Chapter 9
Everything was white and misty. There was no pain or happiness. Some people came by every few days, but none were recognizable. A little light brown-haired boy who called her mom, and a sweet elderly lady who called her Alice. There was also an older man with dark brown curls that matched her own, and he came by very often. He would read her stories and give her candies. She loved those candies. He would sometimes argue with the people that brought her the little white and blue pills. She could hear his voice but never the words that were said. The little boy, whom she still didn't know, was adorable. He was petite and chubby. He would prattle on and on about plants…she never seemed to remember the details, though. There was another man who came by every few months. He was tall and had a long beard. He wore funny hats and played with a stick. He would say funny words, and then she'd forget what the little boy had been talking about or what the nice man had said his name was. Somebody had always been next to her; he was asleep most of the time. He was handsome and looked remarkably like the little boy who called her mom. Maybe this was the little boy's father? Surely she would know if she had a child… right? Some days, memories were very clear in her mind. After the funny man came, though, it would always fade into nothingness.
When she felt it, the sun was shining, and it was almost time for the white and blue pills. She felt a connection grasp at her mind, tethering her to the here and now. She could see him, a little boy with deep black curls, vibrant green eyes, and perpetually sun-kissed skin. She was not sure what his name was, but she was certain that this was somebody important to her. That feeling made her gasp aloud, frightening one of the nice people who cared for her and the man at her right.
"Alice, are you alright?"
".Yes, where is Neville?" She wasn't sure why she was asking about this particular person, but she could feel that this was the name of the boy who called her mom. Snippets of memories resurfaced... stunning dark purple gown… the cry of an infant…, and the red flash of a bad curse. She wanted to know more.
"Oh! He is on his way, today is August 19th, 1991. I'll go get the healer."
The healer rushed in with the nurse shortly after; he ran every diagnostic charm he knew. It was a miracle; Alice was regaining her memories, and she was lucid. She had been close to lucidness a few times over the years, but nothing this advanced. She had actually asked for her son, something that the rest of his department was sure would never happen. He glanced past her at Frank; if they could figure out what had been keeping Alice locked in and out of her mindscape, maybe they could free Frank, too.
Neville and Agusta Longbottom reached St. Mungo's in record time, thank the gods for wizarding travel. For the first time he could remember, his mother greeted him with a warm hug. His mother had always been averse to physical touch, and the fact that she had initiated it was a huge step forward. The healers told them that Alice had been lucid for a while now, and things were looking hopeful. They had found a godparent bond reattached, which was likely what caused her sudden alertness. Neville was informed that he should start feeling a god-sibling bond as well in the coming weeks and that it will fully solidify once he meets his god-sibling. They had yet to find out who that was or what their gender was, but they were going to do further research with his mother, and hopefully, she'd be able to tell them who her godchild was.
Alice was making a fast recovery. Her mind healer had said that the memories of the fateful night were still somewhat scrambled but that she remembered hiding her son away in a closet in the kitchen. This was evidently true because they had found baby Neville wrapped in a blanket, silence wards around him, in the kitchen pantry. Alice started remembering things about her childhood and her earlier Hogwarts days. The healer had said that she would most likely always act younger than she was because despite being awake for most of the last ten years, there weren't many significant memories to attach those years with.
As she was recovering, Alice was informed that ten years had passed and that her son was no longer a baby anymore…she cried for hours.
"I should have been there; please tell me he was cared for at least?"
She, of course, was informed that his grandmother had raised him because his godmother had died the same night. She cried more at that. Lillian was her best friend, and she was so excited to be a mom and watch her little prince grow into the man he would become. Alice was not only devastated at missing ten years of her son's life but at missing ten years of her godson's as well.
"Where is he? Where's my godson?" She had calmed down, and the healers were ecstatic at the thought of her remembering her godchild, who was clearly a godson.
"We don't know his name at the moment. Could you tell us who he is, Alice? We will make sure he comes and meets you."
"You…you don't know? Who was looking after him? Where has he been for ten years, and nobody knows where my godson is? Where is Hadrian Pend-...Potter, Where is Harry Potter?"
The look on the healer's face was one that nobody would ever forget.
MalfoyManorr had never been a place of warmth. It was cold, closed off, and wreaked of wealth. Feelings were not something that Malfoy men dealt with. Draconis knew this. He had made that mistake before, asking his father for comfort…never again.
"What are you doing? Get your snotty nose off of me and get the hell out of my office. Crying is a weakness, Draco. Always remember that.."
It was something no child of four should have to hear from a parent. His mother helped,d though. She told him nice stories about Aunties Bella and Andy when they were children. About her time at Hogwarts and all the mischief she had gotten up to within the castle walls. His mother, he had learned, was quite the outgoing woman when she didn't have his father breathing down her neck. She had a temper like no other, and Draco inherited that. She called him her dragon because he could spit words like flames, was all-consuming, and left scathing marks.
Draco was dragged along by his father to all the ministry parties, pureblood gatherings, and event gallas from the time he could walk. Polite societal rules, regulations, dos and don'ts have been carved into his very mind. Patterns of speech that would make others reveal their hands without giving away any of his cards. Eloquent word ensembles that tore into the very likeness of an opponent. Draco was very good with his practice wand and continuously used his powers to his advantage. However, what Draco was the best at was talking. Despite what some may think, Draco was not raised arrogant. He was raised educated and knew what his surname held. The power. The prestige. The honour. He also knew what his blood meant was, and all that came with being a part of the black family. He knew the intoxicating way that darker magic resonated with his core. He knew the crazed glint in his eyes when he was furious. He also knew the immense power he wielded at his fingertips. The more he learned, the more his magic and mind craved knowledge. His mother ensured he knew the importance of knowledge. The importance of never being caught unaware or without a plan of attack.
Reading had been a passion since he was a small child. The Malfoy family library was expansive and had a number of topics. When Draco was very young, Narcissa had seen him curled up in the window alcove reading those Harry Handbooks. They were books written to help kids learn the importance of brushing their teeth or cleaning up toys. As she watched her son grow, so did his thirst for knowledge. He started reading introductory potions books and books on magical theory. That was when she enlisted his godfather to help teach him when Severus had the time. Draco gravitated toward other books like Household and Grooming Charms. Then he was reading about magical creatures, dragons in particular. That was always the only thing she couldn't give him. A dragon of his own. A month before the term was to start, she caught him reading an advanced arithmacy book… when did he start learning arithmacy? Was it around the time he started Occlumency training with Luciu? Or maybe it was when he'd been reading about dwarven wards. Regardless, she was confident that he was doing what he liked, but what would also help him survive if HE ever came back? Lucius was always too busy to spend any real time with his son. He would work all day and ignore his family at night. Truly, the only time Draco saw his father was when he was instructing him through Heir Training. Draco already knew the majority of the actions, the words, and the mannerisms, but he was still learning about finance, business and paperwork… so much paperwork.
August 19th had been like any other day so far that summer. Wake up, get dressed. Breakfast with mother at seven. Down in Father's office for Heir Training or through the floo to Spinner's End for magical work with Uncle Severus by eight-thirty. Lunch at one o'clock in the dining hall as a 'family,' never with Uncle Severus. Draco was then left to his own devices for the afternoon and evening. Occasionally, his mother would have mock sparing matches with obscure magics or quiz him on whatever tickled her fancy that day. They would also debate for hours…those were his favourites. He had never been much of a physical fighter; he could hold his own, but it wasn't his cup of tea. He loved debates and verbal sparring, and those were his favourite times because they meant he could flaunt his knowledge without being reprimanded for bragging. Quite cunning, if he did say so himself.
It was close to three pm when he felt a small shiver run down his spine. He thought it might have been a small breeze from the window he typically kept open beside him. Glancing over, he frowned; the window wasn't open today. He remembered it had been raining over their estate in the early hours of the afternoon, so he opted out of opening the window and getting wet. He shrugged off the odd feeling before turning back to his current obsession. The Prophet was open against his knee,s and the front page had Harry Potter's face plastered over it in front of Gringotts. It had been taken this morning, around eight am. Presumably, the Potter Heir was collecting his school supplies. He vaguely wondered if he'd be back tomorrow for other things. It was quite late already, and nobody had seen the young wizard leave the bank yet. Draco was not sure when Harry Potter had become his obsession. He knew it wasn't exactly healthy to be so fixated on a single person, but what was he going to do? Harry was adorable,e and even the odd angle of the camera caught sight of his stunning eyes.
The picture was, of course, black and white, but everyone knew he had jet-black hair and bright green eyes. His scar was on display. It was pretty hard not to be. Draco hadn't known the scar cut across his eyelid or the fact that it grasped the bridge of his nose before it cut again across his cheek. Draco had been staring at the photo for two hours now, and every time he looked back, he saw something new about the small boy. He didn't catch that until the picture moved for the eighth time. Harry Potter was incredibly small. He looked thin, and although the picture made his skin look like it glowed, there was clearly a gaunt look in his cheeks and eyes.
His glasses clearly were not the right size, and possibly the incorrect prescription, too. They were too big and framed his face wrong. Draco thought frameless glasses, possibly hexagonally shaped, would suit him much better. The second clearly obvious sign something was wrong was his clothing. The clearly muggle shirt in the photo looked two sizes too big, tucked into what appeared to be huge cut-off trousers with a rope around his waist.
Speaking of his waist, how was that boy living? He looked like a doll but like a very badly abused one. His brainprocesss stopped. Abuse. He had read a couple of muggle medical journals when he was at Uncle Sev's. Draco had made him swear not to tell his father. The journals were about typical and more obscured signs of abuse in adolescent children. He had asked Severus close to a thousand questions before Severus had run out of answers and pointed him toward another set of journals. Those were the mental effects of long-term and short-term abuse. It was then that he realized his father was emotionally abusive and neglectful and that Draco probably had a form of depression due to his lack of love from a paternal figure in his early childhood development. He had also realized that Sev had stepped up and filled that role when Draco turned seven, even though he was not legally, magically, financially, biologically or emotionally responsible to do so.
Draco looked back at the article he'd been obsessing over for three hours when he felt that shiver again. This time, it felt more like an underpowered stinging hex to his spine than the soft shiver from earlier. Despite his discomfort, he carefully placed Pretty Potter on the window bench and went to find his mother.