27 June, 2001
1
27 June, 2001
It could be worser, he thought. A ...worm. A damnit ferret again. A rat or a snake. The later gave him a cold shower. After everything, after what happened in his childhood home, his manor, given by his last name. What they had done to their loyal house elves, what they had done to this teacher for Muggle studies. But, above else, Nagini was the one that gave him the cold wetness late in the night, how his heart wanted to jump out his chest and why he could not look at his father's wand.
He had hoped for a bird. It would have given him some connection to him, perhaps he would have been proud of him. Now, nearly three years after the war, it haunted him like the Black's blood purity mania and his own character faults. His mother couldn’t understand it, nobody could. He wasn’t a fan of the man in his youth, in the pre-war years, in the time before the Dark Lord raised again and his surname only gave him a reason for forced loyalty in exchange for his family and himself. And, after all this time, he still could feel the air around him, how his godfather and this man, even before his accepted death, begged to help him. The boy who did all the wrong choices in his spoiled life – at the end of the day and war, some people reflected on their lives in a cell -, he’s just a boy, his mother begged and his father, never abusive, genuinely in love with his son not like his grandfather was, also, just a boy, wronged by his elders. Still, it was his choice to follow, nevertheless the circumstances, overall, nobody cared if you had a bad childhood or if you did something because of this or this – if someone was dead because of your action, thefirethefirebacconhumanfleash, someone injured because of your action, it was the result. Pity for the monster, perhaps, for what he was cornered because of the situation. Nothing else mattered to the fact, what happened. Draco learned it. He was the first to acknowledge his failures in life, his shortcomings, his burden to the world. Potter had saved him; misguided by feelings that always followed them even after their school years, saved him the fate of his father’s sentence in Askaban. Sometimes he visited the older Malfoy, a foolish attempt to be punished for his crimes. His father was not of a strong mind, his ending was set in stone and in a slow process. He would never be freed from the dementors and couldn’t stand them like his dead feral aunt.
Sometimes he dreamt about his words in his first year, second year and till his last time with Potter, not Harry, never Harry, the boy who lived. What he had done to him, what he had said, this anger in him at the time. Death wishes to Granger, death wishes, how can a sane being wish death upon someone else? To many faults, to many missed chances and not the opportunity to change even one. The man visited him often. Told him about his time on the run, unspoken words finally in the open and how he missed his mentor with all his character flaws. Had he been his old self, certainly, his reaction would be drastically different. But what was his past behaviour?
Sometimes he couldn’t even look in the mirror and face himself – his traits for his lineages, can the madness spare him or is half still enough for them and always him lying in his own blood. His godfather, did he really liked him, over him with a look that he couldn’t quit interpret.
He wasn’t sure when he had the idea to try it. Maybe after he read another book about him, Potter made sure to publish real books about the greatest wizard in the world and even critical works were approved if they met the standard. Skeeter’s book and her whole image got a major blow after she angered the saviour too many times in the past – it escalated more after she wrote articles about Draco’s relationship with his aunt and spread rumours about him and fellow death eaters. She even wanted to write another book about him, well, perhaps she got more than what she desired – his father wasn’t in the mood to give exclusive interview’s. It was never stated that the former headmaster ever managed to be an animagus, albeit it was most likely. He was a master in transfiguration, after all, and his patronus was the one of a phoenix. He even had one, according to the boy who lived, a nice little fellow. He left everyone after the death of his dear companion. Must be nice to be loved by someone so without conditions. To sum it up, it became his goal in the following years, in a secluded place in his mansion without prying paintings or his mother’s nagging questions about a proper marriage proposal.
Now, the world was a lot bigger than it was before – the bookshelves with the selected information for his journey stood there like the big muggle houses that he saw on not moving photos from Potter, the lonely chair in the corner looked more like an undefeatable mountain. The large mirror with golden ornaments of over hundreds of little duplicates of the main mirror and cats who played with a bird, oddly like Umbridge’s taste, was in the middle in the room since the man started his experiment. An old heirloom of his father’s side, passed down for many generations. The dark Lord was strangely enough interested in it in his youth, according to his grandfather but Draco didn’t witness it in his time with him. On the other hand, in his second terror reign he wasn’t a picture of sanity either, not like in his youth.
It wouldn’t be good if he manages his dream and be unable to determine his species. Draco even put on several charms make the room large if needed and stronger, just in case. They still had the mansion wards, but he was always careful, especially after the war.
His fur was in a lighter shade than his original hair; he once read that there could be mutations and leaving these magical animals with different colours to their usually black one. His long, beak-like snout looked kind of cute if Draco allowed such a sentence to ever leave his mouth. He stretched his little arms and legs, formed a ball, and tried like a new-born to walk on four-legs. After a short time, he tried successfully to change back to his human form and gave his mirror-image a small smile, something that was lost for him for a very long time.
It could have been worser – to be a Niffler, at least, was very much in the realm of possibility for the shell of a former prideful Malfoy heir.