Gryffindor refuses to let you take classes? Oh my, but how the mighty have fallen!"
"I'm glad you find my plight so amusing," Draco said petulantly.
"Well, it's just that I've never, in all my years, heard such a sad tale of injustice. Generations of Malfoys have survived war, tyranny and injustice to become and remain strong. Yet here you sit, ready to give it all up because a teacher won't let you take her class." When he put it that way, it really did sound silly. Draco's lips twitched involuntarily.
"Woe is he that has to suffer the indignity, the shame, the --"
"Alright, you've made your point. I'm being ..."
"Childish? Immature? Self-absorbed? Weak?"
"Thank you," Draco interrupted. "No, really, I could listen to this all day."
"As much fun as that could be, I suggest a more constructive use of your time."
"Such as?"
"I may regret asking this, and if you start to whinge I may very well continue with my observations of your character, but why don't you tell me exactly how this Headmistress has wronged you?"
Draco explained what had happened, keeping the indignant tone in his voice to a minimum.
"I see. So it seems that you have two choices. You can admit defeat and wallow in self pity." He gave Draco a pointed look and continued. "That doesn't seem to be getting you anywhere. Or," he added before Draco had a chance to argue his point, "you could take this as an opportunity."
"An opportunity to what? I have been shunned, refused entry into classes I require in order to satisfactorily pass my N.E.W.T.s, and cast aside as though I don't matter."
"Well you don't, do you?"
"What?!"
"You don't matter ... to her. So you need to make yourself matter. Would it really be such a hardship to leave the country for a year? Less than a year actually."
"But this is my home," Draco argued.
"Ah, and it is such a lovely one, isn't it? What with all the compassion, empathy and love that you have bestowed upon you every day, I can't imagine why you would wish to tear yourself away."
Draco glared at him, but had no response. It irked him, but he did have a point.
"Do you really believe that, should you take the classes and pass your exams that you would find a Potions Master to study under? And if you purchased an establishment, do you imagine that you would succeed? Do you think in the current climate that anyone would frequent your shop? Have you not considered that you might be setting yourself up for attack under the circumstances?"
"I hadn't thought of that."
"That much is obvious." Draco felt a pang of loss as this snarky ancestor of his reminded him painfully of Snape.
"So you think I should go away to school?"
"I think you should consider your options. Certainly going away is one of them. Consider for a moment that you leave England to finish your education elsewhere. You would not be under a microscope as you would be here. Further, you would not have the distraction of perhaps watching to see if someone was about to attack you at any given moment. You wouldn't be surrounded by the familiar that is all so suddenly different. And you wouldn't have your memories suffocating you within an inch of your life."
"When you put it that way ..."
"And you can return to England - or not, of course - to show people that you aren't beaten, you won't be pushed aside, and that you are a force to be reckoned with."
"The idea has promise."
"Of course it does; it's mine. There's one more thing you might wish to consider. It's an old saying, but I've found that it continues to apply today. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. While you are away, people will begin to forget the bad times and will recall the good. That's not to say that you will return to a crowd greeting you with open arms. But you might find a lack of open hostility."
Draco considered everything he had heard, and couldn't find fault in it at all. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more merit the idea had. Hadn't Draco, after all, wanted to go to Durmstrang in the first place? Hadn't he felt more at home with the visitors in his fourth year than with most of the Hogwarts students that were not in Slytherin? And hadn't he longed to be out from under the shadow of Granger in the classroom and Potter on the Quidditch pitch?
This could be a new start for him. He would be ahead in his classes, but that wouldn't be so bad. He could work on developing some new potions in his spare time. Hopefully their Potions Master wouldn't mind Draco taking on a bit of initiative. As the ideas formed in his mind, the fog that had settled over him of late seemed to lift ever so slightly. He could do this. He would do this. He would show McGonagall and the rest of them that he wasn't a quitter. There was more to being a Malfoy than they thought, and he was going to prove it to them all.
"Wise men never sit and wail their loss,
but cheerily seek how to redress their harms."
July - October 1998
Draco applied for, and was accepted at Durmstrang. He met with a committee of staff who went over his Hogwarts records, and conducted a verbal interview. They agreed to conduct it in English, providing he completed a course in the summer, and sat a proficiency test in late August to determine how close he was to being fluent.
He spent the summer months brushing up on the language that he had learned as a child, when he had wanted to go there originally - before his mother had stepped in to prevent that. He attended local classes and had signed up for additional tutoring in the autumn, and was assured that he should have little or no trouble with his classes.
When he arrived, he was given his timetable, and with Potions being his identified top subject, he was told that should he need any assistance, he could go to the school's Potions Master for guidance. Determined not to appear weak or needy, he immersed himself in his studies, spent his spare time on bringing his language skills up to par, and tried not to think of home.
Besides a weekly letter from his mother, Draco had no contact with England. That was how he wanted it. He didn't need distractions. He didn't want any links to the past. His only way to move on was to look forward, not back. In fact, he and his mother had agreed that she would come to see him over Christmas, rather than the other way around. He didn't want to be there without Lucius, with the memories still fresh in his mind of the past Christmas, with Voldemort and his Death Eaters there. Narcissa had agreed.
"Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear."
November, 1998
Of course, fate would never allow him such peace. In early November, just as he had settled into his studies, and felt comfortable with the language, he received his usual weekly owl from home. Except there was nothing usual about it.
Dear Draco:
It is with sadness and not a small amount of bitter regret that I am writing this to you. I know we had discussed Christmas, and the possibility of my joining you up there, but I am hoping that you will reconsider coming home.
I wouldn't ask this of you, knowing that you need to be away right now, but the Ministry ... well, there's no easy way to tell you this ... they are taking away the Manor. They feel that it will serve as a warning to others not to go down the same road your father had done, and according to our solicitors, there is nothing we can do to prevent it happening.
I have done all that I can to delay the inevitable, but they will not put this off any longer. They were going to take it immediately, but our lawyers prevented that from happening. I also called in a favour from a rather influential wizard, in order that we may remain here over Christmas. But come January, the Ministry will move in, and we will need to leave.
If you come home for the holidays, you can pack up what you wish to keep, and I can take it to our property in the south of France where I will be living. I, like you, have seen enough of England lately. I need to leave. If you cannot make it, I will have all of your belongings packed and sent on ahead to France, and I will join you up there. But I would appreciate it if we could spend just one more Christmas in our home.
Love, Mother.
Draco dropped the parchment on the ground, placing his head in his hands. He wanted to scream, but hadn't the energy. This was it then. The final nail in the coffin of the Malfoy family, so to speak. The Ministry wasn't satisfied with the death of his father. It wasn't enough. Blood wasn't enough. They needed to wipe out the family name and anything that served as a reminder of the greatness it had represented for generations.
Draco almost forgot to breathe as he realized he had no home. No history. No heritage. No grounding. He was at a loss as to how he should feel. He had always had the Manor. It was the single most defining link to his past. It was always there. Would always be there. After Voldemort and his Death Eaters had left, he and his mother had done their best to erase the memories of their presence. Draco had just started to feel at home again when he had left for school. He hadn't been worried at the time because he knew that he'd have the chance later. But now he wouldn't. He would never be able to call it home again.
He wrote back to his mother, assuring her that he would spend this Christmas with her at the Manor. Their last one there. He had no choice in the matter. He resisted the urge to write to the Ministry, recalling with bitterness the responses he had received the last time. He further resisted the urge to return home right away. He knew it wouldn't help, and he really needed to focus on his studies.
The curriculum at Durmstrang was a bit different, and he hadn't found his classes quite as easy as he had hoped they would be. Then again, as he thought back, he had been rather preoccupied in sixth year, and seventh year hadn't exactly been educational in the traditional sense of the word. He grimaced as he realized that McGonagall had probably done him a favour, turning him down. He may not have friends here, but he also didn't have distractions - Narcissa's letters notwithstanding.
December 1998
Draco reluctantly returned to his home to spend the holidays with his mother. She had greeted him with a wistful look and unshed tears in her eyes.
"I left everything the way it was before you left, dear. I didn't want you returning to a place that already looked ransacked."
"Thank you," he said sincerely. He appreciated the gesture, even as he knew it was temporary. After all, Malfoys were experts at putting on facades. Why should things be any different now?
He hadn't been home an hour when one of the house elves announced the arrival of Harry Potter to see Master Malfoy. Merlin's beard, could it get any worse?
"What do you want, Potter?" he said through gritted teeth as he entered the sitting room.
"Nice to see you too, Malfoy."
"Oh, forgive me, Potter. Where are my manners? Shall I wish you a Happy Christmas while I'm at it, on the eve of us losing our family home? Terribly sorry, Potter, but this is the best I can do. Just tell me what you want and get out."
"I'm sorry --"
"Save it. You're not sorry at all. If you were sorry, you wouldn't have shown up the minute I arrived home to gloat. That is why you're here, isn't it? To see me in all my glory, about to lose the most important thing in my life besides my parents? To see the downfall of the Malfoy family? Well, sorry to disappoint. The Manor will go, but we will carry on. But if you don't mind, I'd rather get on with my life without you in it."
Draco was pleased to see Potter squirming. Good! Serves him right, coming here.
"Actually, I have something for you," he said, pulling out a box from inside his robes.
Narcissa chose that moment to enter the room. "Good day, Mr Potter. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"
Draco resisted rolling his eyes. Honestly, his mother didn't have to pretend to like Potter, for Merlin's sake. "Apparently, he's brought me something." Draco took the box. "Then he's leaving."
Was that disappointment on Potter's face? What was he expecting anyway, a warm greeting? It's not like they were friends or even casual acquaintances. They hated each other. It was the natural order of things. How it always was. How it would always be.
"I would have owled it to you, but I thought it too important for that."
"And you couldn't have left it with my mother?" Narcissa shot him her classic don't be rude glare, but he ignored it.
"I thought it deserved the personal touch."
"Well, now I'm intrigued, Potter. What is it?"
"Just open it."
Draco opened the box to see ... "Is this my --"
"Your wand, yes," Potter said. He smiled hesitantly as he continued, "And a memory from Professor Snape that I thought you might want to see."
"I would thank you, Potter, but it's rather hard for me to be thankful when it was my wand to begin with, not to mention I've lost nearly everything, and this house ... well, it's my link to everything in my past."
He stopped before he got emotional. It wouldn't do to seem weak in front of the bloody hero, would it? Bad enough he'd bested him all throughout school, had proven his family was on the wrong side of the war, then had the nerve to save him - twice, no less! No, he would not be giving Potter any more power over him. He'd had enough of that.
Potter looked at Narcissa and Draco. "I tried to make them see reason. I explained everything, but it was no better than talking to a brick wall. The powers that be are determined to see you out of your home, and it seems there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. I think they feel that it's the ultimate way of removing the Malfoy name from the wizarding world."
"Well that's just fucking wonderful," Draco grumbled.
"Draco!" Narcissa admonished him.
"It's alright, Mrs Malfoy. I don't expect either of you to be happy about the situation. I just wanted to return Mal-Draco's wand. I should be going now."
"Mr Potter, you don't have to --"
"Please call me Harry," he interrupted. "And yes, I do have to leave. You have only a couple weeks left in your home. You don't need me or anyone else interfering with what should be a time for you to be together, as a family. I'll be on my way."
"Thank you," said Narcissa.
"For what?" Harry asked. "I wasn't able to do much."
"I know that, but you tried." She gave him a wistful smile. "And you managed to buy us this much time, and for that I am thankful."
"You did that?" Draco asked, dumbfounded. Potter nodded. When his mother had mentioned an influential wizard, he'd never dreamt that she'd been referring to Potter.
"You saved my life," Potter reminded Narcissa. "I hardly think this is worth --"
"Nevertheless, Mr Potter. Harry. This is worth more than you know. Now, be gracious, accept my thanks as the sincere gesture it is meant to be, and perhaps our paths shall cross again."
Harry smiled briefly. "You're welcome. I'm only sorry I couldn't do more."
"So am I," Narcissa agreed. She turned to glare at Draco.
"Thank you for returning my wand, Potter," he said as graciously as he could muster. He was still in shock that Potter, of all people, had helped him and his mother hold onto the manor over Christmas.
"No need to thank me. It's yours, after all." Draco gave his mother a smug look as Potter walked out the door.
"Potter!" Draco called to his retreating form. As Potter turned, he asked, "Why the memory?"
"Watch it and you'll see," he said enigmatically before walking away.
It was days before Draco watched the memory of his former professor. He had spent the first day back gathering up his belongings that he would take back to Durmstrang with him, and advising the house elves which to send to France. The remaining days before Christmas he had spent visiting each room in the Manor, replaying all the events of his life that he could recall.
There were many good times, so many more than the bad. Times spent with his parents, with his friends. Celebrations, games, times spent out on the grounds. It was here that he first learned to fly. Here that his love of potions was first discovered. He had even had his first kiss here. So many firsts. It was here that he listened to stories about his family's history and the wizarding world's history. It was his link to the past in so many ways.
When his own memories got to be too much, he remembered the glass bottle with the shimmering liquid that Potter had given him. Retrieving it from his room, he made his way to his father's study, and removed Lucius's Pensieve from its shelf, placing it on the desk. He emptied Snape's memory into the stone basin and leaned in.
Hours later, Narcissa found him in the same spot, staring out the window.
"Is everything alright, dear?" she asked.
"He risked his life to save me," Draco said quietly, not bothering to turn around.
"Who?"
"Professor Snape."
"Ahh," she said, a noticeable lack of surprise in her voice.
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew. He took the Unbreakable Vow for me, to protect you." She looked at the Pensieve, then back at him with confusion. "Isn't that what you meant?"
"No," Draco replied, returning the confused look. "He ... he was working with Dumbledore to protect me."
"Ah, yes, Dumbledore always did have a tendency to want to save people all the time."
Draco snorted. "It's a Gryffindor thing, I'm sure." Still smiling, he thought about Potter and Dumbledore and Snape and his parents. All of them risked so much to save him. His parents he understood. Even Snape, now that he knew his mother had made him take an Unbreakable Vow. But Potter? Why did he risk his own life to save Draco's, when Draco was trying to take him to Voldemort? Well, okay, Draco had already changed his own allegiance by then and had wanted Potter to win, but Potter didn't know that. And Dumbledore? He knew all year that it had been Draco trying to kill him, and even he had wanted to save him. Yes, it must be a Gryffindor thing.
Then he thought about the other Gryffindors. Even Weasley and Granger were headed out of the Room of Hidden Things when Potter turned back. Draco recalled the weasel screaming at Potter for doing it, even when he came back for Goyle. No, it wasn't just about being a Gryffindor. There was something more. Everyone knew that about Dumbledore, but Potter? Draco had always believed what his father had told him about the Boy Who Lived, that it was sheer luck he was alive at all. Much as it pained him to admit it, if only to himself, Draco realized that there really was something special about Potter.
With a shudder, he returned to the present to find his mother still talking about Dumbledore and his antics through the years.
"Mother, if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write," he interrupted her and left.
In his own room, Draco recalled the impromptu visit Potter had made just days before. He had said that he wanted to deliver the package in person, but why? Draco had been sure at the time he'd wanted to gloat, but now he wasn't convinced that was the case at all. And Snape's memory ... how did Potter get it? And why did he give it to Draco?
He pulled out a piece of parchment, trying to think of the words to convey what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He desperately wanted answers, but he didn't want to begin some form of correspondence with a person with whom he'd never even had a civil conversation.
Potter,
Thank you. For everything.
DM
It was the best he could do. Even a thick Gryffindor like Potter would understand. Satisfied, Draco sent his owl off to deliver the letter.
It was a bittersweet holiday that year. There were no guests, no parties. Every year, his parents threw a gala for New Year's, and everyone that was anyone would attend. Well, not last year, Draco thought wryly. Of course, in the middle of a war it might not have been prudent, what with the Dark Lord and his minions taking up residence at the Manor. But now? Now Draco doubted there was anyone left to invite that would accept. Just one more reminder of what had changed, how the Malfoys had fallen from grace, what would never again be as it should be. The very reason he hadn't wanted to come home for the holidays this year.
Faced with the realization that this would be his last Christmas and New Year in his family's home, Draco found the lack of celebration to be a bitter pill to swallow indeed.
The next day, a strange owl delivered a letter to Draco.
Draco,
You're welcome. I know things are difficult for you now, and I thought you might appreciate knowing that there are people who think you're worth saving.
Good luck at Durmstrang.
Harry.
P.S. Did your mother make you send that owl?
Draco hadn't wanted a reply, which was the reason for his short note. But damn Potter if he didn't have to reply to this one now. Stupid git.
Potter,
Since when are we on a first-name basis? I don't recall that discussion.
No, my mother didn't make me write to you. I meant it. The wand, the memory, and the battle. All of it. I won't say it again, but I did mean it. I will admit that it was good to hear that someone besides my parents thought I was worth something. It's a shame they're all dead now.
Durmstrang? They're lucky to have me. Without the ever-present annoyance that Gryffindors are, I'm sure I will excel at everything. I don't need luck.
DM
The day before he was to return to school, Potter's owl delivered another note.
Draco,
I can't think of you as 'Malfoy' any more. I stopped thinking of you that way during the war. To me, that's your father. And you are not your father. You'll just have to get used to it.
Merlin help them, Durmstrang doesn't know what they're in for!
Harry.
P.S. I'm not dead. I think you're worth something too.
Well shit. Hell had officially frozen over. Golden Boy thought that he was worth something.
"Kindness, nobler ever than revenge."
January 1999
The new year found Draco focussed heavily on his studies. As he had told Potter, he didn't need luck. He was smart, attentive and he worked hard. It was true what he had said; without distractions, he was at the top of his class.
Near the end of the month, Professor Bukhalov, the Potions Master at Durmstrang approached him.
"What are you planning to do when you leave school?" he asked.
"I have no definite plans. I'll sit my N.E.W.T. exams and look for an apprentice position, I suppose."
"In potions, I presume?"
"Definitely. I had hoped to open my own apothecary some day, but I would need to get my qualifications first."
"So you are planning to do that back in England?" Bukhalov asked.
"I'm not so sure about England," Draco admitted. He had been thinking about his future lately, and had come to the conclusion that he might have an easier time of things outside of England. He had, of course, always imagined his apprenticeship being with Snape. They had even discussed it a few times, and though there were never formal arrangements made, he'd never considered anything else. But now that Snape was gone, he had to find someone else willing to take on an apprentice. More specifically, someone willing to take on a Malfoy as an apprentice.
"I thought perhaps I would join my mother in France, and try for an apprenticeship there."
"Would you consider remaining here?"
"Here?"
"Yes, here. I am an old man, and could use an assistant. You might take your apprenticeship with me, and assist with my classes."
Draco was stunned. Never had he considered teaching as a vocation. He needed someone to take him on as an apprentice, and working for Bukhalov would certainly be a challenge. He was almost, if not as, accomplished a Potions Master as Snape. To refuse would probably be imprudent.
"Is this a job offer?"
"Think of it more as something to consider," Bukhalov suggested. "If you are interested, I have a second-year student who needs some help with Potions. She is a bright girl, but somehow the complexity of potion making escapes her. You could tutor her, and we could see where that leads."
"I don't know what to say."
"Generally yes or no would be appropriate," Bukhalov joked. "Give it a few days. Think about it, and let me know."
"No," Draco replied, making a hasty decision.
"Ah," Bukhalov said, sounding disappointed. "You don't wish to stay?"
"No," Draco repeated. "I mean no, I don't need a few days. Yes, I will work with the girl. Second year, you say?"
"Yes," he responded, looking pleased. "Her name is Katja Petkov. She is quite brilliant actually. I don't know what it is about potions that she doesn't understand. Perhaps she would respond better to someone younger."
"I will do my best."
Bukhalov smiled. "I know you will. And I think you will be surprised at how well you do. There is something about you that I see, that I am not sure you do."
"What's that?"
"A spark. You have it in your eyes whenever you are trying to figure out a difficult concept with potions. I can sense your love of the art, and I think that will make you a good teacher."
Draco thought about what Bukhalov had said all that evening. A teacher. He kept picturing Snape complaining about the students, and had to laugh. If you could see me now, he thought.
February 1999 - June 2001
As it turned out, Bukhalov had been correct in his assessment of Draco. He had taken to teaching like a fish to water. It came so naturally to him, it didn't even feel like work. He was able to discern that Katja's past was preventing her from applying herself in Potions. A great uncle of hers had died while concocting his own potion, when he had combined two volatile agents that had exploded. He had been knocked unconscious, and without anyone else present, the mixture had eaten away at him until there was little left but bone.
In an attempt to ensure his daughter's safety, Katja's father had told her the gruesome tale, in all its gory detail, and told her to be very careful. Unfortunately, it had instilled such fear in the girl that she couldn't bring herself to concentrate in class, for fear that something would happen.
Draco, familiar with fear as a motivator, had spoken to her rationally about the situation. He had investigated and found out what exactly had been used by her uncle, and had been able to discern that he had been foolhardy at best, or completely incompetent at worst. He doubted that even Potter could have done something so stupid. He explained to her the basics of potions, and described the more volatile compounds she would be working with during her time at school. He had her read various texts, and explain to him what would make some ingredients dangerous, while others remained harmless.
Once she had a good grasp of the basics, she happily participated, and indeed excelled at her classes. By the end of her second year, she was in the top of the class, and Draco couldn't have been more pleased.
He sat his exams, and received stellar results both at Durmstrang, where he needed to pass in order to remain there to work, and back at the Ministry in England, where he was determined to succeed, whether or not he decided to return.
Draco became Bukhalov's apprentice, and the Assistant Potions Professor at Durmstrang. He taught one first year and one second year class per week, and conducted tutorial labs for those interested. He helped with lesson plans and marking, and provided tutorial services for senior students, or those that needed extensive help like Katja had. It was with amusement that he imagined how much better Potter would have done in Potions, had he the opportunity to attend such tutorials.
Over the two years, the assistance he provided to Bukhalov freed up the professor's time enough that he could dedicate time to Draco's lessons, which were both challenging and frustrating.
Not one to give up, Draco persevered and managed to get past the obstacles presented to him along the way. It was with great satisfaction that at the end of the two years, he presented Bukhalov with a potion of his own design.
"And what will this do?" Bukhalov asked, beaming with pride.
"I am hoping that it will restore some brain function for those suffering long-term damage from the Cruciatus Curse."
Bukhalov looked stunned. "What? But ... but wizards have tried for years ... how ... why?"
Draco was very pleased indeed. It was a rare occasion that found his Potions Master speechless.
"It will not repair all the damage. I believe that is something that may never happen, although I would like to continue my work in this area. I believe that the memories are still there, just blocked by something. Scar tissue, perhaps. I've read about that in some healing texts, and I think it might relate to damage caused by the curse. I can't be sure, of course. But from all the research I have done, I believe we just need to reawaken that part of the brain. And I believe this may do it. Of course, I haven't tested this yet, but in theory it should work."
"But if it doesn't cure the person, what would be the point?"
"Though they may never be fully-functioning again, I believe this will enable them to communicate with others. I should think the families would appreciate the ability to speak with their loved ones again." Draco thought, as he often did, about his aunt's victims, the Longbottoms. If he could help them ... well, he was getting ahead of himself.
Bukhalov slapped Draco on the back so hard, he almost fell over. "Well, well," he said, "this calls for a drink!"
"We don't even know if it works," Draco said, trying to suppress a grin.
"If you developed this, it will work." He winked and smiled at Draco as he placed a bottle of vodka and two glasses on the table. "Maybe not this version, maybe not now, but it will work. For you, it will work."
Draco couldn't imagine receiving higher praise than that.
July 2001
"It is with both joy and sadness that this day has come," Bukhalov said to Draco. "You have completed your apprenticeship, and I couldn't be more proud if you were my own son." He pulled Draco into a hug such that he had never remembered receiving, not even from his own father.
"Thank you," Draco said once he had been released. "But why sadness?"
"I no longer have an excuse to keep you here," he answered. "You are free now to return home."
"Home?" Draco asked. "But I have no home. Not any more. This is my home now." What was Bukhalov going on about?
"Now, Draco, you and I both know that is not true. This is not your home. It never was. Your heart is still in England. You needed to take some time away, but now ... now you need to return."
"But ... but what will I do when I get there?"
Bukhalov chuckled. "What happened to the young man that wanted to open an apothecary?"
Draco thought about that question. What had happened to that young man? He smiled as he realized the answer.
"I discovered teaching," he said. "I still want to develop my own potions, but ... well, I want to continue teaching."
"Well then, that's settled. I may be old, but I'm not yet ready to retire. So, you must seek your fortune elsewhere."
His words hit Draco like a punch in the stomach. He had become so comfortable here. It was safe here. People liked him, respected him, valued his opinion. He didn't think he could face his past again. Not yet.
"I'm not ready," he said. "I don't want to go back. No one wants me there anyway." He tried to keep the pain out of his voice as he uttered that last sentence, but he wasn't so sure he succeeded.
"Ah, but there you are wrong," Bukhalov said. "I have it under good authority that your skills are wanted back in your native England. In fact, I have a letter here to prove it." He handed Draco a piece of parchment.
Dear Professor Bukhalov,
It was with great pleasure that I received your latest correspondence. As I mentioned in my letter to you several years ago, despite the issues preventing his return to Hogwarts, Mr Malfoy, prior to his sixth year, was an exemplary student here at Hogwarts, and our former Potions Master Severus Snape never spoke more highly of a student in all my years working with him.
I am delighted that you found his apprenticeship as satisfying as I am sure he did. Potions was always a passion of his, and I know that he had planned to apprentice for Professor Snape before his untimely death.
Now that he has completed his training, has teaching experience with you, and most importantly, time has passed, I wonder if you would consider recommending him for a teaching position at his old school. Our current Potions Master, Horace Slughorn, graciously came out of retirement a few years back at Albus Dumbledore's request, but he has decided that he prefers the easy life, and wishes to retire for good now. I should like to extend an interview to Mr Malfoy, if you think he is ready.
I look forward to hearing back from you soon.
Yours most sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"I thought you would want to know in advance. I sent her my recommendation earlier today. You should expect a letter shortly."
Draco was stunned into silence.
"Shall I take your silence to mean that you will be accepting the position?"
Draco nodded and returned to his room.
Part 2
Author: sesheta_66
Beta: softly_sweetly
Word count: ~ 17,500
Rating: Hard R
Summary: Having just survived the war, Draco prepares, with some trepidation, for life to get back to normal, or as normal as it can be after war. What he is not prepared for is upheaval, the complete transformation of the world in which he lives. How he chooses to react and move on will determine his fate in this post-war wizarding world.
Prompt: Originally written as Team EWE's contribution for hd_worldcup's prompt of The Tower. Click links for the meaning and the story.
Disclaimer: The characters contained herein belong to JK Rowling and her publishers. No money is being made from this fiction, which is presented for entertainment purposes only. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over the age of 18.
Author’s Notes: All quotations contained herein are from various works of William Shakespeare. Special thanks for the ongoing support of alaana_fair and to my awesome team mates winnett, alisanne, sansa1970 and eeyore9990 for their keen eyes and excellent suggestions.
The Affairs of Men
"A peace is of the nature of a conquest;
for then both parties nobly are subdued, and neither party loser."
May 2, 1998
When all was said and done, the battle fought, the light side victorious, and Potter ever the hero, Draco sat in the Great Hall with his parents, unsure of what the future would hold for them. Somehow, though, when he glanced over to see Potter with Lovegood, the clenching in his chest loosened just a little.
When Loony called out some ridiculous distraction, Draco hadn't looked away; he kept watching Potter. Well, that was what he did, wasn't it? He watched Potter. Just like Potter watched him. He saw the hero use the distraction to don his Invisibility Cloak and disappear. For a few heart-stopping moments, Draco had thought Potter was going to approach him. And for the first time that he could recall, Draco wanted him to.
He hadn't, of course, and Draco watched as Granger and the weasel both turned in the same direction, nodded and left the room. Draco had been surprised at the depth of his disappointment. He had hoped, for a fleeting moment, that something had changed. Of course it hadn't. Potter had saved him, yes, but that was what he did - he saved people. The fact that it had been Draco was irrelevant. Feeling as insignificant as always when it came to Potter, he turned to his parents.
"Let's go home," he said quietly. He was anxious to get on with his life, and put this horrible chapter behind him. He couldn't do that sitting here.
Narcissa's face revealed her fear. "I think ... perhaps we should wait for a while, Draco. We don't know how safe it is." Lucius stared off at a distant wall and said nothing. That spoke volumes.
His mother was right. Draco's stomach clenched at the thought that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had taken over the Manor. It was over, but could he ever go home again? Could he ever look at the place the same way? Would he ever feel safe there again? He had heard rumblings of some Death Eaters around the country being rounded up. Did that include further confrontation and conflict at his house? Better to wait it out in safety.
An hour, maybe more had passed, and Lucius still sat staring, saying nothing. Narcissa had tried to make small talk, but it was all so pointless. Draco wanted, needed to get out of there. The walls were closing in and it was stifling.
"I need to go for a walk," Draco said to his mother. "I won't be long."
"But, Draco ... is it safe?"
"Safe?" he hissed. He really was on the edge. "I don't care if it's safe, Mother. I just can't sit here any longer."
"But ..." She turned to Lucius and put a hand on his arm. He continued to stare, providing her no support. "Please be careful."
Draco barely resisted rolling his eyes, gave her a curt nod and left the Great Hall. No destination in mind, he wandered outside, wanting fresh air. His legs carried him to the edge of the lake where he sat down staring out at the calm water.
There was a rustling behind him, and Draco instinctively reached for his wand. Right, no wand, he thought, remembering that Potter had his wand, and his mother's had burned up in the Room of Hidden Things. He turned around to see Luna Lovegood walking towards him. Maybe his mother had been right and he should have stayed inside.
"Come to exact revenge, Lovegood?"
"Whatever for?" she asked in that annoyingly airy voice of hers.
Draco pierced her with an incredulous look. She was in Ravenclaw, for Merlin's sake! She couldn't possibly be that stupid. "Never mind."
"Well, it wasn't you who took me and held me against my will, was it? I mean, you were a prisoner too. You just weren't locked up in the traditional way." She stared off across the lake. "It's pretty here, don't you think?" she asked as though they were old friends who had met up to chat, and they hadn't just been on opposite sides of a war.
"What do you want?" Draco snapped.
"Fresh air. The nargles are more likely to be attracted to all the noise inside."
Draco didn't ask. "So why sit out here with me if you're not going to hex me?"
"I thought you could use the company, since all your friends are already gone."
He looked at her and saw nothing but sincerity in her face. He nodded his acceptance, then turned his attention back to the lake. They sat there in silence for minutes, and surprisingly it wasn't at all uncomfortable.
"I'm going to do some Tarot readings inside for people. Did you want yours done?" she asked suddenly.
"What?" he asked incredulously. She really was a bit strange. More than a bit, actually. "Why would I want something like that now?"
"Well," she explained, completely unfazed by his reaction, "I thought people might want to take the opportunity to look ahead, you know. See what life might have in store for them in the future." She smiled down at him as she got up to leave. "I'll be in the Great Hall."
"Wait!" he called. Why he did it, he didn't know. "Maybe I'll draw one card, and see what it says. Just ... well, just ... why not?"
"Okay," she said, "but you realize that even one card should be taken seriously."
"Yeah," he replied, thinking it was anything but serious. Precisely why he was entertaining it. Doing something that felt normal, even if he didn't take Divination or put much stock in it. Something that was a part of their world that had nothing to do with the war.
She held the deck for him and he drew a card: The Tower. She furrowed her brows, looked as though she were deep in concentration, then smiled. "Well that makes sense," she said in her usual airy voice.
Draco scowled. "I suppose you think that's funny, after what happened on the Astronomy Tower!" he raged. He couldn't believe he was stupid enough to believe that she hadn't come there to do something to him as payback. She was taunting him. The whole deck was probably the stupid Tower card.
"I'm sure I have no idea --"
He cut her off by grabbing the deck of cards and rifling through it. It was a normal Tarot deck. Only one Tower card.
"May I have the deck back now?" she asked, looking a little more befuddled than usual. He handed her back the deck, but held onto the card he had drawn. "What did you mean by the Astronomy Tower?"
"Dumbledore."
"Oh, were you there too?" she asked. "I heard that Harry was, and Snape, and some Death Eaters.
"You didn't know I was there?"
"No." Her face didn't appear to be concealing anything.
"Well then, why did you say the card is appropriate for me?"
"Because it would make sense that you have a lot of change in store for you. It will be difficult, but it could mark the beginning of a new life for you."
"Oh."
"May I have the card back now? I'd like to go inside."
"Oh, right." He handed the card back to her. "Here you go."
He thought about what she said for all of a quarter of an hour, then dismissed it as he almost always dismissed anything to do with divination. Of course he was in for change. After all, wasn't everyone?
"And where the offence is, let the great axe fall."
May 4-12, 1998
The Ministry officials didn't waste much time coming to the Manor for Lucius. They had, Draco noted, waited until the following day - plenty of time for his father to have fled to one of the numerous Malfoy properties scattered across the continent. But Lucius hadn't fled. He knew the Dementors would never be returned to Azkaban, and he told his wife and son that he was prepared to pay for his actions. Highly un-Slytherin-like, but Draco had felt oddly proud of his father that day. Of course, when he thought about it, he figured it was the safest thing for his father to do, given that he'd have Aurors and Death Eaters after him if he were out on the run, and wouldn't live to see the next week.
"Be strong for your mother," he had told Draco. "She will need your support."
"Of course, Father. You can count on me," Draco had assured him.
It was the last time he ever saw Lucius alive. The Death Eaters in Azkaban made short order of slitting his throat and leaving him to die slowly. Well, that was the story they told Draco and Narcissa three days later. Remembering his father's words, he rather suspected that Lucius knew he would never return.
The small memorial service they held for him was attended by Draco and Narcissa. Not one of his father's former friends or business associates or even contacts at the Ministry attended. True, most of his former friends were dead, in Azkaban, or had fled the country, but still. That, more than Lucius's death, shook Draco to the core. He began to wonder who would attend his own funeral, were he to die tomorrow. His mother shook him out of that train of thought as she led him back to the house.
May 15, 1998
"I've decided to help with the rebuilding of Hogwarts," Draco told Narcissa over dinner. "There was a front-page article requesting assistance from anyone and everyone willing to pitch in."
"That's nice, dear," Narcissa replied. Draco sensed some hesitation in her voice.
"It's the least I can do," he said.
She nodded. "Very well ... but are you sure you want to go back there?"
"I'm sure."
"Alright then." She gave him a worried look, but said no more.
He sent his form in the next morning, addressed to Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress.
May 18, 1998
Draco opened the scroll anxiously, wondering what he would be assigned to do. He hadn't put any restrictions on his form, but after thinking about it, he realized that he didn't think he could work on either the Astronomy Tower or the Room of Hidden Things. Too many bad memories, and the shame of them might be too much to bear.
As it turned out, he needn't have worried.
Dear Mr Malfoy:
While I appreciate the sentiment you put forward in your letter, I cannot in good conscience agree to have you attend the school to work on repairs.
I am sure you understand that the safety and security of students, and all workers, is my top priority. I believe that your presence would cause unnecessary disruption, so I am declining your request.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Well shit. Draco hadn't considered that he might be refused. After all, he was volunteering to help. Who refuses help?
May 22, 1998
Draco was eating breakfast when Narcissa strolled onto the deck to join him, Daily Prophet in hand.
"They are holding N.E.W.T. tests at the Ministry for Hogwarts' students," she offered. "It says here that Hogwarts is holding a special four-week course starting July 1, to bring students up to speed, if they're interested. I presume you'll attend?"
"It's at Hogwarts?" The memory of McGonagall's letter was still eating away at him, and the last thing he wanted to do was walk through those doors this soon. He hadn't yet told his mother about the letter.
"No, no. The castle isn't yet fit for habitation or classes, so they're holding them at the Ministry. Shall I sign you up?"
"Mother," he drawled, "I am a fully qualified wizard, and nearly eighteen years of age. I do believe I am capable of completing an application form."
"Very well then." She smiled at him. "I'm glad you are doing this."
Draco sent the application by owl that afternoon.
May 24, 1998
A strange owl landed beside Draco's lunch plate, and he hastened to withdraw the scroll attached.
Dear Mr Malfoy:
Surely you hadn't expected to be accepted into classes run by Hogwarts after the last letter I sent you? As I said in my last correspondence, I cannot in good conscience agree to have you attend the school. That was not restricted to the building, but everything the school offers.
I have taken the liberty of enclosing contact information for registration at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, should you wish to attend classes there in the autumn to attain your N.E.W.T.s.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Anger boiled inside him as he read the letter over several times. It was one thing to refuse his help, but quite another to turn away a student who had attended the school for nearly seven years. What the hell was she playing at?
Dear Headmistress McGonagall:
I was surprised, disappointed, and rather shocked at your letters. While I understand you refusing voluntary help, I hardly see the need to refuse me classes.
I attended Hogwarts for nearly seven years, and it stands to reason I would finish my magical education there. Were I to attend another school, I would have to repeat my entire seventh year. Surely you understand that I should prefer to wrap things up as quickly as possible.
I always understood that Hogwarts didn't turn away anyone that wished to attend. Therefore, I am asking you to reconsider my request.
Draco Malfoy
May 26, 1998
The next strange owl arrived at breakfast, and Draco withdraw the scroll, expecting a better reply this time.
Dear Mr Malfoy:
Why you would be surprised at my replies frankly astounds me. Need I list all the things that you have done in the recent past to earn my ire?
Yes, you attended Hogwarts for seven years. Might I remind you that in your sixth year you nearly killed two students in your attempt to kill the Headmaster? If that behaviour does not constitute grounds for expulsion, I am at a loss as to what would.
The fact that you would 'prefer to wrap things up as quickly as possible' matters not to me. Your audacity clearly knows no bounds.
Hogwarts, under Albus Dumbledore's tutelage, may not have refused any student. But I am not Albus Dumbledore, and these are new times.
For your convenience, I have again enclosed contact information for registration at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Draco was shaking with rage when he finished reading the letter. The nerve of her to speak to him that way! He was a Malfoy. Who the hell was she, but some stupid teacher who got bumped up because she's the bloody Head of stupid Gryffindor House?
Well, he'd fix her. He'd write to the Ministry and get this all worked out. He was going to take his tests and he would get his qualifications, and then he would open his own apothecary. He would not waste another year in school! And the nerve, to tell him that he had to leave the country to get his education. She would pay.
He spent the next couple days appealing to all the wizards he could recall that his father was acquainted with in the Ministry. He explained his situation, and the unfairness of it all. Then he naturally reminded them of the contributions made by his father, and hinted that he might be persuaded to carry on such donations.
Satisfied that it all would work out, he sent the letters off.
"You have too much respect upon the world:
They lose it that do buy it with much care."
May 28-31, 1998
The letters Draco received in reply came over three consecutive days. Some were his letters returned, unopened, with No longer under Ministry employ scrolled on them. There were eight of those. Apparently the Ministry didn't lose time ousting those they suspected of corruption.
Another five were form letters, indicating that they had no jurisdiction over Hogwarts business, but that he was welcome to register for and take his exams. But sorry, there was no alternative training provided elsewhere.
The last three letters were not so kind. In fact, they had been harder to take than McGonagall's letter.
You don't seriously expect any assistance from the Ministry ...
Surely you can see that the days of your father's influence are long gone ...
Just because he bullied his way in ...
His money may have bought him favours in the past ...
Your money is no good here ...
Run along and do your final year at a foreign school ...
While you're there, you might want to take up residence ...
Perhaps you can take your mother with you ...
Death Eaters need not apply ...
But his father had commanded respect from these people! How dare they treat Draco this way, dismiss him like a common ... well, like a commoner?
"My mind is troubled, like a fountain stirred;
And I myself see not the bottom of it."
June 5, 1998
Draco and Narcissa celebrated his eighteenth birthday by going to his favourite restaurant. It was a subdued affair, and the loss of his father and friends was weighing heavily on him. He barely tasted his food, and his thoughts were on the letters he had received. It was one thing to be shunned by select groups of people, but when everyone seemed to be discarding you, as though you weren't worth acknowledging, it was rather disheartening to say the least.
Sitting in an establishment he had frequented with his parents over the years, everything felt wrong somehow. The staff were pleasant enough, but gone were the pleasant greetings from other patrons, gone was the over-the-top gushing of the owner, and absent was their ability to obtain their 'usual' table. Small things, perhaps, but something that Draco had expected to be familiar and comforting in these days of upheaval was anything but. He felt more lost than ever.
"Draco darling, you seem ... preoccupied," Narcissa ventured, as for the fifth time that evening he'd missed something she had said.
"I'm just thinking about how much everything has changed."
Narcissa took her son's hand in her own. "I know, dear. Unfortunately, that's what war does. Even those left behind, seemingly unharmed, are forever changed by the events that transpired. Nothing will ever really be the same."
"No, it won't."
"And I know you miss your father terribly. I do too. But you must know that he wouldn't want you to lose yourself in memories. He would tell you to show the Malfoy strength and move on, look ahead."
"I know, Mother."
"Well then, you must do so. Look ahead to getting your N.E.W.T.s out of the way, and then you can work towards your qualifications. Then you can set up the apothecary you have been speaking of since your first class with Severus. Move on with your life. No more dwelling on the past."
Draco didn't have the heart to tell her about the letters. Not that day. He couldn't take the look of pity that he knew would be written on her face. So he did what he did best. He swallowed his emotions and drew on his Slytherin spirit. He put on a smile and lifted his glass in a toast. "To the future," he said.
"To the future."
June 13, 1998
"What's the matter, Draco? You seem bothered by something. Your birthday was over a week ago, yet you haven't been the same since," Narcissa observed. "Could it be the upcoming N.E.W.T. tests? Are you worried about them?"
"I'm not taking the tests," he said as casually as he could. There was no sense prolonging the inevitable. He had received no further correspondence from anyone at the Ministry, and presumed the rest of the officials he had written to simply didn't deem his letters worthy of response.
She gave him a puzzled look. "I don't understand, Draco. I thought you wanted to 'get on with things.' Isn't that what you said?"
"Yes, Mother, but apparently Minerva McGonagall has other ideas for me."
"What does that woman have to do with it? I thought the Ministry was conducting the testing."
"They are, but the preparatory classes are offered by Hogwarts."
"I fail to see the problem, Draco."
"They are being held at the Ministry, but McGonagall won't accept me into the classes. She says I'm welcome to sign up to repeat my seventh year at Durmstrang or Beauxbatons."
"What?" Her voice was calm but menacing.
"She wouldn't accept my offer of help at Hogwarts, claiming the students' safety as the reason. While I don't pose a threat, and she very well knows that, it's her way of punishing me because she felt the Ministry didn't do enough."
"She has no right --"
"Actually, Mother, she has every right to refuse me entrance to Hogwarts. Just because Dumbledore would have accepted my presence does not mean she will. But I never imagined she would refuse me schooling."
"So take the tests without the extra classes. See how you do."
"I don't believe I'm ready, not if I want the marks I'll need for someone to take me on as an apprentice. Between the classes at school, half of which were a joke, and having the Dark Lord living here, I can't honestly say what I learned last year. No, if I were to do that, and do poorly, I would have to wait until the next round of exams in the spring to take the tests again. Then, even if I did well, my marks would be pooled together, and they would take the average. I can't risk that."
"Well, we'll just see about this," Narcissa began. She named the very officials that Draco had already written to. Resigned to telling her the whole story, he retrieved the replies and handed them to her. She went silent, her face like stone, even paler than usual. "Give me a week," she said. "I am going to remind them just whom they are dealing with." Draco knew that tone. It was the one that told him he'd pushed too far when he was a child. It was the one that even sent a chill down Lucius's spine. It was the one that meant she was about to exert all the Malfoy and Black power she had at her disposal.
Not that he wanted her help. He was an adult, for Merlin's sake. But he was at his wit's end. Perhaps she could fix what he hadn't been able to. Perhaps she knew of someone at the Ministry that he didn't. Someone that wouldn't be afraid to stand up to the Headmistress.
"While I appreciate your righteous indignation on my behalf, Mother, I suspect they already know exactly whom they're dealing with, which is the very problem."
June 20, 1998
One week later, Draco's mood was no better. Narcissa had received the same welcome as Draco had, and now she was brooding as well. The house elves were doing their best to stay out of sight.
Draco's mind was whirling with images from his past. He replayed his life so many times, altering this detail or that to see if his mind could conjure up a better outcome. He even went so far as to imagine a friendship with Potter, one that started with an accepted handshake rather than a dismissal.
Frustrated with his situation and angry with his lot in life, Draco found himself lost in thought. On one such occasion, he was in his father's study, and one of the portraits - his great, great, great grandfather - interrupted his thoughts.
"Sulking won't help, you know."
Draco nearly fell out of the chair. The portraits in his father's study had never spoken to him before. Squaring his shoulders and taking a fortifying breath, he turned to speak with his ancestor.
"I am hardly sulking."
"Oh, really. What would you call it then? Moping? You've spent an inordinate amount of time in here lately, just staring off into space. You can't change anything by dwelling on it. Inaction leads nowhere. Whatever it is that's troubling you, I assure you that you are not the first, nor will you be the last, to suffer. We Malfoys are resilient. Look ahead and take some action boy!"
"I've tried, but that stupid cow McGonagall won't let me attend her stupid classes."
"Foiled by a teacher?"
"Headmistress now. She used to be bad enough as a professor and Head of Gryffindor, but now --" His rant was interrupted by a bark of laughter.
"You mean to tell me that you are sitting in here sulking because a Gryffindor refuses to let you take classes? Oh my, but how the mighty have fallen!"
"I'm glad you find my plight so amusing," Draco said petulantly.
"Well, it's just that I've never, in all my years, heard such a sad tale of injustice. Generations of Malfoys have survived war, tyranny and injustice to become and remain strong. Yet here you sit, ready to give it all up because a teacher won't let you take her class." When he put it that way, it really did sound silly. Draco's lips twitched involuntarily.
"Woe is he that has to suffer the indignity, the shame, the --"
"Alright, you've made your point. I'm being ..."
"Childish? Immature? Self-absorbed? Weak?"
"Thank you," Draco interrupted. "No, really, I could listen to this all day."
"As much fun as that could be, I suggest a more constructive use of your time."
"Such as?"
"I may regret asking this, and if you start to whinge I may very well continue with my observations of your character, but why don't you tell me exactly how this Headmistress has wronged you?"
Draco explained what had happened, keeping the indignant tone in his voice to a minimum.
"I see. So it seems that you have two choices. You can admit defeat and wallow in self pity." He gave Draco a pointed look and continued. "That doesn't seem to be getting you anywhere. Or," he added before Draco had a chance to argue his point, "you could take this as an opportunity."
"An opportunity to what? I have been shunned, refused entry into classes I require in order to satisfactorily pass my N.E.W.T.s, and cast aside as though I don't matter."
"Well you don't, do you?"
"What?!"
"You don't matter ... to her. So you need to make yourself matter. Would it really be such a hardship to leave the country for a year? Less than a year actually."
"But this is my home," Draco argued.
"Ah, and it is such a lovely one, isn't it? What with all the compassion, empathy and love that you have bestowed upon you every day, I can't imagine why you would wish to tear yourself away."
Draco glared at him, but had no response. It irked him, but he did have a point.
"Do you really believe that, should you take the classes and pass your exams that you would find a Potions Master to study under? And if you purchased an establishment, do you imagine that you would succeed? Do you think in the current climate that anyone would frequent your shop? Have you not considered that you might be setting yourself up for attack under the circumstances?"
"I hadn't thought of that."
"That much is obvious." Draco felt a pang of loss as this snarky ancestor of his reminded him painfully of Snape.
"So you think I should go away to school?"
"I think you should consider your options. Certainly going away is one of them. Consider for a moment that you leave England to finish your education elsewhere. You would not be under a microscope as you would be here. Further, you would not have the distraction of perhaps watching to see if someone was about to attack you at any given moment. You wouldn't be surrounded by the familiar that is all so suddenly different. And you wouldn't have your memories suffocating you within an inch of your life."
"When you put it that way ..."
"And you can return to England - or not, of course - to show people that you aren't beaten, you won't be pushed aside, and that you are a force to be reckoned with."
"The idea has promise."
"Of course it does; it's mine. There's one more thing you might wish to consider. It's an old saying, but I've found that it continues to apply today. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. While you are away, people will begin to forget the bad times and will recall the good. That's not to say that you will return to a crowd greeting you with open arms. But you might find a lack of open hostility."
Draco considered everything he had heard, and couldn't find fault in it at all. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more merit the idea had. Hadn't Draco, after all, wanted to go to Durmstrang in the first place? Hadn't he felt more at home with the visitors in his fourth year than with most of the Hogwarts students that were not in Slytherin? And hadn't he longed to be out from under the shadow of Granger in the classroom and Potter on the Quidditch pitch?
This could be a new start for him. He would be ahead in his classes, but that wouldn't be so bad. He could work on developing some new potions in his spare time. Hopefully their Potions Master wouldn't mind Draco taking on a bit of initiative. As the ideas formed in his mind, the fog that had settled over him of late seemed to lift ever so slightly. He could do this. He would do this. He would show McGonagall and the rest of them that he wasn't a quitter. There was more to being a Malfoy than they thought, and he was going to prove it to them all.
"Wise men never sit and wail their loss,
but cheerily seek how to redress their harms."
July - October 1998
Draco applied for, and was accepted at Durmstrang. He met with a committee of staff who went over his Hogwarts records, and conducted a verbal interview. They agreed to conduct it in English, providing he completed a course in the summer, and sat a proficiency test in late August to determine how close he was to being fluent.
He spent the summer months brushing up on the language that he had learned as a child, when he had wanted to go there originally - before his mother had stepped in to prevent that. He attended local classes and had signed up for additional tutoring in the autumn, and was assured that he should have little or no trouble with his classes.
When he arrived, he was given his timetable, and with Potions being his identified top subject, he was told that should he need any assistance, he could go to the school's Potions Master for guidance. Determined not to appear weak or needy, he immersed himself in his studies, spent his spare time on bringing his language skills up to par, and tried not to think of home.
Besides a weekly letter from his mother, Draco had no contact with England. That was how he wanted it. He didn't need distractions. He didn't want any links to the past. His only way to move on was to look forward, not back. In fact, he and his mother had agreed that she would come to see him over Christmas, rather than the other way around. He didn't want to be there without Lucius, with the memories still fresh in his mind of the past Christmas, with Voldemort and his Death Eaters there. Narcissa had agreed.
"Praising what is lost
Makes the remembrance dear."
November, 1998
Of course, fate would never allow him such peace. In early November, just as he had settled into his studies, and felt comfortable with the language, he received his usual weekly owl from home. Except there was nothing usual about it.
Dear Draco:
It is with sadness and not a small amount of bitter regret that I am writing this to you. I know we had discussed Christmas, and the possibility of my joining you up there, but I am hoping that you will reconsider coming home.
I wouldn't ask this of you, knowing that you need to be away right now, but the Ministry ... well, there's no easy way to tell you this ... they are taking away the Manor. They feel that it will serve as a warning to others not to go down the same road your father had done, and according to our solicitors, there is nothing we can do to prevent it happening.
I have done all that I can to delay the inevitable, but they will not put this off any longer. They were going to take it immediately, but our lawyers prevented that from happening. I also called in a favour from a rather influential wizard, in order that we may remain here over Christmas. But come January, the Ministry will move in, and we will need to leave.
If you come home for the holidays, you can pack up what you wish to keep, and I can take it to our property in the south of France where I will be living. I, like you, have seen enough of England lately. I need to leave. If you cannot make it, I will have all of your belongings packed and sent on ahead to France, and I will join you up there. But I would appreciate it if we could spend just one more Christmas in our home.
Love, Mother.
Draco dropped the parchment on the ground, placing his head in his hands. He wanted to scream, but hadn't the energy. This was it then. The final nail in the coffin of the Malfoy family, so to speak. The Ministry wasn't satisfied with the death of his father. It wasn't enough. Blood wasn't enough. They needed to wipe out the family name and anything that served as a reminder of the greatness it had represented for generations.
Draco almost forgot to breathe as he realized he had no home. No history. No heritage. No grounding. He was at a loss as to how he should feel. He had always had the Manor. It was the single most defining link to his past. It was always there. Would always be there. After Voldemort and his Death Eaters had left, he and his mother had done their best to erase the memories of their presence. Draco had just started to feel at home again when he had left for school. He hadn't been worried at the time because he knew that he'd have the chance later. But now he wouldn't. He would never be able to call it home again.
He wrote back to his mother, assuring her that he would spend this Christmas with her at the Manor. Their last one there. He had no choice in the matter. He resisted the urge to write to the Ministry, recalling with bitterness the responses he had received the last time. He further resisted the urge to return home right away. He knew it wouldn't help, and he really needed to focus on his studies.
The curriculum at Durmstrang was a bit different, and he hadn't found his classes quite as easy as he had hoped they would be. Then again, as he thought back, he had been rather preoccupied in sixth year, and seventh year hadn't exactly been educational in the traditional sense of the word. He grimaced as he realized that McGonagall had probably done him a favour, turning him down. He may not have friends here, but he also didn't have distractions - Narcissa's letters notwithstanding.
December 1998
Draco reluctantly returned to his home to spend the holidays with his mother. She had greeted him with a wistful look and unshed tears in her eyes.
"I left everything the way it was before you left, dear. I didn't want you returning to a place that already looked ransacked."
"Thank you," he said sincerely. He appreciated the gesture, even as he knew it was temporary. After all, Malfoys were experts at putting on facades. Why should things be any different now?
He hadn't been home an hour when one of the house elves announced the arrival of Harry Potter to see Master Malfoy. Merlin's beard, could it get any worse?
"What do you want, Potter?" he said through gritted teeth as he entered the sitting room.
"Nice to see you too, Malfoy."
"Oh, forgive me, Potter. Where are my manners? Shall I wish you a Happy Christmas while I'm at it, on the eve of us losing our family home? Terribly sorry, Potter, but this is the best I can do. Just tell me what you want and get out."
"I'm sorry --"
"Save it. You're not sorry at all. If you were sorry, you wouldn't have shown up the minute I arrived home to gloat. That is why you're here, isn't it? To see me in all my glory, about to lose the most important thing in my life besides my parents? To see the downfall of the Malfoy family? Well, sorry to disappoint. The Manor will go, but we will carry on. But if you don't mind, I'd rather get on with my life without you in it."
Draco was pleased to see Potter squirming. Good! Serves him right, coming here.
"Actually, I have something for you," he said, pulling out a box from inside his robes.
Narcissa chose that moment to enter the room. "Good day, Mr Potter. To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"
Draco resisted rolling his eyes. Honestly, his mother didn't have to pretend to like Potter, for Merlin's sake. "Apparently, he's brought me something." Draco took the box. "Then he's leaving."
Was that disappointment on Potter's face? What was he expecting anyway, a warm greeting? It's not like they were friends or even casual acquaintances. They hated each other. It was the natural order of things. How it always was. How it would always be.
"I would have owled it to you, but I thought it too important for that."
"And you couldn't have left it with my mother?" Narcissa shot him her classic don't be rude glare, but he ignored it.
"I thought it deserved the personal touch."
"Well, now I'm intrigued, Potter. What is it?"
"Just open it."
Draco opened the box to see ... "Is this my --"
"Your wand, yes," Potter said. He smiled hesitantly as he continued, "And a memory from Professor Snape that I thought you might want to see."
"I would thank you, Potter, but it's rather hard for me to be thankful when it was my wand to begin with, not to mention I've lost nearly everything, and this house ... well, it's my link to everything in my past."
He stopped before he got emotional. It wouldn't do to seem weak in front of the bloody hero, would it? Bad enough he'd bested him all throughout school, had proven his family was on the wrong side of the war, then had the nerve to save him - twice, no less! No, he would not be giving Potter any more power over him. He'd had enough of that.
Potter looked at Narcissa and Draco. "I tried to make them see reason. I explained everything, but it was no better than talking to a brick wall. The powers that be are determined to see you out of your home, and it seems there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. I think they feel that it's the ultimate way of removing the Malfoy name from the wizarding world."
"Well that's just fucking wonderful," Draco grumbled.
"Draco!" Narcissa admonished him.
"It's alright, Mrs Malfoy. I don't expect either of you to be happy about the situation. I just wanted to return Mal-Draco's wand. I should be going now."
"Mr Potter, you don't have to --"
"Please call me Harry," he interrupted. "And yes, I do have to leave. You have only a couple weeks left in your home. You don't need me or anyone else interfering with what should be a time for you to be together, as a family. I'll be on my way."
"Thank you," said Narcissa.
"For what?" Harry asked. "I wasn't able to do much."
"I know that, but you tried." She gave him a wistful smile. "And you managed to buy us this much time, and for that I am thankful."
"You did that?" Draco asked, dumbfounded. Potter nodded. When his mother had mentioned an influential wizard, he'd never dreamt that she'd been referring to Potter.
"You saved my life," Potter reminded Narcissa. "I hardly think this is worth --"
"Nevertheless, Mr Potter. Harry. This is worth more than you know. Now, be gracious, accept my thanks as the sincere gesture it is meant to be, and perhaps our paths shall cross again."
Harry smiled briefly. "You're welcome. I'm only sorry I couldn't do more."
"So am I," Narcissa agreed. She turned to glare at Draco.
"Thank you for returning my wand, Potter," he said as graciously as he could muster. He was still in shock that Potter, of all people, had helped him and his mother hold onto the manor over Christmas.
"No need to thank me. It's yours, after all." Draco gave his mother a smug look as Potter walked out the door.
"Potter!" Draco called to his retreating form. As Potter turned, he asked, "Why the memory?"
"Watch it and you'll see," he said enigmatically before walking away.
It was days before Draco watched the memory of his former professor. He had spent the first day back gathering up his belongings that he would take back to Durmstrang with him, and advising the house elves which to send to France. The remaining days before Christmas he had spent visiting each room in the Manor, replaying all the events of his life that he could recall.
There were many good times, so many more than the bad. Times spent with his parents, with his friends. Celebrations, games, times spent out on the grounds. It was here that he first learned to fly. Here that his love of potions was first discovered. He had even had his first kiss here. So many firsts. It was here that he listened to stories about his family's history and the wizarding world's history. It was his link to the past in so many ways.
When his own memories got to be too much, he remembered the glass bottle with the shimmering liquid that Potter had given him. Retrieving it from his room, he made his way to his father's study, and removed Lucius's Pensieve from its shelf, placing it on the desk. He emptied Snape's memory into the stone basin and leaned in.
Hours later, Narcissa found him in the same spot, staring out the window.
"Is everything alright, dear?" she asked.
"He risked his life to save me," Draco said quietly, not bothering to turn around.
"Who?"
"Professor Snape."
"Ahh," she said, a noticeable lack of surprise in her voice.
"You knew?"
"Of course I knew. He took the Unbreakable Vow for me, to protect you." She looked at the Pensieve, then back at him with confusion. "Isn't that what you meant?"
"No," Draco replied, returning the confused look. "He ... he was working with Dumbledore to protect me."
"Ah, yes, Dumbledore always did have a tendency to want to save people all the time."
Draco snorted. "It's a Gryffindor thing, I'm sure." Still smiling, he thought about Potter and Dumbledore and Snape and his parents. All of them risked so much to save him. His parents he understood. Even Snape, now that he knew his mother had made him take an Unbreakable Vow. But Potter? Why did he risk his own life to save Draco's, when Draco was trying to take him to Voldemort? Well, okay, Draco had already changed his own allegiance by then and had wanted Potter to win, but Potter didn't know that. And Dumbledore? He knew all year that it had been Draco trying to kill him, and even he had wanted to save him. Yes, it must be a Gryffindor thing.
Then he thought about the other Gryffindors. Even Weasley and Granger were headed out of the Room of Hidden Things when Potter turned back. Draco recalled the weasel screaming at Potter for doing it, even when he came back for Goyle. No, it wasn't just about being a Gryffindor. There was something more. Everyone knew that about Dumbledore, but Potter? Draco had always believed what his father had told him about the Boy Who Lived, that it was sheer luck he was alive at all. Much as it pained him to admit it, if only to himself, Draco realized that there really was something special about Potter.
With a shudder, he returned to the present to find his mother still talking about Dumbledore and his antics through the years.
"Mother, if you'll excuse me, I have a letter to write," he interrupted her and left.
In his own room, Draco recalled the impromptu visit Potter had made just days before. He had said that he wanted to deliver the package in person, but why? Draco had been sure at the time he'd wanted to gloat, but now he wasn't convinced that was the case at all. And Snape's memory ... how did Potter get it? And why did he give it to Draco?
He pulled out a piece of parchment, trying to think of the words to convey what he was thinking, what he was feeling. He desperately wanted answers, but he didn't want to begin some form of correspondence with a person with whom he'd never even had a civil conversation.
Potter,
Thank you. For everything.
DM
It was the best he could do. Even a thick Gryffindor like Potter would understand. Satisfied, Draco sent his owl off to deliver the letter.
It was a bittersweet holiday that year. There were no guests, no parties. Every year, his parents threw a gala for New Year's, and everyone that was anyone would attend. Well, not last year, Draco thought wryly. Of course, in the middle of a war it might not have been prudent, what with the Dark Lord and his minions taking up residence at the Manor. But now? Now Draco doubted there was anyone left to invite that would accept. Just one more reminder of what had changed, how the Malfoys had fallen from grace, what would never again be as it should be. The very reason he hadn't wanted to come home for the holidays this year.
Faced with the realization that this would be his last Christmas and New Year in his family's home, Draco found the lack of celebration to be a bitter pill to swallow indeed.
The next day, a strange owl delivered a letter to Draco.
Draco,
You're welcome. I know things are difficult for you now, and I thought you might appreciate knowing that there are people who think you're worth saving.
Good luck at Durmstrang.
Harry.
P.S. Did your mother make you send that owl?
Draco hadn't wanted a reply, which was the reason for his short note. But damn Potter if he didn't have to reply to this one now. Stupid git.
Potter,
Since when are we on a first-name basis? I don't recall that discussion.
No, my mother didn't make me write to you. I meant it. The wand, the memory, and the battle. All of it. I won't say it again, but I did mean it. I will admit that it was good to hear that someone besides my parents thought I was worth something. It's a shame they're all dead now.
Durmstrang? They're lucky to have me. Without the ever-present annoyance that Gryffindors are, I'm sure I will excel at everything. I don't need luck.
DM
The day before he was to return to school, Potter's owl delivered another note.
Draco,
I can't think of you as 'Malfoy' any more. I stopped thinking of you that way during the war. To me, that's your father. And you are not your father. You'll just have to get used to it.
Merlin help them, Durmstrang doesn't know what they're in for!
Harry.
P.S. I'm not dead. I think you're worth something too.
Well shit. Hell had officially frozen over. Golden Boy thought that he was worth something.
"Kindness, nobler ever than revenge."
January 1999
The new year found Draco focussed heavily on his studies. As he had told Potter, he didn't need luck. He was smart, attentive and he worked hard. It was true what he had said; without distractions, he was at the top of his class.
Near the end of the month, Professor Bukhalov, the Potions Master at Durmstrang approached him.
"What are you planning to do when you leave school?" he asked.
"I have no definite plans. I'll sit my N.E.W.T. exams and look for an apprentice position, I suppose."
"In potions, I presume?"
"Definitely. I had hoped to open my own apothecary some day, but I would need to get my qualifications first."
"So you are planning to do that back in England?" Bukhalov asked.
"I'm not so sure about England," Draco admitted. He had been thinking about his future lately, and had come to the conclusion that he might have an easier time of things outside of England. He had, of course, always imagined his apprenticeship being with Snape. They had even discussed it a few times, and though there were never formal arrangements made, he'd never considered anything else. But now that Snape was gone, he had to find someone else willing to take on an apprentice. More specifically, someone willing to take on a Malfoy as an apprentice.
"I thought perhaps I would join my mother in France, and try for an apprenticeship there."
"Would you consider remaining here?"
"Here?"
"Yes, here. I am an old man, and could use an assistant. You might take your apprenticeship with me, and assist with my classes."
Draco was stunned. Never had he considered teaching as a vocation. He needed someone to take him on as an apprentice, and working for Bukhalov would certainly be a challenge. He was almost, if not as, accomplished a Potions Master as Snape. To refuse would probably be imprudent.
"Is this a job offer?"
"Think of it more as something to consider," Bukhalov suggested. "If you are interested, I have a second-year student who needs some help with Potions. She is a bright girl, but somehow the complexity of potion making escapes her. You could tutor her, and we could see where that leads."
"I don't know what to say."
"Generally yes or no would be appropriate," Bukhalov joked. "Give it a few days. Think about it, and let me know."
"No," Draco replied, making a hasty decision.
"Ah," Bukhalov said, sounding disappointed. "You don't wish to stay?"
"No," Draco repeated. "I mean no, I don't need a few days. Yes, I will work with the girl. Second year, you say?"
"Yes," he responded, looking pleased. "Her name is Katja Petkov. She is quite brilliant actually. I don't know what it is about potions that she doesn't understand. Perhaps she would respond better to someone younger."
"I will do my best."
Bukhalov smiled. "I know you will. And I think you will be surprised at how well you do. There is something about you that I see, that I am not sure you do."
"What's that?"
"A spark. You have it in your eyes whenever you are trying to figure out a difficult concept with potions. I can sense your love of the art, and I think that will make you a good teacher."
Draco thought about what Bukhalov had said all that evening. A teacher. He kept picturing Snape complaining about the students, and had to laugh. If you could see me now, he thought.
February 1999 - June 2001
As it turned out, Bukhalov had been correct in his assessment of Draco. He had taken to teaching like a fish to water. It came so naturally to him, it didn't even feel like work. He was able to discern that Katja's past was preventing her from applying herself in Potions. A great uncle of hers had died while concocting his own potion, when he had combined two volatile agents that had exploded. He had been knocked unconscious, and without anyone else present, the mixture had eaten away at him until there was little left but bone.
In an attempt to ensure his daughter's safety, Katja's father had told her the gruesome tale, in all its gory detail, and told her to be very careful. Unfortunately, it had instilled such fear in the girl that she couldn't bring herself to concentrate in class, for fear that something would happen.
Draco, familiar with fear as a motivator, had spoken to her rationally about the situation. He had investigated and found out what exactly had been used by her uncle, and had been able to discern that he had been foolhardy at best, or completely incompetent at worst. He doubted that even Potter could have done something so stupid. He explained to her the basics of potions, and described the more volatile compounds she would be working with during her time at school. He had her read various texts, and explain to him what would make some ingredients dangerous, while others remained harmless.
Once she had a good grasp of the basics, she happily participated, and indeed excelled at her classes. By the end of her second year, she was in the top of the class, and Draco couldn't have been more pleased.
He sat his exams, and received stellar results both at Durmstrang, where he needed to pass in order to remain there to work, and back at the Ministry in England, where he was determined to succeed, whether or not he decided to return.
Draco became Bukhalov's apprentice, and the Assistant Potions Professor at Durmstrang. He taught one first year and one second year class per week, and conducted tutorial labs for those interested. He helped with lesson plans and marking, and provided tutorial services for senior students, or those that needed extensive help like Katja had. It was with amusement that he imagined how much better Potter would have done in Potions, had he the opportunity to attend such tutorials.
Over the two years, the assistance he provided to Bukhalov freed up the professor's time enough that he could dedicate time to Draco's lessons, which were both challenging and frustrating.
Not one to give up, Draco persevered and managed to get past the obstacles presented to him along the way. It was with great satisfaction that at the end of the two years, he presented Bukhalov with a potion of his own design.
"And what will this do?" Bukhalov asked, beaming with pride.
"I am hoping that it will restore some brain function for those suffering long-term damage from the Cruciatus Curse."
Bukhalov looked stunned. "What? But ... but wizards have tried for years ... how ... why?"
Draco was very pleased indeed. It was a rare occasion that found his Potions Master speechless.
"It will not repair all the damage. I believe that is something that may never happen, although I would like to continue my work in this area. I believe that the memories are still there, just blocked by something. Scar tissue, perhaps. I've read about that in some healing texts, and I think it might relate to damage caused by the curse. I can't be sure, of course. But from all the research I have done, I believe we just need to reawaken that part of the brain. And I believe this may do it. Of course, I haven't tested this yet, but in theory it should work."
"But if it doesn't cure the person, what would be the point?"
"Though they may never be fully-functioning again, I believe this will enable them to communicate with others. I should think the families would appreciate the ability to speak with their loved ones again." Draco thought, as he often did, about his aunt's victims, the Longbottoms. If he could help them ... well, he was getting ahead of himself.
Bukhalov slapped Draco on the back so hard, he almost fell over. "Well, well," he said, "this calls for a drink!"
"We don't even know if it works," Draco said, trying to suppress a grin.
"If you developed this, it will work." He winked and smiled at Draco as he placed a bottle of vodka and two glasses on the table. "Maybe not this version, maybe not now, but it will work. For you, it will work."
Draco couldn't imagine receiving higher praise than that.
July 2001
"It is with both joy and sadness that this day has come," Bukhalov said to Draco. "You have completed your apprenticeship, and I couldn't be more proud if you were my own son." He pulled Draco into a hug such that he had never remembered receiving, not even from his own father.
"Thank you," Draco said once he had been released. "But why sadness?"
"I no longer have an excuse to keep you here," he answered. "You are free now to return home."
"Home?" Draco asked. "But I have no home. Not any more. This is my home now." What was Bukhalov going on about?
"Now, Draco, you and I both know that is not true. This is not your home. It never was. Your heart is still in England. You needed to take some time away, but now ... now you need to return."
"But ... but what will I do when I get there?"
Bukhalov chuckled. "What happened to the young man that wanted to open an apothecary?"
Draco thought about that question. What had happened to that young man? He smiled as he realized the answer.
"I discovered teaching," he said. "I still want to develop my own potions, but ... well, I want to continue teaching."
"Well then, that's settled. I may be old, but I'm not yet ready to retire. So, you must seek your fortune elsewhere."
His words hit Draco like a punch in the stomach. He had become so comfortable here. It was safe here. People liked him, respected him, valued his opinion. He didn't think he could face his past again. Not yet.
"I'm not ready," he said. "I don't want to go back. No one wants me there anyway." He tried to keep the pain out of his voice as he uttered that last sentence, but he wasn't so sure he succeeded.
"Ah, but there you are wrong," Bukhalov said. "I have it under good authority that your skills are wanted back in your native England. In fact, I have a letter here to prove it." He handed Draco a piece of parchment.
Dear Professor Bukhalov,
It was with great pleasure that I received your latest correspondence. As I mentioned in my letter to you several years ago, despite the issues preventing his return to Hogwarts, Mr Malfoy, prior to his sixth year, was an exemplary student here at Hogwarts, and our former Potions Master Severus Snape never spoke more highly of a student in all my years working with him.
I am delighted that you found his apprenticeship as satisfying as I am sure he did. Potions was always a passion of his, and I know that he had planned to apprentice for Professor Snape before his untimely death.
Now that he has completed his training, has teaching experience with you, and most importantly, time has passed, I wonder if you would consider recommending him for a teaching position at his old school. Our current Potions Master, Horace Slughorn, graciously came out of retirement a few years back at Albus Dumbledore's request, but he has decided that he prefers the easy life, and wishes to retire for good now. I should like to extend an interview to Mr Malfoy, if you think he is ready.
I look forward to hearing back from you soon.
Yours most sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"I thought you would want to know in advance. I sent her my recommendation earlier today. You should expect a letter shortly."
Draco was stunned into silence.
"Shall I take your silence to mean that you will be accepting the position?"
Draco nodded and returned to his room.
Part 2