ACA: Chapter 25 and 26

Chapter 25

“Not everything that is faced can be changed. But nothing can be changed until it is faced.”

~ James Baldwin

Draco,

            I had hoped for good news from you, but if your last letter is any indication, things have gone from bad to worse. As disappointed as I am with you, I still harbored some hope that you at least would strive to restore our name in good faith. Getting intimate with the Granger girl was not what I had in mind. You know how much we have suffered. Our names, the Blacks and the Malfoys alike, have been tarnished by decisions our foolish ancestors made. Do not be like them Draco. I know I have never been one to uphold the pureblood flag around you, but this time, I’m afraid you have overstepped. Friendship might have been tolerated, Draco, but this intimacy is unacceptable. Even if I acknowledge her, do you really think the Wizarding community will welcome this union with open arms? You have already suffered enough, son, don’t bring more bad will on your spirit. Do what you must for now, but after Hogwarts, I expect you to stick to tradition and choose someone worthy. I do not mean to be harsh love, but its time someone acted responsibly. Your father has already paid in full for his thoughtlessness. I don’t want you, Draco, to meet a crueler fate. Please see reason.

With love,

Mother

Draco closed his eyes and bit his lips to keep the frustration at bay. He should have expected this, but he had still hoped that his mother would understand. Narcissa had never been one to deny him anything. It was partially the reason why he was so spoiled. But, he sighed, this might have been one time too many. At least he knew she didn’t despise the girl, despite snuffing her for her lower birth.

He wasn’t angry at her. Far from it, he felt guilty for ruining her Christmas and giving her another cause to worry. He hated when his mother worried, now more than ever. He supposed he would end up making her happy nevertheless, although he couldn’t even begin to imagine her reaction if he told her his reasons.

Sighing, he folded the letter back in its envelope and hid it in his trunk for good measure. He never wanted Hermione to find it. His mother’s gray owl was already making to leave. He stroked its soft head, tying a small package to its outstretched leg. Then he carried it to the window and watched it take off to the grey skies, taking with it his Christmas present for his mother.

**

Christmas at the Weasleys was a grand affair. Draco still couldn’t figure how this family managed to squeeze in so many people in their humble home. But no one complained about the cramped space. There was a smile on everyone’s lips. Laughter rolled through every room t all decorated with Christmas festoons. The old tree stood in the center of the living room, its top brushing the ceiling, and it was decorated in every imaginable Christmas décor possible. The girls had even hung colorful streamers around it. It was a far cry from the stoic tree back at the manor that Draco was used to. He found he liked this cheerful atmosphere better.

“Crumpet?” Hermione asked, holding a tray out for him. They had been passing food on platters, seeing there was hardly any room for everyone at the table.

He took one and bit in, smiling at the sweet taste. “Aren’t your parents coming?” he asked as she dug into her second.

“Professor Lupin’s gone to get them,” she said. “They should be here any second-“

And no sooner had the words escaped her then the green puff of the hearth spit out three people. Her parents blinked around in amazement as a horde of Weasley’s attacked them, shouting “Merry Christmas!” Hermione, laughing, went to her parent’s defense before her mother, who looked a little green, passed out from the sudden excitement.

“Looks like you won’t catch her alone for some time,” Harry teased him and Draco had the decency to laugh.

He had come to know the Boy-Who-Lived better over the break and found he very much enjoyed his company. He wasn’t at all how Draco had expected him to be. He was witty and charming and knew how to lighten the mood. He didn’t jump into situations as much as before and it was mighty hard getting him angry these days. Draco supposed the war had changed him and made him a better man, not that he was complaining. He was far more comfortable around Potter than any of the Weasleys.

“Professor Snape’s here-“

Draco looked up in time to see the professor step through the hearth, brushing his elegant black robes and looking as stoic as ever. It was common knowledge that Severus Snape disliked large crowds-especially large happy crowds. He caught the man’s eye and mouthed a Merry Christmas, which Snape returned with a nod and a tiny smile of his own.

As usual, the men and ladies parted ways, one group giggling away to the kitchen and the other grouping off to the living area. Draco followed Potter as he listened to Weasley rattling off the latest Quidditch scores. He was going on and on about the Cannons, a team Draco had never harped for.

They settled down on the couches, Draco some distance away, and he promptly tuned himself out, focusing instead on the intense chatter between Severus and Arthur about the goings on at the Ministry. It was easy for Draco to follow their conversation, having grown up in a politically tense environment. His father, strict as always, had made sure Draco was perfectly presentable in any sort of company before he even turned seven. In some ways, Draco was grateful for the man’s harsh parenting, but in others, he wished he had had more of a heart.

“-co? Hello, you there?”

Potter’s voice jerked Draco back. “Sorry, what?”

Potter gave him a half-amused look as he said, “We were just talking about Quidditch-I know you follow it.”

“Um, yeah, I like to keep up. Why?”

“Who’re you rooting for?” He picked up a slice of pie from the platter Weasley was passing around and the red-head offered the plate to Draco, who managed to decline politely. Food was the last thing on his mind right now.

“Not the Cannons,” he casually replied, giving Weasley a small smile. “Although they’re not doing so bad this year.”

“I know what you mean,” Weasley gravely replied, “It’s all because of their new beater-Grimweld. Did you know that man used to be on the WWT?”

Draco laughed. “No shite?”

“I’m serious! Just look at his arms!”

“What are we talking about? What’s WWT?” a very confused Potter asked.

“Wizard’s Wrestling Tournament,” replied Weasley while Draco reigned himself in. He hadn’t laughed that hard in ages.

“Hang on, so you’re saying the Cannons recruited a wrestler for professional Quidditch?”

“He’s not that bad,” Weasley defended, “And he can really swing that bat-you’ve seen him, Harry. Tell him!”

“He’s good,” Potter admitted, “But you never answered our question.”

“Oh, what the team? Um, I like the Netherland Podwells-“

“The Netherlands?” Ron shrieked, “But they’re in the bottom ten!”

Draco shrugged. “Yeah, but Father used to support them and…well, I’ve got good memories from their games.”

Draco saw Potter’s eyes narrow a fraction and he quickly turned away. He knew how perceptive Potter could be, especially at reading other people, but there were some things Draco just didn’t want to share with anyone, no matter how much he had come to accept them.

“Harry likes the Irish, don’t you?” Ron teased, sensing their tension.

“What? Oh, yeah. Their’s was the first match I saw, against the Bulgarians. Krum was intense. Hey, do you still have the…”

Draco tuned them out again, having drained his niceties for now. He felt tired. His mind wandered and he drifted back to the Quidditch games he had gone with his father. Lucious had always been a Quidditch enthusiast and he never failed to support his favorite team. Draco remembered tagging along to every single game ever since he was five. Sometimes, his mother accompanied them, but mostly it was just him and his father. Over the years, Draco had come to appreciate this boy’s day out, being with just his father. They never really talked much, but his father was only ever relaxed at times like these and sometimes, if Draco was careful not to upset him, he saw glimpses of the man his father had once been: smart, quick, and sarcastic but witty.

They had stopped going to the games when Draco turned twelve. He had known it was because of the Dark Lord’s rise again. Even now, a small part of him longed to go back to the time when he was just with his father, listening to him quip on about the teams. In a way, Draco supposed he did miss him because, evil though he was, Lucious Malfoy still had some space in Draco’s heart. He had once shown him love after all.

“Lost in thought again?”

Draco looked up to see Potter smiling at him in a way that was both understanding and…sad. He dropped his gaze.

“Just thinking…Where’s Weasley?”

“Helping Mrs. Weasley in the attic.”

They sat silent for a time. The other adults had all moved into the kitchen and he could hear their voices, mingled with the delights of the girls’. He sought Hermione’s lilt, smiling as he listened to her argue with Severus about the merits of one potion or the other.

“Is there, uh, something bothering you?” Potter asked and Draco replied easily,

“No.”

But of course Potter saw through his white lie-it was one of the things he hated (admired) most about the boy. “You’re thinking about your father, aren’t you? He’s been sentenced.”

Draco sighed, knowing he couldn’t walk away now. Damn Potter. “He’ll likely get the Kiss, but he’s as good as dead.” Draco picked a cuticle as he spoke softly, almost shyly, “They won’t let me see him, although I’ve tried. Mother saw him just before they put him in the isolation cells. He-he’ll probably be Kissed without having the chance to say good-bye.”

He could feel Potter’s eyes on him, boring into him and peeling every layer. When he spoke, his voice was sincere, though wary. “Do you want me to see if Kingsley can pull some strings?”

He looked up, having expected as much, but startled that Potter was so ready to help him. “Can you do that?”

Potter gave him a thin smile. “A perk of being me, I guess. He’s coming later tonight. I can ask him.”

Draco swallowed thickly. “Yeah…Yeah, I’d like that. Thanks.”

Potter just waved his hand. “Are you going to tell him?”

Draco shrugged. “He’s going to die soon, Potter. Why add my troubles to his?”

“But wouldn’t he-you know-like to know? He’s your father.”

Draco sighed. “Yeah, but he’s not like most fathers. He won’t sympathize if I tell him. He’s always despised weakness.”

Potter scoffed, “No offense, but Lucious never struck me as that strong. He contradicts himself too much.”

Draco laughed quietly. “Yeah, I guess he does…It’s the way he was brought up. My grandfather wasn’t very forgiving and he liked to-to discipline my father.”

Potter’s eyes went wide. “Did he ever hit you?”

“No,” Draco quickly replied and he thought he heard Potter sigh. “Father’s always been better with words. But his time with his own father never left him the same. My grandmother died when he was ten and…well Mother told me that it got worse after that. He only ever got respite after grandfather’s death.”

He looked up at Potter, meeting is intense green stare. “My father isn’t all that bad, Potter. I know he’s done horrible things and he deserves to be punished, but he-he was too far gone by the time he realized what a mess he had tangled us into. He didn’t have a choice-“

“We always have a choice,” Potter cut in, quoting Hermione’s words.

He smiled at the resemblance. “Yeah, you’re right, but…it’s not always easy, is it?”

**

The next morning, the Burrow raged with chaos as its habitant scrambled about packing bags and scattered belongings. Draco, who hadn’t bothered to take everything out of his trunk, was the first one ready. He went down to the girl’s room, leaving the other two to clean up their mess in peace.

“’Mione?” he knocked on the door. “Can I come in?”

It flew open only to reveal Ginny Weasley with a comb in hand. “She’s in the shower,” she smiled, “But she’ll be out. Wait on her bed if you want.”

He stared for a moment before nodding and quickly crossing the room to Hermione’s side. Their room was smaller than the one Draco shared with the boys, but it was far cleaner and it smelled nice. Hermione’s trunk lay open at the foot of her bed, clothes scattered about and half a dozen things waiting to be packed.

“You didn’t go home at all for Christmas, did you?” Weasley asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“No. My mother’s in Germany,” he replied, deciding to stay polite if she was.

“You haven’t told her?”

He shook his head, wishing she would shut up. He didn’t want to think about his mother. He was spared further questions when the bathroom door opened and Hermione stepped out, dressed in a brown bathrobe, her skin pink from the heat.

“Draco!” she smiled. “Packed already?”

He couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah, some of us keep our things tidy so it’s less work.”

“Hey! I was repacking mind you. Mrs. Weasley gave me a bunch of Christmas sweets and I had to make room.”

“You can dump some in my trunk if you want. I’ve room.”

“Seeing as you hardly brought anything-what?” she turned to Ginny who was laughing quietly.

She shook her head. “Nothing it’s just, you guys are bickering like a married couple. It’s kind of cute.”

“What is with girls and “cute”?” Draco groaned. “Pick a different adjective, won’t you?”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with “cute”,” Hermione retorted, picking out her clothes. She thrust the trunk towards him. “Make yourself useful and pack my things while I change.”

And she fluttered back into the bathroom before he could so much as huff. Draco gaped after her.

“See how she uses me?” he complained in a voice loud enough to carry through the closed door. “I feel like her bloody house elf!”

Ginny bit her lip from retorting as he dragged the trunk towards him, reaching down to fold her clothes nevertheless. She watched his reflection in the mirror as she packed her comb, thinking that perhaps he wasn’t half bad after all. She was still a bit put off that Hermione hadn’t chosen her brother, but, being a girl, she could see things from Hermione’s point of view.

And watching the blonde boy carefully tucking in her friend’s things, she understood.

Chapter 26

“When a father gives to his son, both laugh; when a son gives to his father, both cry.”

~ William Shakespeare

 “Draco.”  Draco looked up to see Potter coming down the stairs, levitating his trunk behind him. “I’ve talked to Kingsley,” he said as he set the trunk down.

Draco nodded. “And?”

“And he’s arranged a visit for today.”

Draco couldn’t hide his surprise. “Really? But the school year-“

“He’s taken care of that too.”

“Wow that’s-Potter I-“ Draco began, but Potter held up his hand with an amused smile.

“Save it, Draco. If someone hears you thanking me, they’ll die of shock.”

Draco smirked. “Right. Well, where am I to meet him?”

“We’re flooing to the ministry and then he’ll take us to Azkaban.”

“Us?”

Potter nodded. “Part of Kinsley’s deal was I accompany you.

“Oh.” Draco wasn’t sure whether he wanted Potter to tag along, but he had delivered hadn’t he?

**

They saw the rest off to the station.

“What will you say to him?” Hermione asked after they’d loaded their trunks.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in so long, I wonder if we’ll have anything to say.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a comforting hug. “Well whatever happens, don’t let him get to you, alright?”

Draco smirked, “Alright…mother,” and earned himself a rightful smack.

**

“Ready to go?” Harry asked as they stood outside the Men’s toilet.

Taking a deep breath, Draco nodded. He followed Harry inside and they each got in line in the queue of men. There couldn’t be a more disgusting way to travel, Draco thought as he stepped into the bowl, grimacing, and quickly pulled the flush.

The hearth spit them out in green flames and they merged with the throng of Ministry workers, heading towards the fountain where Harry spotted Kingsley.

“Harry,” the Minister greeted him with a smile and then sent a nod in Draco’s direction. “I’ve arranged an hour. Loyd will accompany you and then bring you back.”

A wiry wizard who carried a large set of keys gave them a toothless smile, which the boys meekly returned.

“This way Mr. Potter,” Lolyd beckoned. They followed him into a side building and down a set of winding, narrow stairs.

“I thought we were flooing to Azkaban,” Draco whispered when they paused for the elevator.

Harry shrugged. “I think Kingsley brought your father to the ministry for the visit.”

Grateful as Draco was to learn he wouldn’t have to endure the glum atmosphere of Azkaban, he thought it was cruel to give a dying man a taste of what he had lost.

“Through here’s the prisoner,” Loyd said, unlocking a heavy set of doors. “I’ll be waiting outside till the time’s up.”

They nodded and Harry followed Draco into the dimly lit room. Even for a basement, it was comfortably furnished. There were no windows but several candles floating above shed decent light. Draco searched the room and his breath caught in his throat when he saw cool, grey eyes surveying him from the back wall.

“Father,” he hoarsely called, attempting a thin smile. He glanced at Harry, who stood back and gave him a small nod.

Draco made his way slowly towards the silent man, dreading the sight. By the golden candlelight, Draco traced the worn features of what once had been a fine face. His father’s bloodshot eyes bore tiredly into him, his fine lips, though chapped, pursed into a thin line, still maintaining the aristocratic air. He had grown thin and stooped. His long hair, once lustrous and silky, hung limp.

“Father, how-how are you?” he whispered, sitting on the edge of the armchair across from him.

“Why are you here?” Lucious gruffly asked, still staring at his son with blank eyes.

“I was able to arrange a visit. They wouldn’t let me visit you before…” he wrung his hands nervously and dropped his gaze, giving in to the emotions he had masked for so long. “I’ve missed you, father.”

Lucious didn’t reply, but he turned his gaze to the back wall, seeming to see Draco yet not seeing him at all. Draco babbled on.

“Mother’s doing alright now. She’s…she’s recovered. But it’s not the same without you, Father. She still cries sometimes-“

“Why are you here, Draco?” Lucious asked again and this time, Draco detected the slight tremor that wasn’t there before.

“I-I wanted to see you.” Draco searched his father’s eyes, wanting to see some sign of warmth-of longing-but only blank, red eyes stared back. He looked away. “If you don’t want to see me, I’ll go-I understand.” And he made to get up, but Lucious’ voice stopped him.

“Sit,” he commanded and Draco stilled. He could feel the grey eyes surveying him, studying him. “Are you attending Hogwarts?”

Draco nodded, inwardly sighing with relief. “Yes.”

“And you have plans for the future?”

He shrugged. “Yes.”

They sat in silence again and Draco traced the pattern in the carpet till Lucious broke the silence.

“I hope Narcissa isn’t coddling you. I may be in Azkaban, but I know the state of the Wizarding world. Are you still on terms with your housemates?”

Draco sighed, knowing he couldn’t avoid the confrontation. “Things have changed, Father. My relations with-with a lot of people aren’t the same anymore and I doubt things will ever go back to the way they once were.”

“So our name has fallen out of favor,” Lucious bitterly stated and shook his head.

“Does it really matter anymore?” Draco whispered, his fingers fisting the knee of his pants. “Is it so bad that things have changed for the better?”

Lucious huffed, “For the better? You think intermingling with mudbloods and squibs is for the better? I thought you were a bright boy, Draco, but I’ve sired nothing but a fool. As well you might be, since I married that useless woman!”

Draco closed his eyes, trying to quell his anger as his father went on a tirade. His parent’s relationship had suffered during the war and after Narcissa’s betrayal reached Lucious, he had refused to see her.

Draco wished he would forgive and forget, but his father had always harbored tremendous pride for all the wrong reasons and he wasn’t about to forget his humiliation anytime soon. So Draco let him rage on and he listened, wondering how he could have been so blind as to worship the very ground this man had walked on.

When Lucious finally paused for breath, Draco spoke, “Mother’s suffered a great deal. I know you don’t approve of what she did, but she did it to protect me. If there is anyone you should blame, it is me. I’m sorry, father.”

Lucious didn’t reply. He simply stared and Draco, embarrassed by his outburst, hung his head, thinking that surely his father despised him now.

“You’ve changed,” his father at last whispered and Draco looked up, giving him a quick smile when he detected no malice.

“I won’t say what happened was right or what we did justified anything, but I don’t regret that the Dark Lord lost….and I know you don’t either, father. “

Lucious closed his eyes with a tired sigh. “The Malfoy name has always harbored respect, Draco. The taint of it now is unbearable.”

Draco smiled sadly at his father who had no idea just how much hate their name invoked now. “I know, father. I’m doing what I can to erase the mark, but it’s hard.”

Lucious snorted. “Your mother’s fled to Germany like the coward she is.”

Although surprised his father knew, Draco hid his emotions well.

“What do you plan to do, Draco? With the war over, you are free to choose your path. Have you thought about your future at all?”

Draco didn’t immediately reply. He studied his hands, trying to fabricate an answer that his father would buy.

“I’ve thought about going to Germany after Hogwarts. They have better prospects there in potions and Arthimancy.”

“So you’ve dropped your ridiculous notion of being an Auror?”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh shortly. “Yes, I’m sure you’re relieved.”

“I never saw much sense in suicide...Don’t throw your life away Draco. You’re the sole heir to our name now. I don’t want to see you waste this life away.”

And Draco, who was an expert at reading between the lines, understood his father’s message: Don’t make the same mistakes I did.

“I won’t, father,” he quietly replied.

A part of his heart brimmed with love for this man who had the humility in him to acknowledge his wrongdoings-albeit in a round-about way. It gave Draco hope that perhaps his father wasn’t as heartless as they all thought-that there was still some chance to salvage his soul and save him from the madness many of the Dark Lord’s followers succumbed to.

“Will you write to me?” he asked, licking his lips and praying his father wouldn’t get mad at his weak plea.

Lucious blinked. “Write to you?”

“I’d like to…keep in touch-know how you’re doing. I’ll be able to tell you what’s going on…if you’d like.”

When Lucious continued to stare, Draco looked away, trying to hide the heat that rose to his cheeks. “I’m sorry, father. I’m being a nuisance.”

A loud knock on the door announced the end of their visit. Draco looked at his father, whose eyes hadn’t left him. He knew this could probably be the last time he ever laid eyes on this man. He tried to quell the tremors in his arm as he extended it.

“Father,” he whispered, unable to hide the emotion in his voice, “I-I’ll miss you.”

Lucious glanced at his trembling hand, his grey eyes wincing with an emotion Draco couldn’t place, before he clasped him by the wrist and pulled him into his arms. Draco gasped when his father’s long arms, strong and warm despite the months in Azkaban, embraced him tightly.

He closed his eyes and buried his face against his father’s shoulder, inhaling his musky scent. He could feel his father’s breath on his neck, deep and unsteady. His fingers caressed his back briefly, one arm snaking up to touch the back of his head.

“I’ll write,” Lucious hoarsely whispered against his ear before loosening his hold.

Draco stood, blinking fast to control the tears that rose to his eyes. He nodded once, not trusting himself to speak, before he gave his father’s hand one last squeeze.

Lucious said not a word more when Draco turned to leave, but he didn’t try to hide his moist eyes, his gaze following his son until he disappeared through the door.