Chapter 2
Draco
Draco Malfoy is bored.
Not the kind of bored one feels on a rainy Sunday afternoon after you’ve finished a really good novel and a pile of washing up awaits you, although washing dishes is never a task undertaken by a Malfoy, ever. But the mind numbing, soul destroying, seemingly endless boredom that comes from discovering that life is a huge disappointment. The kind of boredom that no matter how huge your vaults at Gringotts are, how well cut your robes fit you, how soft your magically enhanced bed is, seeps through your soul relentlessly.
His life is very very comfortable and despite being aware just quite how fortunate he is, Draco can’t help feeling a little cheated.
Following the war, all charges against him were dropped considering his refusal to identify Harry to his father and aunt. Harry testified to the magical War Crimes Committee that Draco has effectively saved his and Hermoine’s lives making it impossible to take any further action.
His family had been fined an enormous number of galleons but seeing they had several enormous vaults full of them, it was hardly a penalty.
His father, however, had not been let off so lightly and was currently residing in a Ministry bail hostel following his release from Azkaban eighteen months previously. His whereabouts was a secret and Draco had no interest in trying to discover him as since the Battle of Hogwart’s they'd had no contact.
Narcissus, his mother, had moved to France to live quietly in an old chateau belonging to her family, the Black’s, and staying out of public view, preferring to spend her days drawing still life, usually flowers from her grounds. Draco had little to do with her too, apart from seeing her occasionally at unavoidable family gatherings.
There was little love lost between Draco and either of his parents, he had realised, with some horror, what a bully his father was and coward his mother. He bitterly resented their indoctrination and had worked hard with a mind healer to uncover his own sense of self; without the taint of the prejudiced values his parents had taught him. His healer had said on many occasions.
“Anything learned can be unlearned and although the most difficult thing to unlearn is what you have learned to be true, the truth reveals itself when an individual can combine their head and heart".
Draco’s thoughts and wishes had slowly, and at times painfully, aligned. A drawn-out process that is a retelling for another time.
As Hermoine was getting ready for work, Draco was on his third cup of coffee having been awake for hours.
He, too, was a poor sleeper and still experienced nightmares of the war, waking sweating and shaken. His healer had taught him a way to manage them – a nightmare protocol he called it - but while it helped, it didn’t stop them. They had been worse since Astoria died but the subject matter hadn’t changed. They were always about Granger being tortured by his aunt, Bellatrix, while he tried to stop it, he was paralysed, unable to move or make a sound.
It had been three years since his wife, Astoria, had died from the Malfoy curse. She had born a son, still born, and Draco believed it was the combination of grief and the blood malediction, the result of curse placed on a long-forgotten ancestor, which led to her passing. He had loved Astoria as best as he could, but Draco still believed he was incapable of true love, the unconditional type where all you wish for is the other’s happiness even if it comes at cost to yourself. He saw himself as, shamefully, innately selfish.
Draco had always been expected to marry Astoria Greengrass. They had known each other all their lives as both of them were descended from wizarding royalty, as it were. They had got on well, she had been starry-eyed over Draco’s beauty and elegance. Draco had found her attractive and as best companion as anyone else, so it made sense to go along with familial presumptions. Following the war Draco hadn’t the energy to do otherwise really and Astoria had been keen so why not?
Life, since the war, had been a disappointment. Many of his friends no longer wanted to be associated with the Malfoys – the Greengrass’s being one of the exceptions. Draco had discovered, to his horror, being a member of the Sacred twenty-eight no longer automatically guaranteed status in this new inclusive world.
Their marriage had been tragically short, Astoria was expecting a child just six months after they married to everyone’s delight. Draco was aware that the Malfoy family didn’t have scores of children, unlike the unnaturally fecund Weasleys, but assumed that bearing one male heir, as prescribed, wouldn’t be problematic. He had vaguely heard of the ‘Malfoy Curse’ but assumed it was some ancient myth drawn from superstition and prejudice. Appallingly, he learned otherwise, and the resulting grief was devastating, especially set in the background of the post-war upheavals.
As a young man, Draco had all kinds of dreams and plans. He was going to be a star Quiddich player, the most skilful seeker ever or failing that he had a yearning to be the Governor of Azkaban, but of course his father’s criminal record prevented that. Even joining The Ministry was out too as a result; who knew all those years ago that his family name would end up being a hindrance rather than key to opening any door he wished. Ironic really.
Draco had received an invitation to the Hogwart’s Alumni Reunion last week. His first reaction had been to throw it into the fire. There wasn’t any way he would voluntarily subject himself to the likely scowls and side-eyes from his classmates. The only school friends he wished to see were the ones he was in regular contact with so it would be pointless to go.
However, the post script snagged his attention. Handwritten rather than autoscribed, Professor McGonagall requested his presence in a separate meeting held alongside the main event to discuss an item relating to Abraxas Malfoy’s Will.
Abraxas Malfoy, Draco’s grandfather, had died whilst Draco was at Hogwart’s, they had barely known each other. Like his father, he had been a distant and cold parent to Lucius as far as Draco could remember. That was years ago, why on earth would there be anything to do with his Will still outstanding, Draco pondered.
There had been an air of mystery surrounding Abraxas’s life. Lucius had been born when Abraxas was abroad, and he had returned to England with his son in arms and never disclosed who the mother was. Of course, this had caused an uproar in the wizarding world, but Abraxas had never revealed Lucius’s other parent no matter how hard pressed he had been, much to Lucius’s dismay and resentment.
Draco couldn’t fathom why there should be anything to do someone who was long gone outstanding, how it could really relate to him and how, of all people and places, McGonagall and Hogwart’s were involved.
He was equally irritated and intrigued.