Not Surrender, but Trickery
"We smuggled ourselves into ourselves. Haunted by each other’s knowledge. To hide somewhere is not surrender, it is trickery. All day the snow falls down, all night the snow. I try to guess your trajectory and end up telling my own story. We left footprints in the slush of ourselves, getting out of there." - Landscape with Black Coats in Snow, Richard Siken
_
“Rook to D7,” commanded Draco, watching the green and silver piece move across the board.
In response, the enchanted board moved its queen to F3. The figure grabbed her chair and smashed Draco’s knight’s head in a single fluid motion. The broken pieces of wood scattered all over his floor, the mess making him grimace. He cursed under his breath.
Playing chess against himself was usually a good way to clear his head. It was a healthier distraction than anything else he could come up with.
It wasn’t working.
He kept drifting back to yesterday’s meeting. I shouldn’t have come at Rookwood like tha , he thought. It didn’t matter that he never liked him -- unlike Bellatrix, he didn’t have to endure the Rookwoods’ derangement for the sake of family.
It wasn’t enough reason for him to blow up like he did. Draco had made a pact with himself to keep his head down as much as possible, and here he was picking a fight at rehab. And for what? Because you got pissy about Granger? he chastised himself. I’m not even going to think about her.
He looked back at the chess board, pursing his lips as he tried to figure out his next move. Before he could do so, he heard a faint knock on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” he called out. “What do you want, Minzy?”
The tiny elf shuffled towards him with her head bowed. Draco turned in his chair, trying to appear unthreatening. It didn’t take too much to send the elf into pancky shivers or self-inflicted pain. It was never pleasant to watch.
“Master, the mistress requests you join her for dinner,” said Minzy.
Ah, fuck , thought Draco, this is not what I need right now . He immediately felt guilty. He could make himself have dinner with his mother a couple of times a week.
“I’ll be down in a bit, Minzy. You can go now.”
“Minzy will go, then, master,” she nodded, then with a snap of her fingers disappeared from the room.
Draco let out a sigh. He stood up, pausing to check himself in the mirror before leaving. He quickly fixed the loose strands falling on his forehead, patting his hair down to make it look tidy and sleek. Maybe his mother wouldn’t complain that it was too long.
_
Draco strutted into the dinner room, watching as his mother folded a napkin on her lap. “Minzy, get us some Turnip Wine, will you? It goes great with the salmon,” said Narcissa, gesturing towards the house-elf, who nodded her head eagerly before disappearing. “Ah, Draco. How have you been, sweetheart?”
“I’m fine, mother,” said Draco, squeezing her shoulder before sitting in the wooden chair across from her. “Just as always.”
Before Narcissa could reply, Minzy appeared by her side, rushing to set crystal wine glasses in front of each of them. Please don’t drop it, thought Draco, sighing inwardly in relief when the elf managed to avoid an accident. He nodded his head towards Mitzy in thanks. From the corner of his eye, he saw his mother curl her lips in distaste.
“Every time she nearly drops the good crystal, I consider obtaining her replacement,” said Narcissa, shaking her head. Turning to Draco, she said, “I just worry about you, dear. I can’t imagine what they’re putting you through at the Ministry.”
“It’s fine, mother. Everything is more or less the same,” he shrugged, turning to his food. “I sit through those sodding meetings, then I come home and manage the estate. You know this.” He placed a piece of salmon in his mouth. The meetings made him think of Granger and her muggle book, margins smudged by the ink from her quills, still sitting on top of his desk.
“You need to enjoy yourself more, Draco,” said Narcissa. “Especially after everything that happened to your father and I-”
“Can we not discuss father now?” he said sharply. Narcissa flinched, the smile vanishing from her face. Draco felt the familiar twinge of guilt low in his gut, “I apologize, mother. I must be more stressed than I thought.”
“That’s what I’m saying, sweetheart, you can’t go on like this. I do appreciate you being here with me as much as you are, but a young gentleman like you needs to have more of a social life.”
Draco licked his lips, thinking of the flat sitting empty in Wizarding London. He’d bought it a year ago, thinking he’d finally escape from the Manor, where the walls closed in more every day. It didn’t take him long to realize he’d been a fool to expect to leave. His mother needed him here, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself.
“I do have a social life,” he protested. “I hang out with Theo a lot, and Pansy is always around.”
“Theo is a lovely boy, I’ve always liked him. And the Parkinsons are a very important family to be connected to.” Narcissa twirled the wine glass with one delicate hand, making the liquid swirl inside of the cup. “But it is important that we don’t alienate ourselves from the rest of society.”
“I don’t know what you mean, mother,” said Draco. “It’s not like there have been parties to attend. ”
“Draco,” she started, “that doesn’t mean we can afford to forsake the close relationships we worked so hard to build with our people. In times like this we need to stick close together.”
“A lot of our people are in Azkaban, mother,” said Draco, being careful to keep his voice neutral, “and the rest of them are keeping their heads low, just as we are.”
“Draco, you know less than you think you do. Believe me when I say things won’t stay like this for long,” said Narcissa. “And it is my fault. I haven’t talked to you about it as I should have. We all just had so much in our heads during the trials. Your father--” She pressed her fingers to her temple. “Just thinking about it gives me a migraine.”
“Then let’s talk about something else. I saw that you’ve started growing a dandelion garden--”
“This is important,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry Draco, but it’s past time that we talk about the future. I’m not getting any younger, and I worry about leaving you like this.”
“I’ll be fine, mother. We have enough galleons in the Malfoy and Black vaults to last a lifetime or two. I think you’re stressing over nothing.”
“Don’t be foolish, son,” said Narcissa sharply. “Money is important, but it’s not the only thing that matters. What’s the use of wealth when the Weasleys of the world look down their noses at us? This isn’t how we've raised you to live.”
“I understand what you’re saying, mother,” said Draco, setting his fork beside his plate. “I’ve been going to the rehab program, I’ve donated plenty of money to war efforts, I’ve played along with everything the Ministry’s asked me to do. Short of kneeling at Saint Potter’s feet and begging for forgiveness, I don’t see what I can do to change the way people see us.”
You don’t want people to just think differently about us, mother, he thought, you want them to think like us. And that’s not going to happen.
“Draco, sweetheart,” said Narcissa, in the same tone she used to use to explain why he couldn’t ride a broom, “pureblood culture has been standing strong since before any of us were born, and it will remain here when we are gone. The way things are is temporary, I can assure you of that.”
Draco took a sip of his wine. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe his mother, exactly, but more that he wasn’t entirely convinced that the Wizarding World would move in the direction she clearly expected it to.
“I’m doing the best that I can where I can, mother,” he sighed, itching to leave the dining room. “It’s only been three years since the war ended. Maybe we just need more time to let the dust settle. I don’t want to turn us into more of a target.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Draco,” she snapped. “I didn’t help Potter during the final battle just to make the same mistakes all over again. What I’m telling you is to keep within our circles and associate with the right people so we can begin improving our reputation in the Wizarding community at large. Besides, there’s no more time. I received a letter from Stewart a couple of days ago. Your father hasn’t been doing well, Draco.”
“Of course he hasn’t been doing well,” he scoffed. “He’s in Azkaban.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she sighed. “He’s been ill. We’re not sure what it is, yet. Perhaps it’ll be just a cold, something small that will pass. But we need to prepare for the worst case scenario.” She kept her eyes firmly on his.
“Why is Stewart talking about this with you?” said Draco. “That sorry excuse of a lawyer. I’ve told him many times that anything about father should come to me first.”
“And I’ve told him to come to me first,” said Narcissa. “That’s not what’s important here, Draco. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you?”
I do , thought Draco, but he couldn’t let himself focus on it. He couldn’t let himself react in front of his mother, who expected him to be the unmoving force his father had always been. Lucius Malfoy never let himself be affected by frivolous things such as emotions, not even about his family.
“I’ll talk to Stewart about getting permission to send a private healer to examine father properly,” said Draco. “There’s no way we can trust the evaluation of any healer who actually chooses to work at Azkaban.”
“That’s a good idea. But I also need you to focus on everything else that I’ve told you, Draco. This is important to me, and it is important to your father as well.”
Draco nodded, feeling unsettled. I have to set Stewart straight , he thought, fucking overpaid, incompetent git, thinking he can go behind my back and ignore my orders. I’ll fire his sorry arse before he can stutter his excuses to me .
“I think I’ll go up to my study, mother,” said Draco, pushing away from the table. Narcissa held out a hand, making him pause.
“I haven’t finished talking to you,” said Narcissa. Draco inhaled sharply, but settled back in the chair, “I’ve been meeting Asta Greengrass for tea, lately. We’ve had some interesting discussions.”
“You’ve been talking to Daphne’s mother?” he asked, confused. “We’ve never been close to the Greengrasses.”
“We thought that it was past the time to change that.” Narcissa looked at Draco with a sudden smile, any trace of worry leaving her face. “Both of her daughters set the standard of what all pureblood girls should strive to be, Draco. Especially her eldest. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her properly yet, but Daphne seems like such a sweet young lady. I couldn’t possibly think of a better match for you.”
Draco frowned. “Daphne and I are just friends, mother,” he said slowly, “if you could even call us that. We mostly see each other when we hang out with Theo and Pansy.”
“That’s amazing, sweetheart, it means you know enough of each other to make the process much smoother. Don’t you agree that she is a beautiful girl?”
“Sure? She’s lovely,” said Draco, “but I don’t think--”
“Draco,” she huffed, “think about it, okay? Maybe owl the girl and ask her to come for tea. I can have the clumsy elf arrange the tea room. Asta mentioned that Daphne loves dandelions, so I took it upon myself to start a new garden. You can show her the grounds. It’s even older than her family’s Manor, you know that? I’m sure she’ll be impressed.”
“Mother, I have absolutely no romantic interest in Daphne Greengrass.”
“But you do have an interest in helping this family, don’t you?” said Narcissa, arching a perfectly shaped brow. “The Greengrasses will be useful allies for us going forward, Draco. I’m not telling you to marry the girl tomorrow, but to get to know her.”
“I doubt this is going to work out the way you want to, mother,” said Draco.
“Do it for me,” said Narcissa.
“I will consider it.” he muttered to appease her.
“Do that, sweetheart. I just want you to be happy, you understand?” She put her hand over his, squeezing his fingers for a moment before letting go. “Everything that I have ever done has been for the good of you and this family.”
“I know, mother.”
“I know you do,” said Narcissa, turning back to her own meal. “You may go now.”
Draco nodded, standing from the chair. As he made his way out of the room, Draco glanced at his mother over his shoulder, noting that she seemed perfectly content to eat by herself.
_
Hermione was sitting on a chair in front of the flat’s dinner table, using a Muggle ballpoint pen to fill the words in one of her dad’s books of crossword puzzles. Crookshanks lay with his head on top of her foot, purring contently from under the table.
“Oh, I haven’t seen one of those since I lived with the Dursleys.”
She jumped in the chair in surprise, making Crookshanks growl. He swiped his paw at her leg before gaiting away.
“Harry!” said Hermione, setting the book down. She glanced at the clock in the wall behind his head. “You’re home early today.”
“Perks of being a Department Head, you can sneak out early sometimes,” he smiled proudly.
“I thought you weren’t taking the position for another couple of weeks?”
“Yeah, not yet,” said Harry, pulling back a chair and sitting down in it. “But I’m still shadowing Robards right now, getting the scope of things. He wants to make sure I know everything before he leaves.”
“Has he told you what he’s going to do after that? I doubt he’s retiring.”
“He’s not retiring, Hermione. He has plans,” he sighed. “Nothing that I can talk to you about.”
“That’s how it’s been lately, hasn’t it?” said Hermione, ignoring the inner voice who said she hasn’t been forthcoming with Harry, either.
“You said you weren’t upset about me not telling you about the promotion,” said Harry. “I’ve already told you that I had strict orders to keep quiet about it.”
But you told Ron and Ginny, she thought, then ignored that voice too. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said. “It’s been a long day. I didn’t mean it. Let’s forget about it, okay? Do you want to do some puzzles with me?”
“Oh, no. I hate those things. Mr. Dursley used to be obsessed with them, but he was so daft, he never managed to finish a single one.” He let out an exaggerated shudder. “Can you guess how he dealt with his frustration?”
Hermione smiled sympathetically at him, closing the book of puzzles. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Harry.”
Harry lifted his shoulders in a shrug, “I’m over it.”
Hermione wondered how you could be over something like that. If it was that easy for Harry to brush away everything he went through, to raise above it, shouldn’t she be able to do it, as well? I haven’t gone through half of what he did, she thought, but look at him, and look at me.
“Besides, they were never my family,” he continued. “Ginny, Ron, you and all of the Weasleys. You’re the ones that matter.”
“Well, I’m sure the Dursleys would be impressed by everything you’ve accomplished, anyway.”
“Maybe,” he said. “It doesn’t really matter.”
Hermione hesitated for a second, licking her lips. “You can talk to me about the job, if you want. How did Robards offer you the position?”
“He’d been giving me more solo assignments the past few months, you know? I used to complain all the time that he wasn’t pairing me with Ron, but I think it was his way of figuring out if I was ready for the job.”
“That’s smart of him.”
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Now that I think about it, maybe I should’ve figured out sooner that’s what he was doing. Kinglsey actually called me up to his office a couple of months back. He said I should think really hard about my plans for the future, because I might have to make some tough choices. At the time I just figured he was trying to mentor me, or something.”
Hermione frowned, thinking the information over in her head. “Why would Shacklebolt warn you like that?”
“What are you thinking?” asked Harry, observing the expression in her face, the same when she was trying to solve an arithmancy problem.
“Well, I don’t want to assume,” said Hermione hesitantly. “I just had the impression that everything was kind of quick, you know? But you know more than I do, obviously.”
“I think Kinglsey was just trying to be nice, Hermione. Maybe he thought I’d need time to prepare for it. But it’s not like I would turn down a job like that. I love being an Auror!”
Hermione wondered if Harry understood that the job meant more than just being an Auror, but figured it wasn’t her place to mention it.
“You know, The Serpent Wire published this article speculating that Robards is going to run the next election for Minister,” said Hermione. “Maybe that’s why he’s leaving the job.”
“Why are you reading that trash, Hermione?”
“I like to be informed, Harry, and I can’t grab a copy of The Daily Prophet without finding an article about my non-existent relationship with Ron,” she huffed. “It gets old. But Harry, is Robards going to run the election?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “There’s no reason you can’t tell me. It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone about it.”
“Why would I lie?” he insisted. “He just told me that he needed my support in the future. He didn’t give me any details, and I don’t really care.”
“Doesn’t it sound like he’s trading one favor for another?”
“You think he’s doing me a favor by giving me this job?” he said, sounding offended.
“That’s not what I meant,” said Hermione, annoyed that they kept misunderstanding each other. It was like she and Harry were talking in completely different languages. “There’s no reason to get defensive. I’m just telling you to be smart about this. If Robards is running in the election, doesn’t it seem weird to you? I mean, Kingsley’s running for reelection, you’d figure Robards would support him instead of trying--”
“I think you’re speculating too much,” said Harry, standing up. “That’s your problem, Hermione, you can’t ever just relax. You have to poke and poke at things that don’t even matter.”
“That’s my problem? I poke too much?” snapped Hermione, feeling a spark of anger. . “You didn’t mind me speculating about things when it helped you, Harry, so what’s changed?”
Harry sighed, pressing his fingers to his eyelids. He took his hand away from his face. “I don’t know why we’re even arguing anymore, Hermione. But this needs to stop.”
We’re arguing because you don’t like some parts of me, thought Hermione, and here we are living in the same apartment together.
“I think we’re getting our wires crossed,” said Hermione, trying to tone down the anger bubbling up inside of her, “I’m not trying to rain on your parade, I was just curious about your job and what’s going on at the Ministry. I want you to be happy. I’m just worried about you. I’m not--”
Hermione didn’t know what to say to make him understand -- I can't be there to look out for you, but I’m trying, she thought. She couldn’t explain to him how she felt like things were getting more and more out of her control every day. Maybe she never had that control.
On top of it, Hermione had the strange feeling that the world was moving in a direction that she didn’t understand. Harry, too. Her problem was that she didn’t know how to ask him to explain -- I didn’t think I needed to, she thought.
“I know,” said Harry, suddenly sounding tired. “But honestly, there’s nothing big going on. Stop reading that magazine, it’s just speculation. Do you remember how we used to talk about what we wanted to do after the war? I know what I want, Hermione. I want Ginny, and maybe some kids, and I want to be able to make that happen properly, to support them. The quiet, the happy life? Ron wants that too.”
Hermione tried to ignore the implication in his last words. She didn’t think she ever wanted the quiet, happy life that Harry was talking about. When she thought about her future, Hermione had always envisioned being and doing something more.
Perhaps her ideas of more had changed, and she had gotten lost in the way there, was still lost, but she hadn’t stopped wanting it.
Hermione didn’t think Harry wanted a quiet life, either. Maybe he hasn’t realized it yet, but he’s ambitious too.
“I know,” she said, because she didn’t think Harry would take it well if she didn’t agree. “And I’m sure you’ll get it, and Ron too.”
“And you will, Hermione. Just take it easy, okay?” She nodded, forcing a smile as he walked over to her, hesitating for a second before kissing the top of her head.
Hermione didn’t look up at him as he left. Instead, she dragged the crossword puzzle book towards her. She thought about how her father used to pull her tiny body into his lap to help him fill them out, reading the words out loud and deliberately mispronouncing them to make her laugh. She used to ask him about the meaning behind each of them, then she’d inquire about the hows and the whys, she’d insist until her father breathed out an amused laugh, saying she was too curious for her own good.
Her dad didn’t know how to explain some things to her, but that never bothered Hermione -- not when she was just a child questioning him about words, nor when she grew up and started questioning everything else, too.
Now, Hermione filled in the words by herself.