When Things Get Worse.
Draco hadn’t gone back to Malfoy Manor since his father was sent to Azkaban and his mother moved to one of their smaller cottages by the sea. It was, technically, his now, since his parents were no longer occupying it. He also couldn’t go back until he completed his eighth year at Hogwarts, something mandated to him by the Ministry. He was given the option of returning to the school, or two years on house arrest at the Manor. He couldn’t bear to go back inside just yet, and hoped school would provide a distraction.
He was in the Slytherin living room, stretched out across a black armchair. Blaise sat nearby, reading. Neither boy had said a word for quite some time. Blaise broke the silence.
“So, Draco, have you um.. have you written your mum?”
“No, I was actually waiting for her to write first. See if she wanted to speak with me as much as she said she did when she left.”
“I see. Why don’t you write her then? If she hasn’t yet. I’m sure it’d help you, uh, sleep at night if you knew how she was doing.”
Draco shrugged. Blaise knew that he had not gone to the dorm at curfew the last few nights. He heard the click of the door as his friend left the night before, and wondered where he could have gone without detection by Filch or McGonagall.
Draco finally responded to Blaise’s question.
“Perhaps I will. Tonight maybe I’ll write her.”
Both Draco and Blaise knew he was lying to both of them. Draco had no inclination to write his mother, especially after she practically abandoned him at the end of the war, once his father had been sentenced and everything had been put to rest.
“Sounds good, mate. Hey. You know, uh, you can talk to me if you want to. I’m stuck here with you too.”
While Blaise hadn’t been dealt the same hand as Draco, and was not forced to return to Hogwarts, he also did not necessarily want to return. He had come back because his mother was in the process of a finding a new husband, and did not feel as though he wanted to be around another arrogant man who did not know his fate.
“Thanks, mate,” Draco said, echoing Blaise. “I’ll see you around. I think I’m going to head to the library.”
Draco got up and grabbed his schoolbag from the chair next to him. He stalked out of the dungeon as first-years whispered and pointed.
As he made his way up the ever-changing staircases to get to the library, he noticed a small figure on the floor outside Gryffindor Tower. He squinted to get a better look at the sullen frame, who looked as though they were crying. “Granger.” He thought. Why put on such a display? Go into her dorm, pull the curtains, and cry like the rest of the traumatized people did.
The staircase finally turned to the library hallway and he made his way to it. As he entered, he felt more eyes on him. Some faces he knew, some he didn’t. People were glaring at him. He saw one student slip his wand from his sleeve into his hand. He made a beeline for the back of the library, where the older, more fragile books, resided. He had recently taken an interest in potions books from the 15th century. The recipe to many handy potions occupied these books, one in particular he needed more than others.
He got to one of the small tables in the corner, far from watching eyes and skin-burning glares. He threw his bag down and turned to search for a specific title. He scanned the shelf for a few minutes before he finally laid eyes on the tome he was looking for.
Draco almost tore the cover off as he flipped through pages to find what he was looking for. Then, he found it. The Dreambinder potion. It could remove dreams from a wizards head for up to six months, if brewed correctly. It was an extremely difficult potion to master, and those who did master it did not often share. Snape had once had a vial of it in the potions classroom, but the new professor had taken everything off the shelves for his own creations. Draco wasn’t sure how he was going to acquire all the materials to brew the potion, but he would figure it out eventually. The book stated it would take almost three months to brew one small dose. He sighed. Three more months of naps in class, of sneaking of out the Slytherin dorm to escape his own head. He put his head down, covering it with his arms. He couldn’t cry now. Wasn’t he just ragging on Granger for doing the same thing?
“Mr. Malfoy. I’m afraid you have to head down to Professor McGonagall’s office. She’d like a word with you. The password is flaming hobgoblins.”
Madam Pince whispered the password, and tapped Draco’s shoulder as she walked away.
“What does McGonagall want with me right now? I’m doing fine in her class, I haven’t gotten into any trouble.”
Draco wondered as he packed the book into his school bag. He left the library as quickly as possible in order to avoid a hex or curse thrown his way. Michael Corner had gotten him with a nasty Bat Bogey last week, and he’d like to avoid that this time.
As he made his way to his professors office, he wondered exactly what he was in for. Had someone made up rumors? When was the last time he made a snide comment? Oh Merlin, what if she knew he was sneaking out at night. “The old bat knows everything.” Draco thought to himself. He arrived at the door, and even the gargoyle outside seemed to be staring at him.
“Flaming hobgoblins.”
The door opened and he stepped inside. A flood of emotions hit Draco as he saw his mother at McGongalls desk. Dismay, surprise, relief. His mother was here. She hadn’t written him once since she left, but all of the sudden she’s here?
“Draco, darling.”
His mother said softly, her eyes wet with tears.
“Mother… Professor. Why.. why was I called here?”
McGonagall opened her mouth. Then closed it again. She finally began to speak when the greying Mrs. Malfoy began to cry quietly.
“Draco, I have a bit of news to give you. Come, have a seat.”
She gestured to the squishy chair next to his mother. He went and sat down heavily. A feeling of dread began in the pit of his stomach.
“Draco, dear,” Narcissa began, “Your father, he-” She cut herself off with a hiccup. “He died. In Azkaban. He attempted to escape. We- we don’t know why.” She finished and began to dab at her blue eyes with a handkerchief.
“I can understand if this news is difficult to comprehend, Draco. You don’t have to worry about attending class later today or tomorrow.”
Draco sat perfectly still. His father. Dead. The man was a bastard, but, he was still his father. Right? Even with this, Draco did not feel any grief or misery at the news. Just…anger? Confusion? He stood up and ran his hands through his hair. His mother cried more. McGonagall’s eyes pierced through him. He had to leave the room. Now. Before it got worse. He stalked out of the office, both women calling after him. He sprinted through the Entrance Hall, into the cold air. He shivered yet kept running. He got to the Great Lake and heaved himself down onto a bench.
“FUCK.”