Monsters by Nightfall

In all the Years in which Draco Malfoy had known of the Boy-Who-Lived, he had never believed for one second, that said boy would ever stand in one of the Living rooms of Malfoy Manor, nervously shifting from one foot to another. Harry kept stealing glances at Draco, who was the only one currently occupying the spacious black leather couch while staring into space.

An even more peculiar sight was Narcissa Malfoy, pacing before the fireplace, sneaking expectant glances at the green flames of the flo network.

For onlookers, the time of it all would be a factor, ridiculing the situation even further, given that the clock had struck one over half an hour ago. For Draco, however, it didn't quite register why Harry's eyes kept unfocusing. Why they kept closing every once in a while in the form of a long blink, before reopening.

But perhaps Draco didn't realize how late it was, because he had lost track of time, occupied with his thoughts.
He kept going from a state of anxious tension to flashes of rage.

Draco only really noticed how late it had gotten when there was movement in the fireplace. The green flames rose high, revealing a tall figure with grim features.

—

Lucius Malfoy didn't quite look like himself, stumbling out of the fireplace rather ungracefully. His hair wasn't as straight as it had been when they'd first left for the World Cup and his clothes were far from pristine.
His state of disarray, however, became only a secondary issue when the Malfoy patriarch’s eyes fell on a certain Potter boy.

For a second it was hard to discern Lucius from a shabby aggressive street cat when he started hissing and shrieking at The boy who lived.

“What do you think you’re doing here? Tainting our home with your filth. If only you weren’t oh so important in the grand scheme of things, I would…”

“Father!”

Cold blue eyes fell onto the smallest Malfoy. While the initial exclaim had been sharp, what followed struck a softer note.

“Where did you go? After the game, you were just gone. I… I was worried. I needed you. You made Mother lie for you, just to go off with those-“

“Draco! We’ve been through enough tonight.”

No, I won’t let him do this over and over again Mother. When he takes their side it’s like he sides against me. You do know what they want father, don’t you? They want to kill people like me.”

“They would hardly kill someone as pure as “
“As whom father? There’s nothing pure about-“
“Perhaps you will discuss this another time.”
Narcissa urged, glancing at the half-sleeping form of the Potter heir - whose eyes and ears, however, were trained on the exchange.

“Mippy.”
Lucius called into the silence.
Out of thin air, an old house elf with ears like a labrador, plopped into the living room, bowing down politely in front of Lucius, glancing awkwardly at the rest. A cold shower went down Draco’s neck at the memory of the house elf in the woods. The Aurors.

“Show our…guest to their room and bring Draco to bed.”
Mippy bowed again, looking up at Harry, signaling to follow them.

Draco let out a grunt of disapproval, staring down his father. He was not a child anymore.

He had never really spoken up against either of his parents. But he just felt so much rage. Betrayal.
This was his time to prove himself. Prove his worth. Show some backbone.

But with a soft tab to his arm from Mippy, Draco still turned away though - a huff escaping his frustrated form - and followed the house elf and the half-blood up the grand staircase towards their sleeping quarters. Leaving unsaid words behind.

—

It was far after midnight and Draco couldn’t sleep. Which wasn’t that unusual, but it was weird that he was tired nonetheless. He wanted to go back down the stairs. Wanted to storm his father’s office, even his parents' quarters, and demand explanations.
This discussion wasn’t over. He didn’t want it to be.

But instead of doing just that, he stayed still. Kept quiet. Something was holding him back. Is this certain fear keeping him strapped down to the bed? Was it fear of the truth? Fear of his father's wrath? His father's honest opinion? Did the Malfoy patriarch share the death-eaters opinion?

The paralysis just wouldn’t go away. A desperate notion perhaps, to deny what was happening. Keeping quiet. Not confronting the issue because of that one possible outcome. His father's betrayal.

Draco groaned silently in frustration, curling up in his sheets with his back to the door.

No, it couldn’t be fear. No paralysis either. Draco Malfoy wasn’t afraid. Draco was strong. He was stronger than any other wizard. He was a vampire. He was able to stand up for himself. He just didn’t want to disturb his father this late at night.

Yes, that was it! He was no child anymore. His father didn’t have any power over him. Draco was just…

There was a quiet knock on his door, making Draco freeze.

How odd.

He hadn’t heard any footfall beforehand to warn him of visitors. Had he been so caught up in his thoughts?

Slowly, Draco turned in his bed, looking towards his door, focusing on the sound behind. But he couldn’t even make out breathing, or a heartbeat. Who was at his door this late at night? Was it one of the ghosts that haunted the dungeons of Malfoy Manor? They did sometimes float around the corridors as well. Especially around nighttime. But how would a ghost be able to knock on his door? And why? Was it his father then perhaps? Using a silencing charm to not disturb anyone? Though not wanting to disturb people wasn’t what Lucius Malfoy was particularly known for.

Had he come to make amends?
To tell Draco it was all a big misunderstanding?

Curiosity was dragging him out of bed. So Draco sat up and put his cold feet on the even colder floor. He was at the door before he knew it, tight anticipation curling in his stomach. Then he slowly turned the doorknob and peered out into the dark corridor.

It wasn’t however his dad, nor some common ghost.

-

Harry did sort of look like the dead though, standing there in his shirt and boxers, Boney limbs quivering in the cold breeze haunting the halls of Malfoy manor. Dark red bags under his eyes.

“Potter?”
A hurt look flashed over the chosen one's face at the use of his last name.
“What are you doing still up? If my father finds out the boy who lived to kill the dark lord, is snooping around his home at night he’d-“

“I’m sorry Draco, I- I shouldn’t have come over. It’s nothing anyway.”
The black-haired boy said looking down to fidget with his shirt hem.
“I just had this nightmare about Sirius. He was…”
Potter gulped.
“Dead. Well dying. And when I woke up there was this ghost in my room wailing about their death, and I just didn’t know where to… I’m- I’m sorry to bother you. I am. I just didn’t know where else to go since you’re, you know, the only person in this house that I know. I’m sorry. I’ll leave.”

Why did Potter have to be like this? Why did he always make Draco want to protect him? And how pathetic was Draco for always letting it get to him?

“It’s just that…you know Sirius and Remus are the only family I have left other than my friends and I just keep dreaming about them leaving me. And I… I can’t… do it alone. Not after the Dursleys.”

Why did Potter always feel like telling him his entire life story? And why couldn’t Draco just ignore it?

“Merlin, I hate you and your sob stories, Potter. Come in then, before anyone sees you.”