Chapter 7
As Lucius escorted Young Draco out of the room, Older Draco seized the opportunity to regain control of the conversation. He felt the effects of the truth serum coursing through his veins, rendering him incapable of lying. His mind raced, strategizing how to navigate this precarious situation without revealing too much.
With a sense of urgency, Draco realised he needed to keep talking, preemptively addressing any questions Narcissa might have before she could voice them herself. He understood that allowing her to lead the interrogation would only increase the likelihood of inadvertently divulging information he wished to keep hidden.
Despite his mastery of legilimency, Draco knew he couldn't rely on it in his current exhausted state. The mental effort required to deflect unwanted truths would only drain him further and slow down his responses, potentially raising suspicion. Instead, he focused on maintaining a steady stream of dialogue, hoping to distract Narcissa and buy himself time.
Fortunately, Draco was aware of the limitations of veritaserum. Its effects were temporary, and overdosing could result in delirium, rendering the subject unable to provide coherent answers. He calculated that Narcissa wouldn't risk administering too high a dosage, especially considering the potential consequences.
Time was his ally now. Draco knew he had to prolong the interrogation, stretching out the conversation to its limits while maintaining Narcissa's curiosity. With each passing moment, the effects of the truth serum waned, and Draco's window of opportunity narrowed. But he remained determined, determined to protect himself and his secrets at all costs.
"I'm from the future," Draco's voice sliced through the air like a blade, each word dripping with bitterness and anger. "A future plagued by darkness and despair. The Dark Lord returned–”
His mother stood incredibly still, her eyes piercing intensely at him, giving him her full attention, but Draco ignores it as he continues on.
“–and with him came chaos, destruction, and death. Another war ravaged our world, leaving nothing but ruins in its wake. The Dark Lord's return has plunged our world into chaos. Families torn apart, society lies in ruins. Purebloods, mudbloods alike—none are spared from his wrath."
His eyes bore into Narcissa's, cold and unyielding, as he continued his tale of horror. "The Dark Lord—once revered, now a twisted abomination—returned with a visage like that of a serpent. A cruel, monstrous tyrant who cared for nothing but his own twisted desires and the annihilation of all who opposed him."
His mother scoffs, dramatically faking a relaxed stance, and starts to saunter over him, not dissimilar to a lazy wild cat walking to its prey, rolling her eyes with an air of patronising amusement, Narcissa starts to speak “Do you real–”
Draco viciously cuts her off, his voice harsh and filled with contempt "Most, if not all, of my friends are dead!” He spat out the words, the bitterness palpable in the air.
“The Parkinsons, the Notts, the Yaxleys… so many noble lines, ancient lines – extinct! And for what?! Our once-proud manors lies in shambles, overrun by half-breeds and other dark beastly creatures that the Dark Lord rallied to his side”
"For who else is left," Draco's voice dripped with scorn, "when the loyal subjects you've beaten down to abused dogs have all been brutalised, killed, and broken out of mere amusement and a fit of rage, or sense of hubris." His words cut through the air like a whip, each syllable laden with bitterness and contempt.
His tone turned icy as he recounted the devastation wrought by the war. "So many of our fellow wixen – dead or in hiding," Draco's voice echoed with a chill, "the light forces scattered and powerless, the dark much the same.”
His mother mocks him, "So what, you traveled back to get us to join the light? Bend to the wills of Albu–"
"Albus Dumbledore is DEAD!" Draco interrupts sharply, his voice laced with bitterness. "There is no Dumbledore to protect us, there is no light to escape to, there is no muggle world to hide within! And what use are the light? A bunch of headless Order of the Burning Chickens, running amok like headless chickens without their precious Dumbledore, useless, mudblood-loving scum that spits at any pureblood—even neutral—that switches to their side."
“The light refused Astoria for treatment, solely because she’s a pureblood, despite the Greengrasses’ neutral stance politically, despite there neutrality branding them blood traitors in the eyes of the Dark Lord, leaving them hunted and shunned from both sides – no, the Light would sooner see us fall”
“The Ministry had fallen, Hogwarts in ruins, St. Mungo's looted and barren. There is no safe place for sanctuary. Society as we knew it had crumbled, reduced to nothing more than a shadow of its former self. Much of Europe – infected all the same, the rest and the international world closed to us." Each word hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of despair and desolation.
Narcissa's brow furrowed in disbelief, a scoff escaping her lips. "Surely you exaggerate, Draco," she interjected, her tone dismissive. "The Dark Lord fights for pureblood rights. He seeks to restore our rightful place in society, not tear it apart. Moreover, the Malfoys have always been highly regarded in the Dark Lord’s eyes, he respects us and would never–"
Draco might have believed that she truly meant every word she said, she was so believable, so genuine in her righteous sprouts of truth. But Draco knew better, knew what his mother truly feels – had always truly felt about the Dark Lord and he’s Death Eaters, and his Fathers association with them.
Draco gave her a mocking smile, as if sharing a secret that ought to be kept "The Dark Lord's vision is one of madness and destruction. He cares nothing for purebloods—he sees us as nothing more than pawns in his twisted game. If we don't stand against him, our very way of life will be extinguished–”
His mother opens her mouth to interject, but Draco cuts her off “but you knew that already!”
"You've always hated him…the Dark Lord," Draco's voice dripped with disdain, "thought him hubris for daring to consider himself above any of us, playing with fathers emotions, making him seek him for approval, acting as if he were above a Malfoy, above a Black!”
“And for what reason? Because he's supposedly Slytherin's heir, yes, sure, Slytherin was an ancient revered family, but not more so than the noble and ancient Blacks! And was he even heir? What heir claims to be a lord or vice versa? What proofs does he have, how did we never hear of him before, why hide his identity?"
His words came sharp and biting, each one laced with venom. "The last known Slytherin descendants were those filthy inbred Gaunt imbeciles, outcasts, living in some muggle shack somewhere, outcasts of society." The bitterness in his voice was palpable, fueled by years of resentment and disdain.
"Yes, he's powerful, a force to be reckoned with, but does that solely make him worthy?" Draco's tone is challenging, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Albus Dumbledore's powerful, his magical prowess, political clout, mass following, and defeat of Grindelwald… does that make him equal ? Does that make him better ? Does that negate his halfblood status and clean up the taint of the dirty blood that runs through his veins from his mudblood whore of a mother?”
His mother stiffened, her gaze piercing into him, before she masked her expression with a dangerous smile that hinted at mock confusion. Draco, sensing her unease, quickly prodded into her thoughts with a light Legilimency, observing her struggle to reconcile her dangerous dark thoughts with the situation at hand.
"You've always had an inkling that something was off about him, ever since Reggie–" Draco paused, relishing the shock that flickered across his mother's face as her hand flew to her throat in disbelief.
"–told you he's likely a half-blood – and how right you both were!" Draco finished, his words cutting through the tension like a knife.
Glancing up at his mother, Draco's expression remained calm, devoid of judgement. "Yes, you told me all about Reggie… and how you came about my Black inheritance."
Draco's light presence in his mother's mind alerted him to the fact that he miscalculated in dropping his knowledge on her. He had hoped that revealing that tidbit of information would gain her trust, as it was something nobody else knew and she would have taken it to the grave under normal circumstances. Instead, it made his mother antsy and defensive, ready to shift the power dynamics and start grilling him with questions of her own. Draco knew he had to cut her off before she started.
"You're intelligent enough to know that everything I've said is true," Draco's voice was firm, his gaze locking onto his mother's. "You've dosed me with Veriteserum, you've checked my magic, blood, inheritance, and everything in between. I am YOUR son, and I need you to help me."
His mothers eyes soften, “Draco I–”
But Draco needed to make the emotions, and the severity of it all to hit home, so there will be no second guesses.
"You and Father are DEAD!" Draco's voice rumbled with anger, his eyes flashing with raw emotion. The unexpected volume and intensity broke his mother's defensiveness, shocking her mind into a momentary blankness as she processed his words.
His gaze fell to the floor, the weight of his memories almost too much to bear. "You and Father are dead," he repeated softly, the words catching in his throat. "Aunt Bella was all I had left…and she was…." Draco's expression twisted into a dark chuckle, an unhappy smile playing on his lips as he locked eyes with his mother, sharing an unspoken secret between them that Narcissa never thought another living soul would know.
"...a Trixie-minxy-thing," Draco said in a high-pitched, childish tone, so reminiscent of a dark memory from their past that Narcissa had long buried and pretended was fictional from her girlhood. The mere mention of it made her shudder, the memory too dark to fully confront.
Both stood silent for a moment, a short moment that felt too long. Narcissa's eyes widened in shock at Draco's outburst, her anger slipping for a moment. But as quickly as it had appeared, it was replaced by a steely resolve. She may not fully comprehend the gravity of Draco's words, but she knew one thing for certain—her son needs her… they both do.
"The Veritaserum is starting to wear off now, Mother," Draco's voice held a weariness that betrayed his exhaustion. "So if you have any more questions, you might want to ask me now. But I'd think I've answered everything you need to know, and I would like the privacy of the rest of my thoughts."
Narcissa's eyes flickered over him in contempt, though the fire behind them seemed to have dimmed, overshadowed by the weight of revelations. "You took over the conversation to stop me from questioning you under Veritaserum," she stated, her voice tinged with a mix of resignation and acknowledgment, "to control the narrative while still giving me the truth I sought."
Draco met her gaze with a blank stare, neither confirming nor denying her observation. With a solemn nod, Narcissa accepted the unspoken truth between them, understanding the complexity of their situation.
The weight of Draco's previous words still hangs heavy in the air, each syllable laden with the bitterness of a soul scarred by the atrocities of war. "We live in fear, Mother," he confessed, his voice tinged with a raw edge of anguish. "Every moment, every breath—filled with the knowledge that at any moment, we could be snuffed out like candles in the wind."
Narcissa could only listen in stunned silence as Draco painted a picture of a world consumed by darkness—a world where hope was but a distant memory, and despair reigned supreme.
"But I refuse to accept this fate, Mother," Draco declared, his voice ringing with a steely resolve. "I will not stand idly by as our family's legacy is torn asunder by the whims of a madman. I will fight, tooth and nail, until my last breath, to reclaim what is rightfully ours."
As Draco's words echoed through the room, Narcissa couldn't help but feel a shiver of fear run down her spine. The future he described was a nightmare beyond comprehension, and yet, there was a fierce determination burning in her son's eyes—a determination to defy fate itself and carve out a new destiny, no matter the cost.
Narcissa flicked her wand, releasing Draco from the chair he had forgotten he was strapped into, and walked over to him. She began to manually massage feeling back into his hands, an excuse to touch him and ground herself in the present reality of the now and what could have been.
Then, she cupped his small face in her hands, gently lifting his face so she could gaze into his eyes. "How do we save us?" she asked, her voice a mix of urgency and determination. "Tell me everything."
And Draco did, to some extent, but he knew he needed to carefully craft his narrative. He wove a web of truths and half-truths, keeping his mother engaged while withholding crucial details. Dancing around sensitive topics, he subtly steered the conversation away from dangerous territory. Each word was calculated, each pause strategically timed to maintain control.
Because there were some things best left forgotten, and some things best left quiet until a better time.