Red Amaryllis
Remus woke up the next day in an unfamiliar room, to a very worried and pale Sirius.
“Ugh,” He groaned, stunner headaches took ages to fade, especially when you were as old as he was, even with advanced werewolf healing factors.
“Moony?” Sirius shot up from his cramped chair, immediately at Remus’ bedside, “Are you alright? What happened?”
Remus pulled a face, and Sirius winced, lowering his volume, “Remus?”
“I’m alright Sirius,” Remus muttered, “Just a nasty headache is all.”
Sirius sighed, slumping into the bed next to his husband, “Are you sure?”
Remus hesitated, knowing how sensitive a topic his cousins could be for Sirius, “Draco found me.”
Sirius shot up, looking down at Remus with double the concern, “What?”
The professor sighed, knowing he had no choice but to recount the whole story now, “It’s fine Sirius, better him than any of the others.”
His husband looked caught between his feelings, concern for Draco and concern for Remus pulling at his sides, “How-”
Sirius paused, recomposing himself, “How was it?”
The “How was he?” went unspoken.
Remus tilted his head, “It was . . . both better and worse than I would have expected.”
On one hand, Draco had looked physically fine, he hadn’t even had his cane with him, but he retained the blank look that had worried both Remus and Sirius in the past. Draco had let Remus and his group leave, but had also done lord knows what to him while asleep. Hw would be under careful observation by The Order for weeks. For all they knew, Draco had imperiused Remus while he was out.
If it had been Sirius, Remus would have bet Draco would have gone to some extreme, but it wasn’t Sirius who had gotten caught, it was him.
He and Draco didn’t know each other very well, due to Remus’ own hesitation, and in some small part, fear, straining any chance at a relationship.
Though he longed to somehow show Draco the same kindness he would Harry, or even Ron and Hermione, something was just off. His senses, which had only ever failed him once, way back in the beginning of the war, told him Draco was treading a fine line and about to fall off the deep end.
To put it simply, Draco was extremely unsettling.
“What does that mean?” Sirius asked, his face wrinkling in distaste.
Remus paused, trying to find the words, “He wasn’t exactly kind,” Sirius snorted, “But he could have done so much worse than he did.”
“Not exactly a golden standard, is it?” Sirius tugged Remus’ arm, turning it over gently, “And I don’t know if I could call this a good outcome.”
He hadn’t noticed it before, probably because there was no pain, not even a slight ache.
Remus raised a hand to the bandages, looking to Sirius for permission. Sirius nodded grudgingly, and Remus unwound.
In stark pink and red the words were clear and unmistakable, the handwriting mockingly perfect for what must have been a knife.
Spell scars didn’t heal that nicely, even with dittany.
“Well,” Remus mused, “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”
Sirius gave him an unimpressed look, “He is still Lord Black Remus, no matter how hard you insist the title doesn't matter.”
“I’ve told you before Sirius, not every Lord is the same, and Draco didn’t even know your Father.”
Sirius’ nose twitched the way it always did when his family was brought up, but he otherwise didn’t respond.
Remus reached for his husband's hand, stroking his thumb over the scarred knuckles. That was the way they sat, waiting for the sun to rise, and more news to arrive.
—-------
Draco’s breaths tore from his lungs like sandpaper, and the earth around him was soaked with blood.
His or his aunts? He didn’t know. There was no difference, just more metallic clang in the air, and more power for The Manor.
How many times would he have to learn? Blood was blood.
Part of him had expected it to be different. For his aunt’s soul to somehow turn her body just as black as their name, but she ran red like any other.
The exact same red as his.
Draco buried her on the grounds, as was traditional, and The Manor did its part too, blood red amaryllis springing up around the freshly turned earth.
Draco wished he could remember the duel, wished he could immortalise his aunt's last moments, but truly, he couldn’t even remember digging the grave. One moment, he and his aunt stood back to back, ready to fight, and the next, he sat at the edge of her grave.
At least, he thought it was her grave. Draco couldn’t even know for sure.
Standing, he brushed the non-existent dirt from his trousers.
He had other business to attend.