Meet the Malfoys

The holidays passed by in a rush; Draco kept mostly to his room occasionally joining his mother and aunt for meals. He had always loved the lavish decorations at the manor and the new year gala which his mother organized every year. This year though his mother tried to maintain a façade of normalcy, his father’s absence cast a dark shadow on the once opulent affair of Yule at the manor.

He had received numerous gifts from family and friends, which lay forgotten in a corner in his room. A tight knot of fear intertwined in his chest as he thought about his task and Snape’s offer. As the day of return drew closer, Draco was torn between loyalty to his family and his sense of self-preservation. He decided that he had to keep his options open, and play it by the day.

Pansy had braved to visit him the day before school started and sent an owl to meet near the hedges. The Parkinsons were not necessarily neighbors but they shared a disputed property boundary. Draco hurried toward the marble fountain at the eastern edge of the manor. Just as he reached it, he caught sight of Pansy emerging from the hedges, her familiar figure drawing closer. Pansy was his childhood friend, they had spent numerous nights here after dinner, laying in the grass watching the stars, much to the chagrin of their parents. As children, they had even attended preparatory classes with a private tutor, studying French, Latin, dancing, and astronomy together. 

Pansy was clad in winter hues, her bob impeccably sharp with not a hair out of place. She smiled and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. “How are you, Draco? You seem better than last week. How are your mother and aunt? I hope they had a decent Yule,” she asked cheerfully.

Draco grimaced; Pansy was his girlfriend, but Merlin, she could be so oblivious at times. 

“You know what, Pans, drop the act. You’re well aware of how things are. I’m sure your father is bragging about it at dinner,” Draco replied sharply. Pansy, groomed to be the perfect pureblood wife, often swept unpleasant thoughts and situations under the rug. She looked at him, concern etched on her face. “I’m only asking because I care about you. You haven’t replied to any of my letters,” she said softly.

“Well, I was busy. I had a lot on my mind,” Draco taunted, turning his attention back to the blades of grass beneath them, plucking them absently from the ground.

“Perhaps, we can do something to take your mind off all this trouble,” said Pansy. She placed a light hand on his knee and leaned into him with inviting eyes. The teenage boy in him jumped at the offer, but Draco was taught to compartmentalize his emotions and not give into irrational urges. He knew he would regret his next words, but Pansy was a distraction, and Draco had promised himself at the beginning of the year that he wouldn’t tolerate any. Taking a deep breath, he braced himself for the inevitable storm of anger that was about to unfold. 

“Pans, we had a good run. Whatever this was, it was special for me but I need some time and space to think about my future,” said Draco. Pansy took back her hand and stiffened. “Are you breaking up with me? Are you calling this off?” When Draco showed no change in his stance, she stood up abruptly. “You know what Draco you are a selfish little prat! Don’t come crawling to me when you miss me. There are plenty of pureblood heirs who are lining up to court me.”

Pansy pretended to dust off her skirt, her head held high as she began to walk back toward the Parkinson estate. Draco remained lying in the grass for a while, listening as the crickets began to chirp. Yes, Pansy was wonderful, and he would likely miss her company, but he was the Malfoy heir. There would be plenty of pureblood witches eager to catch his attention once this unpleasantness was behind him.

*******

The next day, Narcissa and Bellatrix accompanied Draco to the fireplace in the parlor. Students were required to return to Hogwarts through a one-time floo network arranged by the Ministry for the safety of the students.

“Take care my dear child and do write as often as you can.” Narcissa gave an unfamiliar hug and lightly kissed his forehead. Draco said goodbye to his mother, nodded to his aunt and stepped into the emerald flames.

Draco returned to the castle through Snape’s office, he arrived squarely and quickly trooped out with other Slytherins to avoid any confrontation. He had given Snape’s proposition enough thought but he didn’t have an answer yet. He was summoned by the Dark Lord over the holidays to remind him of the precarious position he was in. He was between a dark dungeon and a dangerous troll.

Hogwarts continued to persist as usual, student going on about classes, professors nagging about homework. Draco was having sleepless nights again; purple circles had started to appear under his eyes. He tried his best to glamour them, but Pansy still saw through them. She was angry that they called off their ‘relationship’ over the holidays. Draco reminded himself that he had no interest in a betrothal on top of the other things happening in his life, and that this untimely break-up was a good thing to have happened.

The only thing stranger than his task that year was Potter’s sudden rise to fame as a potions prodigy. In every lesson, Slughorn eagerly praised Potter’s newfound expertise, which was baffling given that in the past five years, Potter had shown little aptitude for the subtle art of potion brewing. The only other person visibly irritated by this was Granger, surprisingly. As they brewed antidotes in the potions lab, her hair had puffed up to twice its usual size due to the humidity, creating a comical spectacle. How could her hair be so bushy and curly? It must be her Muggle blood, he thought with a smirk.

Draco was tempted to make a snide remark, but just then, Goyle hurriedly shifted his cauldron and spilled his antidote all over his robes. “Watch it, you imbecile!” he yelled, but it was too late. The potion, which looked suspiciously like cat vomit, had already stained his robes. 

The rest of his lessons went no better, and Draco seized any spare moments between classes to work on the cabinet. It had to work—he had discovered the incantation in an obscure text from the Malfoy library, and through letters with Borgin, he felt confident he could complete it within a month. Still, he needed a backup plan in case Dumbledore grew suspicious. As if focusing on one method wasn’t challenging enough, he had to devise another. His last two attempts had ended in disaster; the cursed necklace and the poisoned mead had never reached the headmaster.

As February arrived, the snow around the school melted away, giving way to the cold, dreary dampness of the Scottish winter. The only silver lining to the dismal weather was the upcoming apparition classes. The sixth years had gathered in the Great Hall, where the Ministry-appointed wizard droned on about the "D's of Apparition" or some such nonsense. Draco, however, found it difficult to concentrate; his thoughts were consumed by the ongoing bickering between Crabbe and Goyle.

“I don’t know how much longer, all right?” he shot at Crabbe, oblivious that Potter was standing right behind him. “It is just taking longer than I thought it would.”

Crabbe opened his mouth, but Draco second guessed his response. “And for the hundredth time, it is none of your business what I’m doing. You and Goyle are just required to do as you’re told and keep a lookout.”

He was interrupted by Potter and he spun round with his wand flying in his hand. The Head of Houses called for quiet in the room at that moment, and he slowly, reluctantly turned back, and glared at Goyle and Crabbe. How much had Potter heard? The last thing he wanted was scarhead meddling in his task.

As annoying as they could be, Goyle and Crabbe were loyal and always kept a watchful eye for him whenever he asked. Draco didn’t consider involving anyone else; the smarter students would inevitably ask questions and use the information to their advantage. Goyle and Crabbe lacked any real Slytherin cunning, their dimwittedness evident in their constant fascination of transforming into girls using Polyjuice Potion. However, after that apparition lesson, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that Potter was watching him. The Gryffindor would often sit across the hall during meals, staring at him with narrowed eyes, a look of confusion etched on his face. 

“Did you hear about the poisoning?” said a seventh year to a group of Slytherin girls who were lounging in the common room. “Ronald Weasley ingested poison and almost died in Slughorn’s office. He ate few spiked chocolate cauldron cakes apparently.”

Draco froze. No, this couldn’t be his poison, he thought. He had instructed Rosmerta to poison the mead intended for Slughorn, who planned to gift it to the headmaster for Christmas. Since the headmaster was very much alive, it meant either he had tested the drink for poisons or Slughorn had decided against giving it to him. No, this had to be something entirely different.

*******

Weeks passed by and Draco continued to work on the cabinet. Snape’s offer was weighing on his mind but with his father still in Azkaban he needed to succeed at his task. Nothing would deter him, not even the upcoming Quidditch match.

There was a new sign on the noticeboard announcing the date of their Apparition test. Those who would be seventeen on or before the first test date, had the option of signing up for additional practice sessions in Hogsmeade. Zabini had panicked on reading the notice, most of his classmates had not managed to apparate and feared they would fail the test.

“But you have successfully achieved apparition thrice now Malfoy,” said Nott. “It is a shame that you cannot take the test.” Draco could not take the test whether ready or not for another couple of months since he turned seventeen in June. “Yes, I must wait till June, but how cool would it be to just- “he snapped his fingers to indicate disappearance. He considered how easily he could escape by apparating anywhere he desired.

The only class he truly enjoyed this year, aside from Potions—which was only bearable—was Ancient Runes, a subject chosen by just two Slytherins. The other classes blurred into an incoherent babble, but he relished interpreting the complex runes and the quiet atmosphere of the classroom during exercises. He used his mother’s textbook, filled with annotations and cross-references from the Black library. This invaluable resource not only made his interpretations quicker but also provided him the mental space to ponder his task without distractions.

He was seated in the common room, poring over his homework when an owl swooped in with a letter. It was signed by Bellatrix, and as he unfolded it, he found a short message laced with veiled threats from her master about the importance of timing concerning his task. Blood drained from his face, leaving him looking even paler than usual.

“Who is it from?” Pansy asked, noticing the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“It’s none of your business, so keep your upturned nose out of my affairs,” Draco sneered. Pansy looked hurt by his remark, but he hardly registered it.

He hurried toward the boys' bathroom, his back slick with sweat. Once inside, he quickly loosened his tie, taking deep breaths as panic began to set in. Fuck, I am going to die, fuck Dumbledore, fuck Potter and fuck the Dark Lord.

Draco was standing with his back to the door, his hands were clutching either side of the sink, his shoulders were shaking. He was crying, tears streaming down his pale face. He opened the tap in the sink to splash cold water on his face when the pale outline of Moaning Myrtle appeared to his right.

“Tell me what is wrong…perhaps I can help you” crooned moaning Myrtle's voice.

“No one can help me,” cried Draco. “I am going to fail…I cannot do it. If it doesn’t work soon…he will kill me…he will kill my entire family.”

When he looked up in the cracked mirror, he saw the shocked face of Potter staring back at him. No, not bloody Potter! With rage searing in his veins, he drew his wand to cast a hex. It missed Potter by inches, Potter’s hex caused a nearby wall to explode, and water was pouring from the pipes everywhere. Draco raised his wand and yelled ‘Crucio’ but before he could cast the spell, everything went wrong. Blood stained his robes and a hot searing pain erupted from his chest, he clutched his stomach and stumbled backwards. He fell on his face, and the last thing he remembered was the cold floor of the bathroom before everything went dark.

*******

The hospital wing was dimly lit, with Draco as its only occupant. The privacy curtains around his bed were drawn, and his mother sat beside him, gently caressing his forehead while casting daggers at Severus Snape, who remained silent on the opposite side.

“Detention? Potter tried to kill my son, and you’re telling me he got away with just detention?” Narcissa fumed. Snape attempted to console her, but his efforts were futile. Draco lay on a cot in the hospital wing, bandages wrapped around his body, waking to the sound of his mother and godfather arguing about Potter’s punishment.

“This is blatant favoritism, Severus, and you know it! He could have killed my only son—the sole heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black and the House of Malfoy! That should mean something in the wizarding world. I will approach the board of governors to have that loony, Muggle-loving headmaster sacked!” Narcissa declared fiercely.

“It’s not advisable to do that. Lucius is still in Azkaban, and this incident could trigger a further inquiry into Draco. We need to keep the Ministry and the school governors as far away from him as possible. Removing the headmaster won’t sit well with… your guest,” Snape pleaded. 

Draco groaned as he tried to move to a more comfortable position. Narcissa rushed to him, and gently held his face in her hands.

“Oh, my poor son, my dear darling. I was so worried for you. How are you feeling?” asked Narcissa. Her beautiful face was streaked with tears, and her shoulders were slumped in worry.

He made an unsuccessful attempt to sit up but a sharp pain shot up his abdomen and he slumped back into the cot. “I would like to speak to my mother in private please, if you don’t mind sir,” said Draco. Snape left the duo alone and Draco spared no time to cast a strong silencing charm on the room.

“Mother, you need to listen to me very carefully. We have to find a way out of this situation. Dark Lord or not, I don’t want to die. Please, just get me out of this,” Draco whispered urgently in his mother’s ear.

“What are you talking about, Draco? Is the task becoming too much for you? I thought Severus was helping you,” Narcissa replied, worry etched on her face as she searched for answers in her son’s expression.

“I don’t care about the task, Mother. Don’t you see? Both sides want me dead. The Dark Lord will find a reason to kill me even if I succeed, just to punish Father. And if we switch sides, Potter will come after me the same way he tried today. Please, we must leave. We must disappear.” Tears spilled from his eyes as he grasped her hands, pleading.

“Draco, we cannot defect from the Dark Lord. Your father will be freed soon, and everything will be fine, my dear son. We will win this war; the Dark Lord is invincible,” Narcissa insisted, her voice trembling with a mix of hope and fear.

“And then what!” he whispered, gritting his teeth. “We will be at his command at all times; the Dark Lord is demented. You think he is going to forget a slight against him even if I succeed against all odds. He wants me to die trying or fail so that he can kill me himself. I will work something out, but please I beg you, please let us just get away from all this. I don’t want to die.”

Narcissa gazed at her son’s frightened face; he was just a boy, her little boy. His grey eyes were brimming with tears, his bandages stained with blood, and his hands, tightly clasped in hers, trembled with fear. She would do anything to protect him—she had promised that the moment she first held him in her arms.

“Your father will never agree,” she admitted, her voice heavy with concern. “He would need to be convinced, or taken by force if necessary. He will never consent if he believes you are colluding with Dumbledore. That would be perilous, Draco; Dumbledore has no regard for the safety of the Malfoys. We must find another way. What do you propose?”

Draco closed his eyes and took two deep breaths, relief washing over him at his mother’s agreement. Even if she couldn’t convince his father, he would leave this damned place with just her. “I’m not sure right now, but I think we can figure something out,” he said. “I’ll need access to the vaults—specifically the main Malfoy vault.”

Narcissa regarded her son with a mix of emotions but chose to trust his instincts. “Alright, I’ll arrange that. But remember, Draco, people are often more motivated by glory than by galleons,” she reminded him. With that, she promised to keep him safe and reluctantly stood to return to the manor.

Draco was terrified—terrified of what he might become if he ended up killing Dumbledore. He was equally frightened of what would happen if he switched sides. He needed to think of a way out of both choices, and quickly, before he got himself killed either way. Wiping away his hot tears, he fell back into a restless slumber on the hospital cot.