Chapter Text
Draco Malfoy fell into a remembrance on a warm July day.
He was in his mother’s garden. The green grass was tickling his neck as he laid upon the endless expanse of it. He couldn’t help but run his palms over the perfectly cut bristles. The garden of Malfoy Manor was nothing if not perfect, with the pounding sun and the hum of honey-bees as they explored clusters of pink roses and vivid lavender.
His mother liked days like this; just the two of them in the house, or more importantly, out of it. She liked the garden. It was a world of dirt and growing things, of beauty and thorns, and of tea-sets and white umbrellas. It reminded her of her childhood in Somerset. Summer at Black Abbey, with her two sisters — his aunts, Bellatrix and Andromeda, the barely-known and the never-known.
Maybe it happens because he’s thinking of the Abbey and the Cosmoscope again. He’s only been back once since the summer started, since the school year ended. For some reason, he hasn’t been able to stomach it. But when he dozes off in the warmth of an August day, he enters a world where all gardens are one garden, and he dreams himself there.
Warm grass under his fingertips, eyes still heavy from the heat of the day, and the walls of the Black Abbey when it was new, gleaming in the sunlight. The tower wasn’t even finished yet. These were the days when the mason asked the mountains for their stone and carved it out, gleaming white and magic wrought. Back in those days, people had still been calling it the Whitespire; for the gleaming stone, and for the specific birch tree grove at the heart of the forest near where they built the house.
“Whitespire.” He whispers the word to taste it on his tongue, squinting at the half-built heptagonal tower that would someday house the cosmoscope at it’s base.
“It’s calling to you.” Someone told him, and when he turned his head he saw Regulus there, on the grass, a brief moment of insanity that made him jolt at the same moment his mother called for him.
“Draco.” When he blinked his eyes open again he had to squint to see her against the expanse of the sun. He caught sight of her, delicate golden ringlets haloed around her head, the artistry in the light painting her as a goddess of old. “Severus is here. Come and say hello.”
He squinted again, sure enough, Severus was haloed too; standing stark against the blue expanse of the sky. The intense heatwave had rendered his usual outfits swelteringly hot, and even Severus had been forced into shorter sleeves and lighter layers. It made him look softer; younger.
Whatever jolting, unsettled feeling had washed over Draco during his dream slipped away as he came fully into wakefulness, soothed by the sight of the two people he trusted the most in this world.
Draco smiled at the sight of him, which made Severus’s shoulders visibly relax. He stumbled up on coltish legs, stretching to chase the last vestiges of his dozing out of his muscles. “Hello,” he said, obediently.
“You’ve caught the sun.” Severus tells him.
Draco waves it off.
“You’ll freckle if you aren’t careful.” Severus tells him, again, “Like a Weasley.”
Draco huffs at that and goes to where they stand; at the table and the softly pillowed chairs and the delicate white parasol. He sprawls in his chair, and turns his face up to Narcissa, who drops her palm to rub gently over his flushing cheek. She smiled at him, doting and sweet and fond. “I think you’d look adorable with some freckles, darling.”
He wrinkled his nose up and moved his head away as punishment, sparking a laugh from her chest. She didn’t seem to mind it, slipping back into her own chair, somehow looking effortlessly graceful as she leaned with one elbow against the pure white wood.
“You’re both so vexing.” He muttered
“It becomes clearer by the day where you get that from.”
“Hush now,” Narcissa told them both, but her eyes fixed on Severus with a teasing smile. “Draco and I will form a steadfast alliance against you at the drop of a hat, and then you’ll regret your words.”
He fixed Draco with a reproachful look, as if he expected some kind of loyalty.
Draco quirked an amused brow at him. “Steadfast. Alliance.”
He watched as Severus shifted at his mother’s side. Severus was almost a full head taller than Narcissa. He towered over her. She stood straight backed, confident and unflinching, holding herself like a queen. It was her inner strength that made everyone around her seem small in comparison.
“I see I have no recourse but to surrender and apologise.” He muttered, and took a seat at the little table with them.
“Quite.” His mother agreed, happily. Her and Draco nodded their head at much the same time, and broke out in twin smiles.
Severus quizzed him on the latest article published on the use of asphodel petals in potions. Narcissa quizzed Severus from the pages of yesterdays Witch Weekley; Which Crystal Resonates With Your Magical Core?
Draco knows all about the use of asphodel petals.
Severus should incorporate more malachite into his magical practice. The magazine even gave suggestions for how to incorporate gems into your personal style.
“We could get his ears pierced. Malachite earrings would be just darling.”
“Trés chic.” Draco agrees, with a breathy note of laughter.
It was a perfect summer’s day, and Draco was clinging to it with all of his strength.
He needed to savour it while he had it. These moments of pure innocence and happiness.
The afternoon owl post had arrived by the time Draco and his mother forced themselves to return inside. Draco felt sun-sleepy and lightheaded from being outside for too long, and his mother was much the same. She left him sorting through the letters, rubbing a palm through his hair on her way up the grand staircase.
“I’m taking a shower,” She told him, already halfway up.
He hummed his acknowledgement, sorting through the letters and separating out the several that had come for his father. There was one that looked like it was in Mr. Nott’s handwriting, scrawled in the dark ink the man always used. One from Mr. Parkinson too. They must have been planning something. A card game or political play, it could have been either thing.
He placed the letters on the small dish that would be taken to his study. Lucius was away from home at present, having gone to Paris for the day to… Draco wasn’t sure, actually. He hadn’t listened past when Lucius warned them of his absence at breakfast that morning. He and his mother had simply shared a conspiratorial glance, silent agreement that it was going to be a good day.
Things were always more relaxed when the Lord of the Manor was away.
He smiled a savage smile as he saw a letter from Pansy, and a rather thick one from Daphne — they had come to an arrangement, the two of them. He was glad for it now, as he tore into her thick, floral scented envelopes. There was a letter from her, of course, but he let it fall to the desk below him as he grinned down at his real prize. Another sealed set of pages.
“Yes!”
He pocketed the pages, gathering up the rest of his letters and leaving the one that had come for his mother on her tray. His steps were excited as he hurried up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom, grinning all the while.
He thanked the Gods for Daphne, as he closed the door to his bedroom. He thanked the Gods for Daphne, and for the seekers club they had formed last year. It meant that she actually liked Potter enough to play messenger for them.
They all knew that Harry would never be able to write to the manor. His father had been furious when he learned the extent of his sons social connections during third year. He had been strictly forbidden to talk to any of his Gryffindor friends; and Lucius had even informed the elves not to leave any owl post from one of their owls through.
Harry could, however, write to Daphne. Mr. Greengrass was unusually level headed about things like this. They’d always been a particularly liberal family, never dabbling in the dark arts as deeply as some of the families in their circle did. He’d never been involved with the Dark Lord during the war, and somehow he had gotten away with that. Daphne said that her father was just happy she’d made friends who had the same interests as her, so Harry could write, and she would ferry the messages on to Draco.
He fumbled to unwrap the pages, leaving the other letters on the bed beside him.
Draco, He’d written, Your owl fucking bit me.
He found himself smiling, savage and bright, a soft bust of laughter escaping him as he leaned closer to make out the rest of Harry’s scrawling letters. He devoured every scrap of information, as if he were a man long starved.
Lupin had been to visit Harry. To check in on him, and to tell him everything that was going on with Sirius and Pettigrew. Harry said he’d looked exhausted, unsurprising news to Draco, but it had been nice to hear the man was doing well enough beyond that.
Sirius’s story had blown up all over the newspapers as summer began. Extended wrongful imprisonment did wonders to rally public support. There had been articles about Sirius in every newspaper almost every day since Pettigrew’s capture and confession. According to Harry, they were expecting a date for his release ‘any day now’. When Draco flipped the letter around to look for a date, he sees that Harry hadn’t bothered to write one, and ‘any day now’ really could be any day now.
He was on his second re-read of the letter, stuck on a paragraph about how much Harry disliked having to spend time around his muggle family, when the creaking of his door alerted him.
His mother swung it open quickly. Draco stood quickly, too, hiding the pages behind his back on instinct. Narcissa looked at her son. Draco looked back at her. He saw the journey on her face that led her to smile, amused.
“Interesting letter?”
“Yes,” He admitted, in the hopes she wouldn’t pry much further.
She didn’t, because she was the best mother who had ever lived. “Alright, then. Well, your father floo-called to let me know that he would be… extending his trip for another day.” She watched as Draco tidied away his post, and smiled gently at him when he turned back to look at her. She looked soft, today. Hair loose, falling in damp ringlets around her face. “I thought we might dine out for dinner tonight, and I have some business in Diagon Alley tomorrow, if you’d like to come with me?”
Something brightened in Draco’s chest, the familiar feeling of warmth and excitement that came with a night away from his father. “Yes,” He breathed. “I’d like to come with you.”
Her laughter bubbled up quick. “You don’t even know what I’m doing.”
“I’m sure it will be delightful.”
“You need new dress robes.” She told him. “And I need to visit the vaults.”
The first part was normal. The second one made Draco raise an eyebrow. “The Malfoy vaults?”
Their father was usually the only one who went there; and he’d rarely deigned to take Draco with him. Their vaults were full of gold, of course, but beyond that the pride and joy of a pureblood family would always be the collection of things. Dark artefacts, family heirlooms, wands and journals and creations of family members long-gone.
“No, the Black vaults.” Her eyes seemed to gleam at the very idea of it. “Now, get showered and changed for dinner. I’ll make us a reservation.”
Though Draco was full of a hundred different questions, he swallowed them. Pestering her wouldn’t get him anywhere; and besides, Draco trusted his mother to tell him when she was ready to have a conversation about whatever she needed to do. She wouldn’t have asked him to come if she wanted him clueless.
The Malfoys didn’t buy anything other than school robes at Madame Malkins. They never had, unless someone spotted something particularly pretty while they were buying Draco his robes each year.
For dress robes, his mother brought him to the little tailor shop that abutted Knockturn Alley. They were able to decide the cut, the colour, the fabric Draco wanted, any embellishments he could demand.
Narcissa Malfoy loved to shop; truly, she did. She liked to shop for Draco, too. She liked to hold fabric samples up to his delicate skin and help him decide which ones he liked best.
“You look so lovely in blue, darling.” She would say. “We should have sent you to Beauxbatons.”
“But you couldn’t bear to have me so far away.” He would sigh, rote, well practiced in the exchange.
Draco was made for midnight blue and silver. That was the conclusion that his mother and Mrs. Brown always came to, on days like this. He was built for sleek lines and delicate embroidery on his cuffs, for velvet and silk and only the finest of things.
He was always caught between preening under their attention and feeling utterly stifled by the warm shopfront and endless measurements. He was glad when his mother shooed him from the fitting rooms into the front of the store, leaving him to lean against the glass countertops and gaze down at the delicately wrought cufflinks and jewellery.
Mainly, Draco felt overcome by the heat, trying to ignore the sensation of the sweat dripping down his back. He shop was always stuffy, even without a heatwave washing over the country. He felt dazed with it, sleepy from the heat and the humidity. He wondered, briefly, if he could convince his mother to stop for ice cream on the way down the street toward Gringotts.
He glanced up from his perusal of the display, and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that ran along the back wall. Only, for a moment, he was older and tear streaked, like the boy his boggart had become. He flinched, stepped back, and when he blinked, all he saw was himself. His skin, flushed with heat. His hair, longer than he’d managed to grow it in years, falling in waves down to the back of his neck; he reached up to tuck it behind his ears.
He swallowed, and settled himself, and made an effort to look utterly relaxed when his mother and Mrs. Brown came to the front and settled up their order. The robes would be delivered when they were done, so Draco and his mother left the store empty handed.
He took a deep breath when he stepped out into the fresh air again. He tried to avoid glimpsing his own reflection. It didn’t mean anything, surely. It couldn’t mean anything. It wasn’t like he’d had another vision; he was just being haunted by one. Draco felt cold and clammy just at the thought of it, feeling a shiver run down his spine.
Summoning a smile, he glanced at his mother, who promptly slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and walked them both away from Knockturn Alley and down the street toward Gringotts. With every step, her face seemed to grow less carefree. Something was weighing on her. Something to do with what laid below their feet in the winding tunnels of the bank.
Draco didn’t ask to stop for ice cream. He simply straightened his shoulders and resigned himself to being strong for her, the way he always did when her face flattened out like that. The perfectly placid lake of her expression was something he’d been long trying to mimic, and he made an attempt now.
The Black Family Vaults were deep beneath the earth. By the time they got down to the right level, Draco felt very cold indeed. They were ensconced under miles of solid earth, other heavily protected vaults, because the Black family was the most noble and most ancient of all. At least, they liked to think so. They were indeed old enough to have been one of the first families to open a set of vaults here. They’d done it before the Lestrange’s had, before the Malfoys and the Notts and long before the Potters.
The gleaming doors of the main family vault shimmered with magic. The goblins undid the first layer of security on the doors. Draco looked straight ahead as they worked, as they laid hands on the gleaming metal of the door and it began to melt away.
There was another door behind the first. The nodded for his mother to step forward, and without flinching she placed her own hand on the metal within. She didn’t wince, but when she pulled her hand away he could see the gleam of blood the action had drawn.
Like the cosmoscope, Draco thought. The Black family demanded blood for all things.
With a hand on his shoulder, she guided him inside. The inner door closed behind them, and the goblins stood outside to keep guard. Narcissa let out the softest of breaths when they were alone again, something in her shoulders relaxing imperceptibly. She smoothed her hands over her dress, before stepping deeper into the vault.
It wasn’t so much as a room as it was a massively large chamber, with several antechambers attached at odd angles. There were thousands of years of family history and wealth held inside these walls. He looked around it with open amazement. Gold and riches, jewels and precious metals, paintings and decorations from dozens of different homes that had been inhabited by the Black’s over the centuries.
“What are we looking for?” Draco asked, after a moment, realising that his mother could be after anything at all.
“A wand.” She breathed, two simple words. They felt weighty in the air around them despite their small size. “The ministry has asked me to retrieve it for them. Where my aunt Walburga would have put it is the question. Probably in the darkest corner she could find.”
It was Sirius’s wand she wanted. He realised it belatedly, after a moment of thought. A ghost of a smile crossed his face as he followed her lead, looking high and low. If they’d asked his mother to retrieve Sirius Black’s wand, that meant they must have been releasing him soon. Maybe even today, he thought, with a jolt of excitement at the idea of it. It was July 30th. If Sirius got out today or tomorrow, it would be just in time for Harry’s birthday.
“She didn’t think very highly of him, then?”
Narcissa hummed, opening an ornate wooden chest and sorting through the contents. “I suppose you could say that my aunts maternal instincts were… less than ideally formed. I’m fairly certain her hopes for her eldest son died when he learned how to speak.”
It was moments like this that Draco was grateful for the mother he had. Whenever Narcissa spoke of her aunt, or her own mother, Draco was grateful that she was the one raising him. She had born a son and decided to treat him gently, decided to unearth a well of unconditional love that she could pour into him. She’d never hurt him, never made him doubt the depth of her affections for him.
She’d never talked about Sirius much before. Beyond that one conversation they had around Yule last year. He could count the times she’d uttered his name on one hand. He was excited that Sirius would be free. He was excited to learn more about this man that shared blood and a future with him, who would hold him while he cried someday. But he was curious, too.
“Severus hates him.” Draco said, a statement that held a question underneath. “Sirius was awful to him, wasn’t he?”
A small sigh escaped his mother’s chest, and she turned to look at him. Her eyes were gentle. “Yes,” She agreed. “He was an awful bully sometimes. Him and all of his friends. They tormented Severus for years, but Sirius hated him the most. Sirius was almost responsible for his death.”
“Oh,” He said, with a weight dropping into his stomach. He cast his gaze away, looking at tall shelves for something that could have held a wand. He could feel the weight of her eyes on him as he moved.
“You have to understand, Draco.” Her voice carried through the vault, a gentle tone. “Severus was far from a saint back then. He did his fair share of tormenting and bullying. The night that Sirius… well, Severus did something awful to him that night too. Sometimes I think things were so volatile between them because they’re similar, deep down.”
“They’re nothing alike.” Draco argued, as if he could call himself the expert on the topic.
She hummed again. “I don’t know. They’re both stubborn. They’re both headstrong and prone to bitterness. They were both abused until it sharpened their edges into razor thin points. They’re both loyal, ultimately, to the people they love most in the world. For both of them, love is the only catalyst strong enough to inspire true change.” A beat, while Draco tried to digest those words. “I think if things had been different, they could have been friends.”
“You liked him, then? Your cousin?”
He opened a box as he spoke. Inside was an assortment of journals dated to the 1970s. No wand.
“That’s complicated.”
“You didn’t like him?”
“I —” A beat. “I loved him. I loved all of my family, Draco. There were times when I didn’t like him very much, but I always loved him. Sometimes, you have to realise, love isn’t enough. Sometimes, loving someone makes it harder to let them go.”
“But you did. Let him go.”
“It was what the family decided.”
A moment of silence. Something about it felt contradictory, but Draco couldn’t hold it against his mother. She’d done what she was expected to do. Let Sirius go, let him be something other than the family had hoped.
“I’m not sure I would have made the same choices.” She tells him, now. “If I had been older.”
“Maybe you’ll get a second chance.” The words are almost a whisper, but there’s a real hope in it. “Maybe we all will.”
He knew it wasn’t as simple as he made it sound. Beyond what his mother wanted, beyond what Draco wanted, Lucius Malfoy would never accept Sirius Black with open arms. Draco had heard him speak poorly enough of the man that he knew it was a certainty.
“No,” Narcissa said, confirming his fears. “I don’t think your father would allow that.”
There was no room for a ‘blood traitor whore’ in their family.
That was where the fear in him bloomed.
How far could Draco go before he was too far gone in his father’s eyes? How rebellious was he allowed to be before his father decided to kick him to the curb and start over. He was young enough still that he could have another child.
But — no. His mother would never let that happen.
She would make different choices.
He looked back at the box, running delicate fingers over the worn leather of the journals. They must have belonged to one of his aunts or cousins. Draco picked one up and flipped open the pages.
‘Barty taught me a new spell today.’ It read. ‘He’s become obsessed with the darkest curses he can find. Evan and I have come to the conclusion that he’s doing this to spite his father…’ He could have easily become enthralled, but there was a glimmer at the bottom of the box that removing the journal had revealed. Like a magpie, Draco was often drawn to shiny things.
He reached in, fingers touching cool metal. He had to lift some of the other journals to pull the necklace free. It was a delicate golden chain. On a charm hung tourmaline and bloodstone, jagged crystals that still gleamed in the light. Something hooked into his chest at the sight of it.
“What’s this?” He asked, looking over his shoulder at his mother. She glanced toward him, and her gaze softened.
“Oh,” She sighed. “A family heirloom. Regulus wore it, for a time.”
“It’s pretty.” He said, with a nod, and made to put it back in the box. Having inherited gifts from Regulus didn’t mean that he was free to take whatever he laid his hands on. Clearly, the journals were his, and the necklace had been something important to him, to keep the two together.
“Here,” She said, stepping closer, she pulled the chain from his fingertips before he could put it back where he had found it. Standing behind him, she clasped it around his neck. “It was made to be worn. It will protect you.”
He turned to look at her, fingering the stones that hung over his breastbone. She smiled at him, her gentle fingers touching his cheek for a moment. “I’m sorry, Draco. I know you like the idea of… peace and reconciliation among family; but there are some wounds that can’t be healed.”
“Not in our present circumstances.” He half pouted, and her gaze softened again, fingers brushing his hair behind his ears for him again.
“Present circumstances are all we have.” She sounded sad about it, but she was smiling. It struck him, suddenly, that his mother must feel suffocatingly stuck. It made something like fear flutter inside his chest again, a deep anxiety that came with a single thought; that this was all she’d ever have, a vault of forgotten memories and amulets from family long dead, things she would never own for herself, because they would be passed down to her son instead. The deeply patriarchal structure of the Black family had left her tied to a man who controlled every aspect of her world. Narcissa Malfoy was a woman with nowhere to run, and nothing she owned for herself.
Even her son, in all aspects of the law, belonged to her husband.
She had given up everything when she became Lucius Malfoy’s wife. Her family name, control over herself, freedom to do whatever she wished. She could have been a potions master, she could have been the Minister of Magic, she could have travelled the world and painted endless seascapes; but she couldn’t do any of those things anymore, and she clearly considered Draco a worthy exchange. He couldn’t see how she felt that way, but she did.
“It isn’t fair.” He said, and regretted it as he watched her smile flutter and crumble.
“It’s the way things are.” She sighed, heavy, and pulled her her hand away from him with one gentle pat. She moved, turning to close the small chest Draco had opened, fingers deftly closing the metal latches. “You sound like him. I’ve always thought so.” Her gaze cast around them, a shake of her head. “These things; they’re all his. Everything she didn’t keep in Grimmauld Place. You should take whatever you like, Draco. He’d want you to have some of his things.”
“He would?” He asked, something like genuine doubt in his voice. Regulus had been a strange spectre whenever Draco saw him in those mirrors, the platonic ideal of a pureblood heir, a vexing mentor at best.
“I like to think so.” There was a stern glint in her eyes, and he allowed her to succeed in changing the subject. “Now, I’m getting back to work.”
So, she got back to work. It took another half an hour before his mother found the right box. Draco searched himself, but he knew he wouldn’t find Sirius’s wand among Regulus’s belongings. There had been bad blood between the Black brothers at one point, Draco knew that much. There had been clear love between them, too; but maybe it was like his mother said, maybe sometimes love wasn’t enough.
The things that Walburga had decided to put away here seemed strange to Draco. It seemed like all the things that would have made Regulus who he was, a real person as opposed to the concept of a son she had raised. A worn but impeccably kept black leather satchel, with built in potions supply compartment. A decade worth of journals. An old Slytherin Quidditch jersey with the name BLACK proudly emblazoned on it’s back. Those were the things Draco shrunk down and slipped into his pocket, the things he could use fondly or sate his endless curiosity with.
He branched out, then, eyes raptly cataloguing the interesting artefacts that lined shelves and rested in ornate boxes. He found other wands, carefully labelled, up on a shelf. Their boxes marked them as belonging to men and women long dead. If Walburga had respected her son, she likely would have nestled Sirius’s there beside the others. Regulus’ was markedly missing, too; but Draco imagined that he had been buried with it.
Narcissa’s eventual victory in her search was heralded by a triumphant noise, adorable in her own excitement, as she opened the sturdy wooden lid of her box and found the wand nestled inside. Sirius’s wand was made of a dark wood. Draco couldn’t place it. But he did recognise that it had been carved with intricate and powerful runes. Pretty, extravagant, a wand suiting the wizard who it had chosen. They both gazed at it for a long moment, before she closed the lid firmly.
The box was placed firmly in Draco’s hands, as they exited the vault. Narcissa shared a small nod with the goblins outside, and they began the process of securing the vault and transporting Draco and Narcissa back to the main floor of the bank again.
After the dark depths of Gringotts, the blazing sunshine of a summer afternoon felt blindingly bright. He carried the box, and his mother rested a hand on his arm again.
“Home for now.” His mother told him, and they walked arm in arm back to the apparition point.
Sirius was due to be released from his Ministry holding cell the next morning. That was what the letter his mother let him read had said. She was expected to attend and return the wand promptly at 11am on the 31st of July.
Draco begged his mother to let him go with her. He went so far as to getting on his knees in the drawing room, already dressed for bed. Father wouldn’t be home until dinner, and Draco couldn’t stand the idea of missing out on what he had earned. He’d spent months believing Sirius was innocent, far before anyone else would accept it, and now Sirius was going free. Also, he rather liked the odds of Harry being present. He didn’t mention the last part.
“Please, please, please.” He begged, for probably the tenth time, while his mother shook her head and focused on her embroidery. They managed to make the exchange a lighthearted one, flush with the freedom of their empty house, with no one to judge them for their lack of grace and comportment.
She ignored him, and he kept asking, and they both knew how it would end.
The sound of the floo goes off in his father’s downstairs study, and the sound of footsteps are easily recognisable as Severus’s. He was the only one who would floo in at this time of night, and the only one brazen enough to just let himself in to the drawing room without knocking first. He looked at Draco, and at Narcissa.
“What on earth are you doing?” He asked, eyebrow arched.
“I’m pleading with my mother.” Draco said, offhanded, before he turned his singular attention back on her, catching a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Please, please, please, take me with you.”
He only caught the fluttering rolling of Sev’s eyes out of the corner of his vision, before the man came to rest his hip against the couch next to his mother. He glanced at the embroidery, something pretty and floral that would be shown to Lucius as evidence of how she had spent her time while he was away. Embroidery was a perfectly delightful activity for a married woman to spend her time on.
“Why do you torment him when we all know you’ll give in?” He asks, voice low, half teasing.
“I like to think that it builds character.” Narcissa mutters, fixing that amused gaze on Draco again. “One more time, go on.”
“Please, mother. I’ll be so well behaved! I won’t even say a word, I’ll be quiet as a mouse, you won’t even know I’m there!” Puppy dog eyes in full force, he inched closer, gazing up at her in the midst of his pleas. “I’ll do anything you want, after. No complaints.”
Her gaze flicked back up to Sev. “Anything, he says.”
“A dangerous offer to make.” Sev’s drawl made Draco slump, shifting off his knees to sit cross legged on the floor instead, resting on his hands as he looked at them.
Narcissa and Severus kept their eyes locked. They seemed to be communicating silently. He got the distinct impression that if he let them look at each other for too much longer he’d end up regretting asking to go with her in the first place.
“It is compelling, isn’t it?”
“I suggest you take the deal and hold it over his head when the time is right.”
It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes.
“Not that I’m anything but delighted to see you, Sev, but why are you here, again?”
Severus produced a stack of notes, written methodically in his slanted handwriting. “An overview of the lesson I was supposed to teach you today, before your mother cancelled. I expect it rewritten in your own hand by the next time we meet.” He shifted, then, to drop the papers on Draco’s lap.
Draco groaned, abandoning the effort to hold himself up and falling to lay down on the plush carpet. He could see the intricate stonework and decoration near the ceiling, when he did this, glittering against the light of the candles in the room.
“This isn’t fair.” He pouted. “No one else gets extra homework over the summer.”
“You should be well used to it by now.”
Narcissa stifled a laugh, before shaking her head. “If you can show me your finished work in the morning, I’ll let you come with me.”
Draco perked up at that, raising up to his elbows. “Do you promise?”
“You can get more out of him than that.” Severus complained.
Narcissa didn’t look at him. She stayed fixed on Draco. “I promise. Now go, get to work.”
He scrambled to his feet, smile triumphant, bare feet padding quietly out of the room and up the stairs. Narcissa and Severus’s quiet tones followed him through the entryway, gentle laughter echoing down the hallway. Draco couldn’t help but smile at the sound of it. (It felt like family. It made him wonder if this was how Daphne Greengrass felt every day.)
It was flagrant cheating to set one of his self-writing quills up to duplicate Sev’s notes. The really expensive ones could imitate your own handwriting so well that even you wouldn’t be able to tell you hadn’t written it yourself. Draco did it anyway, though he knew that wasn’t what Sev wanted from him. It would be good enough for his mother, and Sev would never know.
He fell backwards onto his bed instead of slumping over his desk. The bedsheets felt cool against his skin, and the star map painted on his ceiling twinkled gently. He got lost in it, breaths falling quietly and evenly. It had been a good day, with enough going on that Draco felt the ache of exhaustion in his bones. It was barely nine o’clock.
He falls into a sleep heavy with remembrance; and wakes up with a jolt of terror, the frustrating kind that leaves your chest heaving in fear, but your head curiously blank, the details of the dream fading away into nothingness at the exact moment you try to grasp them.
Balcony windows hang open before him, a cool breeze coming through and fluttering the curtains he hadn’t drawn in weeks. The stars were glimmering beyond the window, twinkling white in the midnight-black expanse of sky. He gets to shaky feet and walks to the small balcony, placing hand on the cool metal of the railing.
It took a long time for his heartbeat to calm down, standing there and staring out at the world around the manor. The night air was cooler, more comforting-warmth and less sweltering heat. No matter how many deep, calming breaths Draco pulled in, he couldn’t manage to shake the unsettled feeling he had awoken with. Distant dread made the hair at the back of his neck stand up and left his arms covered in goosebumps.
An owl hooted, the trees on the outskirts of the estate rustled in the quiet night air, and his eyes got caught on the lake; it was the one he had almost drowned in, once upon a time. In the calm night it had become something eldritch, a pitch black surface that reflected stars above, a perfect mirror. It sent a chill down Draco’s spine, and he pushed himself away from the balcony railing.
He closed the doors behind him when he stepped back inside his room. It would turn the room into an oven during the morning, when the sun rose again, but he would cross that uncomfortable bridge when he came to it.
Sleep seems impossible, so he sits at his writing desk and skims eyes over the notes his quill had recreated for him, hoping that it would lull him into comfortable exhaustion once again.
It didn’t.
He put the pages down and turned to the things he had brought back from the vault. He picked up the leather bag, put it on the desk, and opened the straps keeping it closed again. In dim light, with careful fingers and gentle magic, he began to clean it. There were scant belongings lingering in the pockets. A galleon, a weathered black date-book full of innocuous meetings and notes, all things that Draco set aside without thought. There was a strange writing instrument that Draco belatedly recognised as a muggle pen, something he had seen a picture of in Muggle Studies class. This one was sleek black and silver, heavy in his palm. When he twisted the top a writing nib appeared, and he almost dropped the pen in surprise. With trepidation, he set that aside too.
He was feeling along the hidden inner pocket when his fingers brushed the sturdy, thick envelope. When he pulled it out he saw that it was a deep midnight blue, and it was marked in silver on one side — ‘for metaphysical clarity’ in jaggedly looping handwriting. He frowned. It wasn’t Regulus’s handwriting, from what he had seen in the journals earlier that day.
When he opened the envelope it was full of… tea-leaves? Draco’s brow furrowed. There were several servings bundled in muslin-infusion cloths, the kind one might use to keep one potions ingredient separate from the others. You coud buy pre-package mixes in that form from some stores, but any respectable potions maker would usually turn their nose up. These seemed high quality and hand filled. They were clearly infused with stay-fresh charms, to ensure the potency of whatever laid inside. When Draco raised a bag to catch the scent of it, all he could smell was something earthy, with the heavy richness of black tea.
He flipped the envelope around to look at the seal. Silver wax, with stars embossed. Nothing he recognised. He closed it carefully and slipped it back into the hidden pocket.
There was the old instinct his mind prodded toward; curiosity, the urge to know exactly what was happening and what Regulus was doing with that. The urge to try it for himself. Metaphysical clarity. It was an instinct he had been trying to set aside, this summer.
He wanted what he had promised Harry. A normal year.
Visions meant diaster, in his experience. Whatever curiosity he felt, he didn’t want to be handed another world-altering problem to deal with. He wanted to be fourteen years old. He huffed, and rested his head on the desk, feeling the cool wood against his forehead.
A normal year. It was a nice little fantasy. Metaphysical clarity could wait until Draco had his fill of mundanity.
Draco felt slightly more awkward than he expected to, walking into the stifled little waiting room in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at his mother’s side.
The Ministry of Magic was his father’s world, distinctly. It felt like his father, all around. Cold walls and so many people with so many different expectations. Walking through the Ministry meant he had to keep his back straight and his head held high, proud of who he was, sure of his place in the world. That was hard to do when you felt awkward and excited, slightly gangly and utterly fourteen.
It was cold enough inside, with all of the cooling charms cast thick, that Draco had needed to put on the soft green cardigan his mother had forced him to bring. He’d only given in after an argument about it, and he hated to be proven wrong.
A sleepless night made him all the more irritable, on top of everything else. Still, he was doing his best to behave appropriately. Teenage hormones could only excuse so much bad behaviour.
He walked inside the room with his head high at his mother’s side, allowing her to lead him without hesitation to the desk, where the auror waited behind glass windows. Of course, Draco had been thoroughly distracted before they reached the glass. They were not the only people inside the room, just as Draco had thought.
Lupin and Harry were already there.
It was strange; the way that a month could feel like a thousand years, the way things could seem different after four weeks without seeing Harry Potter. Draco’s mind catalogued a dozen things to obsess over in a split second. His hair was longer, his skin was darker from the sun, he’d scratched his knee on something and no one had spelled it healed for him yet. He was picking at the scab there; gross, and yet somehow enchanting to watch. More diabolical than anything else was the way Harry’s too-big t-shirt bared a hint of collarbone.
Lupin, for his part, looked as thoroughly exhausted as he had when Draco saw him last. He seemed to have aged at least a year in the last month. He was more alert and attentive than Harry was, meeting Draco’s eyes in almost an instant. Something hesitant crossed his face before he flashed one of his gentle smiles. Draco wondered if he remembered the chase. He nudged Harry with his elbow, with looked up in an instant, and stumbled to his feet almost as quickly.
Lupin’s smile twisted into something more amused, as Harry seemed to realise that Draco was attached to his mother’s side, and that they were doing something important, and fell back into his seat again.
Draco smiled.
Harry smiled back. He raised one arm and waved, the smallest movement. He seemed to be buzzing with an excitement that lived under his skin.
I told you so, Draco mouths, silently; because he had. This was what he had promised. Harry and Sirius, reunited, free to build whatever life together they could manage. A happy ending. A normal year.
Harry’s face shifts as he ducks his head, rubbing a hand over his face. Bashfully amused in a way that made Draco feel satisfied right down to his core. It was a nice feeling, sweet like honey on his tongue. He didn’t feel irritable at all, suddenly.
The slide of paper crossing from his mother’s hands to the aurors caught Draco’s attention. She turned an expectant look to him, and he handed her the box that held Sirius’ wand. Once he’d done it, she gave a flick of her eyes toward the other two in the room. It was quiet permission, and Draco took it in an instant.
It only took six steps to reach Lupin and Harry. Harry was on his feet again by the time Draco reached them. “Hey,” He said, a breathless exhalation.
“Hi, Harry.” A smile, shifting on his feet to glance behind Harry at Lupin, who was getting to his feet, slightly laboured. “Hello, Professor Lupin.”
“Ah,” Lupin sighed. “I’m not your Professor anymore. You’d better call me Remus.”
Draco’s nose wrinkled slightly. “Remus. That sounds weird.”
“Right?” Harry half-laughed. “What are you doing here?”
“We had Sirius’s wand in our vault.” Draco explained, with a delicate shrug of his shoulder. “I suppose the Ministry handed it over to the family after they locked him up. We had to go get it yesterday.”
“I’m sure he’ll be glad to have it back.” Remus nodded, slowly. “Narcissa, it’s lovely to see you again.”
Draco glanced over his shoulder, now flanked by his mother. Her hands were held delicately in front of her body, her body straight and her face placid. “Hello.” He watched, as her eyes flicked to Harry’s face. Something changed, the slightest bit, as Harry stood straighter, hands retreating to the pockets of his threadbare hoody, hanging loose at his sides. Something in her eyes reminded Draco of the time when he had carried home a stray kneazle and begged to keep it, and she’d had to tell him no. “I trust you’re both well?”
“Splendid.”
“Er, yeah. Great.” Harry smiled an awkward, stilted smile. He clearly didn’t know what to make of Draco’s mother. She was nothing like the Weasley’s mother, less blusteringly effusive with her affections, more stiffly refined when in mixed company.
Silence threatened to creep in, and he could feel his mother building to a farewell.
He reached into the leather satchel to pull out a sleek little package, “I packed this in case you were here.” He explained, holding the green wrapped present out to Harry. “Happy Birthday.”
The smile softened, turned more genuine. “Thank you,” He said, and with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. “Did, uh… did the thing work?”
The Daphne Thing, surely. Draco nodded, bright. “Perfectly. Expect reciprocation.”
Harry’s looked triumphant. His mother looked reproachful. His father had strictly forbidden consorting too closely with Harry Potter. His mother may be willing to overlook some things, but she wouldn’t like to know that he was breaking the rules in ways that might displease his father. The fewer lies she had to tell, the better off they both were.
“We had better get home.” Narcissa demurred. “A family reunion is a private affair. Come along, Draco.”
She turned to go, and Draco wanted to argue, wanted to ask to stay so he could see Sirius when he came out. It turned out, he didn’t need to. Remus did it for him.
“I’m sure Sirius would love to see you both.”
His mother’s back stiffened. She met Remus’s eyes, something flashing there, some level of silent communication. She was formulating a polite way to disagree, he was certain.
“In fact,” Remus barrelled on. “We’re having something of a celebration tonight, hosted by the Weasleys. For Harry’s birthday, and Sirius’s release. I’m sure you’d both be welcome. The more the merrier.”
Not even Draco believed that. The idea of being welcomed into the home of the Weasley’s was practically laughable. It was vexing, in all honest, because they may have been able to convince Narcissa to stay to see Sirius had he not extended the latter invitation.
Yet Harry blindly supported it, eyes alight.
“Yes, yeah, Molly always cooks enough for an army.”
Narcissa hummed. “What a lovely offer,” She spoke, slow. “But I’m afraid we’re expected at home. My husband is returning from a business trip today. We’re all looking forward to dinner together.” She looked at him, a stern expression, one that left no room for arguments or begging. Draco wouldn’t, anyway, he didn’t have the heart to make her day any harder than it already was.
"We wish you all the best." She nodded, "Now come along, Draco."
He spared one last look for Harry, lingering to give him a sad smile.
“Tell him hello for me.”
Harry nodded, a wistful expression on his face. “I will.”
Draco turned to go, and obediently followed his mother.
It was funny how the house seemed to grow colder and colder whenever Lucius Malfoy was present behind it’s walls. Draco could feel the chill settle in the moment he heard the door to his father’s study latch closed.
They’d wasted little time speaking when they finally made it home. Draco retreated to his bedroom, and his mother retreated to the drawing room. He wished, belatedly, that he hadn’t wasted that time with her. It would be harder to talk openly now that his father was home.
It was strangely fitting when the wind blew his balcony doors open again. The muggy heat of the day had transitioned with full force into a summer thunderstorm. Draco approached the close the doors again, charming them shut, but lingered to look out at the rain as it fell in sheets. Thunder pounded, and lightning cracked along the horizon.
Dinner was a stilted affair, as the storm raged on outside. They flanked his father on either side. Draco on the right, his mother on the left. They listened with appropriate interest as he regaled them with stories from his few-days of travel, updates on the latest fashion in Paris and whatever nonsense the French Ministry was planning. He kept making pointed allusions to the big things that were coming when Draco returned to school.
Draco nodded, made the appropriate commentary, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually care about what his father was saying. He just met his mother’s eyes as subtly as possible, offered her a smile that would help buffet them through the storm of his father’s return.
Narcissa told Lucius about the ‘absolutely darling’ dress robes that had been organised for Draco, but didn’t delve in to their visit to Gringotts or the Ministry. All for the best, Draco imagined. The last people Lucius wanted either of them wasting their time on were Sirius Black and Harry Potter.