Chapter 2
Draco lamented how one day living at Grimmauld Place stopped feeling like deja vu and began to feel normal. At first, wandering the halls had conjured memories of large Black family gatherings and of his mother teaching him their family tree so he could recognize every second cousin and great aunt, and so he could earn the favor of the important men who led the family affairs. Narcissa was a gem, the only Black to have married a Duke. Draco was the favorite, doted upon by everyone. For a long time his memories of this manor house were only happy.
Now they were not.
When they first arrived they had been met at the door by who Draco first swore was a ghost. Aunt Andromeda had never been in the lessons his mother taught him about their family tree and Draco did not know better than to whisper, “Aunt Bellatrix?”
This had been a mistake, the first of many.
When Draco was informed he would be moving into Grimmauld Place he thought he knew every inch of the house from his years exploring it as a child. Aunt Andromeda personally led her sister and nephew to the back of the house and up three flights of stairs, the last of which Draco hadn’t realized existed. He had never before considered where the servants must live. They lived in small rooms with half ceilings tilted by the roof and furnishing so sparse Draco imagined it wasn’t too dissimilar from prison.
He didn’t dare say that aloud, he wasn’t foolish.
Andromeda did not take pleasure in leaving them in their new quarters. Draco recalled her frowning at him, eyes drawn down in a bafflement as if she simply didn’t know what to do with Draco being in her home. The home was new to Andromeda, who had been gifted it by King Harry after he secured his throne. But she had been there long enough to feel it an imposition to take on unwelcome guests.
Draco had been there for two years now, and one could no longer call him a guest. Even if Aunt Andromeda had never become welcoming.
Draco’s mother had mantras she repeated to him everyday.
“We must be thankful,” she reminded him. She told him this when he scowled at his morning porridge. They lived in servants quarters, but they were invited to the family table for each meal and Narcissa would not let Draco forget they didn’t have to be.
“We must be helpful,” she insisted. She told him this when he tried to hide anywhere in the giant house which had too few Black family descendants to fill it. It also didn’t have enough earnings to keep a staff to manage the entire house. Narcissa was ever aware that she and Draco could not afford to be a burden.
“I love you,” she said often. She said it when Draco was sad, which was always. She said it in a way that made Draco’s heart ache because he knew her only purpose in life was to take care of him. A person his parents loved so much that when their own lives were on the line they chose to sacrifice all they had to keep him alive in their stead. She said it so sincerely Draco couldn’t resent her for loving him so much that he knew he could never fail her and decide he didn’t actually care if he was living or not.
So, Draco wasn’t thankful, and for a while he was only begrudgingly helpful, but what kept him going was the unconditional love he shared with his mother.
One day he understood a little better why his mother tried so hard with him.
Aunt Andromeda was busy managing the entire estate, and also was frequently called to court by the King. It became clear in time she was very important to the King. When she was gone for long stretches of time, sometimes days, she had to take servants with her and that meant fewer staff to run the house. It was on one such day that Draco discovered a way he didn’t mind being helpful.
The baby was crying that day. Draco had met Edward, affectionately called Teddy, of course. Narcissa and Draco were always called upon to be present for formal visits, where one of the housemaids would have Teddy dressed up in his finest clothing and the guest would ignore the Malfoys in favor of cooing at the child.
Draco was on the second floor avoiding his mother when he heard Teddy crying. Draco peaked through a wide open door and saw the boy standing in a crib, clinging to the bars. Snot leaked out of his nose and big crocodile tears leaked out. No one was around to tend to the baby.
Draco made one of those choices he knew everyone would chide him for, but the back of his mind still held his father’s voice reassuring him that he was born to lead and should never shirk away from it.
The baby squiggled when Draco lifted him up and it took a moment for Draco to determine how to hold an infant. He propped one arm beneath the baby’s bottom and steadied Teddy’s back with his other hand, holding Teddy close to his chest. Propped up against Draco’s chest, Teddy began to cry again in earnest, smearing his tears and his snot against Draco’s clothing.
“Oh, shush Edward,” Draco scolded affectionately. He liked that Teddy was allowed to cry out all his displeasure and did not judge him for it. Seeing the baby close up for the first time, Draco was pleased to notice Teddy had his mother’s nose, all scrunched up like his mother’s got when she was cross. Draco started to bounce up and down, as he vaguely recollected others say to do with little ones. Teddy wasn’t soothed so much as confounded by the motion. “There, there,” Draco dead panned, smiling a little.
When the nursemaid, Angie, rushed back in holding a bottle she found Teddy contentedly clinging to Draco, his eyes dried of his tears.
Over the following weeks, Draco took over the nursemaid’s morning responsibilities with Teddy. Angie felt horrible, but also had to keep Aunt Andromeda’s rooms cleaned and assist cook with meals. Draco gave her precious time, and no one in the house looked too close as to where it came from.
For three hours a day, between breakfast and nap time, Draco was responsible only to a baby. Draco always greeted him, “Good morning, Edward.” He read Teddy the paper Aunt Andromeda had delivered but hardly opened. He used stuffed dolls to act out the heroic stories his parents told him as a child, like the legend of the great green dragon, and King Voldermort’s victory over Diagon. He only told that one once before he realized it would definitely get him killed if anyone told King Harry he was corrupting young minds. Besides, Teddy spat up on him during the tale. Clearly, he had chosen his side and Draco would defer to Teddy’s wisdom. Teddy liked to squeeze Draco and laughed at all his silly faces. Draco would give him anything.
After a month, when Aunt Andromeda had gone to town for the day and his mother was off resting, Draco would bring Teddy downstairs with him. Teddy loved to crawl, and Draco would follow after him on his own hands and knees.
That day, the one that mattered, Draco was making loud dragon sounds, roaring and puffing as he chased little Teddy down the hall. Teddy shrieked with laughter and scrambled forward. Draco would hold the sound of that laughter close to his heart. They scrambled all the way to the vestibule, just in time for the door to the manor to be pushed open. Teddy squawked the sort of noise only a child without words could make. Draco scrambled to standing and swooped Teddy up off the ground just in time for the guest to walk in.
“What the hell are you doing with my godson?” The man asked. Draco blinked at him in vague recognition. The man was broad shouldered and muscled in the way that soldiers managed through constant battle practice. His clothes had been quality but were now well worn. His dark hair was long and shaggy, falling almost to his eyes, his beard unkept. Draco met his bright green eyes, and it was the glare that finally revealed the man’s identity.
Draco bowed forward, off balanced and awkward. “Your majesty,” he managed. Teddy giggled in his arms, thinking the swooping motion a new game. King Harry all but growled as he stomped forward. Draco wasn’t back to standing before the king yanked the baby from his hands. “Wait!” Draco said, but it was too late. Teddy began crying as soon as King Harry took him. He wiggled and screamed, reaching out for Draco. “He doesn’t like strangers,” Draco finished to the King’s back as the King carried the baby into the house, ignoring Draco behind him. Draco could hear Teddy crying even long after they’d turned out of sight.
After that Aunt Andromeda glared at Draco over their shared meals.
Angie didn’t let Draco tend to Teddy. Draco couldn’t bear to be angry at her as he watched her do her best to care for the child while accomplishing all her required chores. Seeing Draco sink into deeper sadness, Narcissa had paused her insistence that he make himself helpful.
Strangely, Draco found himself choosing to be helpful anyway. He’d grown used to his mornings being the most active part of the day, and couldn’t bear to sit alone. Or worse, be close enough to hear Teddy crying because his guardian was unable to care for him as he deserved. So Draco got up and wandered to another area he had never visited before. This time he went down. He found the staircase behind the dining hall that led into another part of the house only for servants. It was there he found the kitchens. Large hot rooms lorded over by a man who had worked here longer than Draco had been alive.
“Master Draco,” the chef said in surprise when Draco walked in.
Draco shook his head. “I’m not master anything, Kreacher. I’m here to work.”
And Draco did. Peeling carrots and cutting potatoes and any number of other tasks so that Kreacher could send Angie on her way when she came to help him and Draco knew that she’d repay him by giving Teddy all the love he deserved.