"Never Quite Coming Back," for devon_may
Title: Never Quite Coming Back
Author: runespoor7
It was meant to stay a riddle for historians. There never was a war; instead, people were just found dead. Six months after my godfather died, Amelia Bones was made Minister; she was supported by Narcissa Black and Minerva McGonagall. Who had both spent a busy six months, the former in settling matters about her sister’s ignominious death and her divorce, the later in taking up Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s death. That was all.
I spent the two weirdest years of my life. Ron and Hermione assured me McGonagall was a good Headmistress; Hermione didn’t quite manage to hide that she thought McGonagall was a better Head than Dumbledore ever was. I was wondering if she was mad at first, when Snape became Deputy, but I assume she had her reasons. Hufflepuff won the Cup for two years in a row, which seemed to satisfy everyone and put a rein to the fears that no-one would ever win the Cup but Slytherin. (There were rumours about Snape giving detentions for that, saying it showed a lack of trust in the Headmistress; everyone judged it quite impressive on Snape’s part and decided to give him a chance after that. As Ron was the victim of that detention, I can’t say it says much of Snape’s respect of McGonagall.)
The letters I received from them were few and far between. I must say I didn’t stay in the UK; when Dumbledore was killed in late August, I decided not to come back to Hogwarts. I felt relieved. I had toyed with the idea of dropping out since going back to Privet Drive, but I knew I never could. Not with Dumbledore. Of course McGonagall disapproved; Hermione worried; Ron tried not to; Lupin understood and Aunt Petunia, who was, after all, my legal guardian, didn’t care as long as I was far away.
I still don’t know how come nobody argued about Voldemort being a menace. (No, I’m lying. Molly Weasley tried. She’s a well-meaning woman, Molly Weasley, but she can be completely off the mark.) Then again, he had been considerably weakened by the debacle in June. I suppose the consensus was that I was better off learning Russian and sweating for my life in the deepest of the Sahara than plotting an instant attack on the Dark Lord to try and extract my revenge. I was to be followed - that was only confessed to me the year after, months after I had found out. I hated it, but it was a guarantee and that kept me from trying to escape being watched. They usually were locals, people whom Lupin or Snape had met during their travels, or a member of the Order who ‘just happened’ to drop by, sometimes with news from home, Nymphadora Tonks after she left StMungo’s but before the Ministry accepted her back in the Auror ranks, Percy Weasley who was so mortified after realising his family had been right all along he insisted on being the first one to check on me, so he could apologise, as I later learned. It was a dreadfully awkward scene, but Percy earned more of my respect then than ever before. I don’t know many people who are ready to acknowledge their mistakes, to act upon it and to still try to make things work.
I only came back for a few days at Christmas and two weeks in summer. Then, when Hermione and Ron had passed their NEWTs, I was invited to Tonks and Charlie’s wedding. Moody was their best man, which I knew some considered to be bad luck, among whom I would have counted my ex-boyfriend if I hadn’t made such an effort of not thinking about the bastard (we’d been travelling together for three months; he was a Muggle journalist and had dumped me for a paper in Argentina).
It was a big wedding, as I realised before the celebration, not so surprising considering the extent of the Weasley family or Tonks’ character. I felt somehow at loss, since Tonks had wanted Hermione to be a maid of honour and Ron was busy alternatively peeping at them for his sake and for that of his older brother (who had been told to go and compose himself after he had broken more plates than the bride on her best days. From what Ron managed to tell me, Charlie was just a pack of nerves today).There were people I didn’t know, friends of the happy couple, Aurors or dragon-keepers, and people I didn’t want to talk to.
Finally I saw Remus next to the door; he seemed deep in conversation with a black-haired woman in a very attractive burgundy robe. I hadn’t seen him since the summer before (he was never at home for Christmas) and we hadn’t had the occasion to talk since I had come back.
The woman looked up when I came closer. “Remus, why don’t you introduce me to your step-godson?” she said decisively. Her voice sounded pleasant enough, but there was a note of steel as a point of tension. She wasn’t wholly agreeable; when she looked at me, I was taken years back, when I had first seen Bellatrix Lestrange. She had similar eyes, but grey, a similar brow and cheekbones and a chin I knew I had seen before, but couldn’t find out where. She was staring at me. It was a strange experience.
Remus smiled as an answer. “Andromeda, please meet Harry Potter, my adoptive godson.” That was Remus’ phrase to put something that couldn’t be legal. It was the best, I think, that could explain the care he took of me. “Harry, please meet Andromeda Black, Tonks’ mother.”
“That will be ‘Nymphadora’ when I’m in hearing range, thank you.” It didn’t sound as a joke, but she looked as if she was joking. (I was proceeding the information.) “How are you? I hear you’ve been travelling recently.”
“Yes, yes I was...”
“Seen anything interesting?”
I tried to find what could interest a woman who had left her family to marry a Muggle-born, who had, as far as I knew, never been part of the Order, and whose daughter was marrying today. Everything seemed pretty ordinary compared to that. Everything I could think of related to blood in some way, and I had the feeling it would not be welcomed by that woman. Luckily, I was saved from embarrasment by the arrival of several more guests, whom Andromeda Black turned to, ignoring both my startle and Remus’ fixed smile.
“Severus, so good of you to come. I’m sure Nymphadora will be delighted.” Snape slightly bowed. He didn’t look as sour as I’d have thought he would.
“Why, Andromeda, it’s always a pleasure.” He glanced around the crowded room. “But I don’t see your daughter... Should I look for anything in particular?” Now, was that just me, or had Snape just made a joke?
Andromeda Black shrugged, a surprisingly common gesture on such a distinguished woman; on her, it looked as if she was a lady pretending to be a street girl. It was... alluring. Not my style at all, but alluring. “She’s going to be in white. That’s all I know. Ted refused to tell me anything more.” She rolled her eyes, as if to say she had humoured them. Upon reflection, I judged her to be less cold than what I first thought. “You should ask him, I think she decided she didn’t want her father with her now. He’s so worried, you’d think he’s the one who’s getting married!”
There was a compliment waiting to be made, but Snape’s mouth just curved. “I see. I shall ask him then.”
I risked a glance at Andromeda Black but she was just smiling. I supposed she knew him and knew not to vex herself because he was a stoneman. Then she turned to the next guests.
“Narcissa...” She embraced her sister and I realised that was who she had reminded me of. Narcissa Mal- well, Narcissa Black, now - returned the hug. She was wearing a sky-blue robe that was better cut than her sister’s, but in a more classical way. When Andromeda pulled away, she greeted the person standing next to Narcissa. “Draco.”
Narcissa didn’t look particularly ill at ease; perhaps her back was a bit too straight and her chin tipped a bit too high. Her son, on the other hand, clearly looked to be on the defensive. I wondered if he had ever seen his aunt before. Before he had the time to open his mouth and say anything, she had kissed him on both cheeks and was watching pink go to his face with obvious satisfaction. “A-aunt Andromeda,” he answered in a peculiar tone. Defensive.
Andromeda Black winced. “What did I tell you about the ‘aunt’? Just Andromeda, please. I don’t feel quite that old.”
There was a pause. Then Narcissa forced a smile. “Now, Andromeda, could you introduce me to your friend?”
“Oh, certainly. Draco could go with Harry, I’m sure our mindless chatter would just bore them.” She looked at us; I don’t think either of us had understood what was going on. “You were in the same year, weren’t you?” Then, paying no more attention to Draco and I, she went away, her sister and Remus on her side. I thought I could hear whispers (“Now, Andromeda, don’t you think you’re exaggerating? You were in the same year as Fabian Prewett, and Merlin knows I don’t remember you going on so well with him!” “Fabian Prewett was an idiot who chose Dumbledore over me for no good reason except that he was an idiot, and you know it, Narcissa!”) but I decided I had imagined it. For one, I couldn’t imagine Narcissa Black would have abandoned her only son to the company of someone she perfectly knew he hated.
There was a silence. For a moment, I wondered if I could just leave him by himself. But it would be offensive to Andromeda Black, and anyway I couldn’t think of an excuse. When I stopped avoiding looking at him, I was surprised at how serious and pale he seemed. Probably had a row with his mother about coming to a Mudblood and a Weasley’s wedding. But his first words weren’t disdainful in any way.
“So, Potter.” He paused. “Have you seen anything interesting while you were abroad?” He looked vaguely interested, and I wondered what was up with everyone asking me what I had seen. I wondered if he hoped that there were still Death Eater-like active groups. I wondered if it was because he’d have wanted to go away too, to leave England, its politics and his Azkabanned father.
“You know, when you see too much, you don’t know afterwards what qualifies as interesting and what doesn’t. What about you?” I had it on the tip of my tongue to ask about the UK, but everyone had been intent on telling about it, and I was afraid of what he’d tell me anyway. That he wished Voldemort hadn’t been killed? That he’d start politics to take up after his father? That one day the wizarding world would see the light and kill all Muggle-borns?
“Oh, you know. Graduated from Hogwarts, passed NEWTs, all that.” He fugitively smiled. “I had a hard time convincing Vellimont I didn’t want anything to do with them, though. You have heard about Vellimont, haven’t you?”
I nodded. Yes, the school that had been founded by remaining Death Eaters or sympathisers not long after Amelia Bones’ election. It was reserved to the “Sons and Daughters of the Blood”. I had thought Malfoy would have been the first one to desert Hogwarts. He continued. “They haven’t accepted yet. They’ve even offered me a Professor choir!” He derisively smirked. It looked less genuine than the ones I remembered. “I’d be about as pleasant as Professor Snape, and not half as effective.” It was the first time I heard a Slytherin criticise their Head of House. “And for what? For a dozen students or so.” He shook his head. “They’re mad.” That was deadpanned.
“A dozen?” I didn’t think I had heard right. That wasn’t even the number of Death Eaters that had been condemned to Azkaban.
He looked tired, and sighed. “People have other things to do than raise their children with the hope that one day, they’ll be judged worthy and be killed at the orders of another madman. Thirty years is a long time to live in fear.”
We stayed silent for a while. I was working through what he had told me. It had been thirty years since the name Voldemort had started transpiring through the wizarding world, since it had started inspiring either fear or exaltation. Sometimes both. People had been dying, on his side or against him, for years before I was born. Families had been destroyed - I had the living proof before me; the Blacks, who could say they’d done better than that, Death Eaters and members of the Order, killed for or by Voldemort, sacrificing to blood or to love? And after that, there had been fifteen years of distrust. I could remember how people had feared saying Voldemort’s name, how Hagrid had said he didn’t think the Dark Lord was dead. A Minister had fallen because of that fear; Hogwarts had been nearly destroyed. If, after that, things could just stop with a small number of victims, such as Sirius or Draco’s father, people wouldn’t kill to do more. They just wanted to live in peace. There had been trials, more serious and more trials than the first time around, to settle things for good. Then they’d start over something new. I found I had done the exact same thing.
After that, we started speaking about less essential things, what we’d do now I was back and he had his NEWTs. He was thinking about a career in Quidditch, in wand-making or in Potions, but for now he was just enjoying his summer. He wanted to know if I’d go into Quidditch; I shrugged and explained that of course I loved Quidditch, but did I love it enough to make a living out of it? He seemed to understand exactly what I meant and exclaimed that yes, exactly. It didn’t seem to be a real job somehow. And professional Quidditch was so different from the games we played at Hogwarts. He was curious about what I’d do without NEWTs, but it was a curiousity that was very careful not to offend, and he didn’t say anything about Aurorship. I answered that I’d probably take my NEWTs one day, in two or five years, but for now I wanted to learn more of the wizarding world. I had travelled: I had discovered things in other countries that I had barely glimpsed at in my five years at Hogwarts.
“Real life, eh?” There was a tired sneer on his face.
“No,” I contradicted. “Studies are just as real as what is outside. Take Hermione for instance. She probably knows at least as much of the wizarding world as Ron. And she learned most of it in books. I don’t have that ability, so I must learn things otherwise.”
He stared at me. I wouldn’t have said that two years before, and I knew he knew it, but didn’t dare to comment on it. Then I asked some question about Quidditch and he gratefully answered. We spoke only of Quidditch until I saw Ron coming back; Hermione must have threatened to hew him one time to many for him to stay there. Malfoy saw him too, excused himself, and went to the buffet.
Ron didn’t explode, as he no doubt would have two years before. Malfoy and I weren’t the only ones who had changed while I was absent. I suddenly realised we were adults, we were of age now.
“Should have thought he’d be there,” he remarked. “Tonks said everyone would be there.” Only then he frowned. “He didn’t bother you, did he?” I thought Ron would make a good father one day, with his protective tendencies.
“No, we just... talked.”
He felt I didn’t want to talk about it, and he changed the topic. Hermione had promised to Stun him if she saw him once more before the celebration. I laughed at his face and he pretended not to see what was so funny. It was good to see that, no matter how much they had changed, I still knew my friends.
***
I didn’t hear of Draco Malfoy for a few months, until, in October of the same year, Lucius Malfoy died in Azkaban. There was a small ceremony, which Tonks refused to attend. Her parents went, with Remus whom Narcissa Black had apparently taken a liking to. (There had been much snickers about it from the twins and a grumble from Moody about how he’d never have thought such a thing from Remus, you’d better watch out my boy. At first Remus had tried to dispell the innuendos, since even Molly Weasley seemed convinced there was something going on between the two of them, then he just ignored them after seeing that everything he did to defend himself was useless and only served to make the snickers grow in intensity, along with shifty looks. He never complained about it, but I suspected he sometimes felt as if he was a teacher in Hogwarts, with students suspecting a romance between him and another teacher, with Molly Weasley playing the role of a somewhat more suspicious Dumbledore.)
Two days later, Draco Malfoy disappeared without a trace: I learned it from Hermione, who knew it from Tonks, who knew it from her mother whom Narcissa had told it to, saying he hadn’t been to work either. (Once interrogated, Hermione said he had found a job at Quidditch Quality Supplies; she had seen him there when she was looking for a gift idea for Ron, “but please don’t tell him I have to start looking now to find something that he’ll like for Christmas, he’s never going to shut up about it”.)
Why I decided to investigate Draco Malfoy’s disappearance is at anyone’s guess. Merlin knows I’ve wondered myself several times since. What was I thinking? That he’d try and avenge his father? That he’d start a perverse cult around his father? That he’d go looking for Voldemort’s remains? That he’d look for a way of resurrecting Lucius? That he’d kill himself? That now his childhood hero was dead, he’d travel around the world as I had imagined he’d love to? That he’d been abducted by angry ex-Death Eaters that didn’t forgive him not having done anything to follow in his father’s footsteps?
The first thing I did was verifying how things had been at Quidditch Quality Supplies. Yes, he had been employed there for a little over a month; he was very knowledgeable about Quidditch. Their previous salesman had found a better job somewhere, and, in fact, they’d only decided to employ him on the second time he sent them his letter. After all, Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater’s son, and while his own innocence had never been put under question as well, there were suspicions... The owner looked so smug and knowing (he had been right all along, that boy had been up to no good) that I couldn’t stop myself.
“Of course. Most of Voldemort’s servants were fifteen years old. Can you think of any other culprits?”
He seemed to realise what he had implied. “Oh, no!” he protested. “That’s not what I meant, Mr Potter! I was just speaking about him! I didn’t mean...”
I knew exactly what he had meant. I imagined the last two years hadn’t been too much fun for Draco Malfoy.
“But his mother supports the Minister, doesn’t she?” I was fascinated. Suddenly this man was incarnating the vox populi in all its glory, what I had looked for and found in other communities, but never before in my own country. That was the kind of things even the Daily Prophet didn’t say; they were too busy singing the praise of Amelia Bones and the incredible courage which had united the wizarding world in those harsh times. (Imagine. Seeing four people drop dead, two of them being Death Eaters and another one the Dark Lord himself. Very traumatising, having to watch without doing anything. If only they’d known it would be so easy...)
He raised a perspicacious finger. “Ah, but Miss Narcissa is a Black. She didn’t know her husband was a Death Eater. We know that because, you see, she took her name again.” He nodded, and repeated, “Madam Narcissa Black. A very honourable lady.”
That was the same very honourable lady which had had a hand in my godfather’s death, I suspected. I also suspected she had been the one to advise Lucius to make himself scarce after Voldemort’s first fall. And to say it was Lucius, all along, whom we had thought was the political-minded one, the éminence grise... But now wasn’t the time for realisations about Narcissa. What was of interest to me was her son.
I didn’t have much choice, as I realised when, upon stopping for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron, I counted who had a chance to know anything about Draco. I doubted Tonks could tell me anything, but at least she’d ask her mother for me. There were Andromeda and Narcissa; perhaps Tonks’ father, whom I knew even less than his wife, and was anyway a Muggle-born, and thus unlikely to have heard anything from Draco Malfoy that could explain why he’d disappeared; Remus, for all I knew; and Severus Snape. Draco Malfoy’s social circle and mine tended not to overleap, I discovered. I could go to his former Housemates, but I had good reasons not to; first, I didn’t know if they had parted on good terms; second, I didn’t know if they had turned their coats as swiftly and spectacularly as Narcissa Malfoy, and would be disposed to help me; third, I’d still rather facing Severus Snape on a bad day than trying to have a conversation with Goyle or Pansy Parkinson. At least I knew I’d never be mad enough to raise my wand against Snape. I wouldn’t swear the same about the other two. If they gave me a good reason...
Then I thought how it would look if I went and asked Remus and Tonks about Draco Malfoy’s whereabouts. Our decency at Tonks’ wedding had attracted its fair share of attention, and Ginny had been mildly convinced that I had become an idealist and it was only a matter of weeks before I claimed my belief in such things as universal goodness and that Voldemort had just been misunderstood, if only someone had lent him a teddy-bear when he was a small boy. I didn’t even dare thinking about the reaction to that. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Remus’ or Tonks’ discretion; but I had experimented with the twins’ latest inventions, and I knew what they could do.
I went to Andromeda Black. I was repeating to myself it was that or Snape, since I had absolutely no way to contact Narcissa Black, but I couldn’t help feeling weird about it. Which was stupid, because that woman had been nice and pleasant and I had absolutely no logical reason to be afraid of her. The fact that she was the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy didn’t mean anything about her. Her own daughter was an Auror!... Then again, I had heard things about Aurors. Just because they were supposed to be good people didn’t mean they had to be nice. Besides, Tonks had explicitly invited Severus Snape to her wedding. What kind of people would want Snape anywhere close to them on their wedding day? (And by close, I don’t just mean “less than 300 km away”.)
I had worked me up to that kind of state when she opened the door. Tonks’ parents lived in a great flat in Soho. I didn’t quite to know what to think of it. On the one hand, Soho seemed right for the people who had brought pink-haired Tonks up. On the other hand... the Potter fortune wouldn’t be large enough to buy more than two or three of the likes of that flat.
“If it isn’t Remus’ stepgodson! Do come in,” she ordered. She was wearing a skirt that would have seemed several inches too short on her daughter. Wizards aged differently from Muggles, I remembered. Andromeda Black’s legs were there to prove it. Still. Not my thing.
While I followed her, I enquired, “Why do you call me ‘Remus’ stepgodson’?”
“Do you have a better way to put it?”
I had to admit I didn’t. But I suspected that there was rather more to it than just to make it short. On the other hand, I didn’t need her to comfort my doubts. One day I’d ask Remus, when I’d already be sure of the answer.
She led me through several corridors. Through the opened doors, I saw large rooms with elegant furnitures. What I could see of the walls were painted in several colours - green, grey, blue, mauve or light brown - under a frightening amount of bookshelves and paintings. I had seen several of them in art books, with the words “private collection”. Definitely half of the Potter fortune.
Finally she opened a door and gestured me to enter. It must be her office. The stack of papers on the desk were as high as the piece of furniture itself. I looked away, half afraid that it would fall if I stared at it. Two chairs appeared from the papers Andromeda Black removed and put in vague drifts. (Hadn’t Tonks vaunted her mother’s housekeeping spells? This looked like Florida after a hurricane.) She sat on one, and lighted a cigarette.
“I’m not going to offer you tea because strange things tend to happen with my papers afterward. I imagine you came here for a reason. I’m listening.” Her hair was flying out of its knot. “And don’t mind the mess”, she added as if she’s just realised it was there. “I was looking through it when you rang.” The sole reason this didn’t sound accusing was because she saw no reason to accuse anyone for something she didn’t think was a bother.
I crossed my legs, then my fingers on my lap.
“Er... It was about your, your nephew.”
I felt very stupid.
“Huh? Oh, you mean Draco,” she said as if she’d only just made the link between her and Draco Malfoy through her sister. “Yes, well.” She shrugged. “I suppose he found something worthwhile to do with his time.” She considered that sentence. She was clearly passing no judgement. Draco Malfoy may be torturing Muggles to push further his research in wand-making, she wouldn’t intervene. “But we’re not so close.” (Ah, so she’d thought about her closeness to him. Only not in terms of nephew. I rejected that train of thought, quite determinedly.) “You’d better see Severus,” she concluded.
I stared.
***
That’s how I found myself doing what I had just hoped I’d avoid by seeing Andromeda Black. (As I left the building, I met her husband, who excused himself of her brusqueness by explaining she was very taken by her last research on ‘Madness in the Blood in Great Wizarding Families from the Celtic Age to the end of the Twentieth Century’; she was having trouble explaining Hufflepuff away.)
I went to Hogwarts only marginally reassured by the fact that I had faced a blood-crazy historian with no more harm than anyone else. (I did as I imagine most people do: I Apparated to Hogsmeade, then I walked to the castle, was greeted by Hagrid who didn’t doubt I had good reason to be there, and finally felt quite stupid when realising I could have just travelled by Floo Powder.)
Snape was in the dungeons. In the corridor that lead to the classroom, I could hear an explosion, then a silky whisper, and was finally run into by two students who seemed in a hurry. The back of one and the face of the other were scorched. Seemed Neville hadn’t been such an unique case after all. I waited until the end of the lesson next to the door. From where I was, I could have sworn Snape couldn’t miss seeing me but he didn’t look once in my direction, nor did he act as if he had.
Finally, once the students had left as if devil was on their heels and he had let go a sufficient amount of minutes to satisfy his inner vanity, he deigned to acknowledge my presence.
“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, don’t stay there, close the door.” I obeyed.
He paused. “I didn’t mean to say you could enter, you do realise that?”
Thinking again, I admitted I had certainly misunderstood him. He had clearly asked me to go and never darken his doorstep again. Something I’d have done with great pleasure if...
“Oh, well.” He sent me a basic, deflated glare.
I tried to sound mature and tried to suppress any stutter. Merlin, that was someone I hadn’t missed. “Andromeda Black told me to come and see you.” (What a pitiful little squeak.)
“About Draco, yes, yes, I know, she warned me,” he gritted between his teeth. So I wasn’t the only one he was furious after. That was a refreshing thought. Yet if I could read him well, he hadn’t managed to make her pay for what she had brought him and that upset him. And I was still the only one at wand distance. Not too good, I judged. “Oh, take a seat.”
Sitting in a student chair, I wondered if it wouldn’t have been more productive to go to his office. Hum. Snape’s office. Bad vibes, my memory informed me. But I still could remember that handful of lessons that had gone surprisingly well; and the last time I thought I’d go back to Hogwarts, I had been impatient to see Snape. I couldn’t imagine he’d take my Outstanding grade too well, especially since it meant having me in his class again. I took strength in it.
“Well?”
“Well, I don’t know, now do I?” His voice was dripping with venom. “And even if I knew, I can only imagine he has good reason to hide from you.”
“What?” Hiding from me? I hadn’t done anything, for once! This was outrageous!... Unless he’d indeed decided to avenge his father.
Snape did a vague gesture with his glass, which was half filled with alcohol. I didn’t have time to ponder where he had acquired it. “Not you in particular. Just you in general, I suspect.” He took a sip and went on, his voice low. “He didn’t tell me anything.”
“At least we know it’s something to do with his father’s death,” I commented.
“Really? Then you know more than I do. Pray say how you came to this conclusion.” There was something in his expression that led me to hear “Prey, say.”
I opened my mouth to try and demonstrate why I thought that, but he interrupted me. “No, I can see what you mean. That’s something I never managed to understand about Draco.” He sardonically smiled. “But I suppose you can understand that, can’t you?” The Pensieve incident hung between us. “On the other hand, Lucius was far from being a perfect father...”
“He was his father.”
He disgustedly looked at me. “If you can think like that, I assume you’re rather more like Draco than I am... You’d get on perfectly with Andromeda or Narcissa. She’s the one you should see.”
He sighed, and mournfully glanced at his glass. It was desperately empty. “Did you know I was supposed to watch over him?” A small, sad chuckle escaped him.
I didn’t dare interrupting him.
“Regulus was to be godfather, but he refused... I think he already wanted out. I should have known. I should have approached him. So Narcissa chose Evan. He had never forgiven himself for Andromeda, then joining the Death Eaters... And then he was killed, a few months after Draco was born. I was to replace him, if not in name, at least in fact. But I failed him.” His tone sounded blank.
That was exactly the kind of thing Sirius could have said. Self-guilt trips I recognised when I saw one.
“If he’d wanted you to know, he’d have told you. From what I know about you, you wouldn’t have let any clue pass unnoticed, would you?” Paranoid, subtile spy Snape? Not bloody likely.
He sneered. “If I had wanted your commiseration, I would have poisoned myself rather than telling you, so why you do you bother me with it?”
Unsufferable man.
***
And that’s how I didn’t go to see Narcissa Black. Yes, honestly. I’d never spoken to her, she must know her son hated me, she must hate me since after all I had a part in locking her husband in Azkaban, and it was Snape who was advising me to see her. I didn’t put it past him to send me into a very, very painful trap.
***
The next day, I received an owl from her, in the form of an invitation to tea. The choice had been taken out of my hands, especially with Andromeda Black standing in front of me with an indulgent grin, who was invited too.
In fact, her role was only to force me into 12, Grimmauld Place. (She explained that a Malfoy branch had claimed the estate back after Narcissa had taken her maiden name back; their request had been granted since the heir - that was Draco - wasn’t of age then. Andromeda herself was the legal heir of Grimmauld Place, but she liked her own flat better and anyway she wouldn’t let a sister of hers go destitute, even if she had committed herself in getting married to that new blood Malfoy. There, she sighed something about bourgeoisie.) Then she mercilessly abandoned me in front of her sister, who was waiting for me in the - one of the numerous living-rooms, with a china teapot and two cups that looked less white than she.
Narcissa Black, I soon discovered, was a worried mother. Her hands were trembling - too much for someone who just didn’t know. She had to suspect something, at least.
I don’t remember what we said, except that it was long and painful. She was twirling her cup in her hands.
Finally she put it down.
“Okay.”
She took a deep breath.
“I-I’ll tell you.”
She looked imploring.
“Just... Don’t...”
She paused, then looked down and started speaking to the cup.
“There are - rumours - already. I’m afraid that we don’t do something very quickly, someone will bring it before the Minister... Amelia has been understanding, but there’s only so much she can do before the Daily Prophet starts -” She closed her eyes.
Then she opened them, and she looked sharp at me. “You’d better not hurt him, or I’ll send Andromeda after you.” She smiled a thin smile. “She doesn’t consider you as one of hers yet.”
I wordlessly nodded.
“And don’t think I’m doing you a favour.”
***
Draco was hiding somewhere in the country, under a Fidelius Charm, with his mother as his Secret-Keeper. When I asked her why, she said that he didn’t want to tell Severus anything and he wasn’t sure he could trust Andromeda’s strange sense of family. It was a nice cottage outside town.
I knocked at the door, and Draco’s voice told me to enter.
I found him at the kitchen table, staring into space. He didn’t seem to see me.
“He’s dead.”
I stayed silent.
“He’s upstairs, in his room. I’m sorry I couldn’t find his cane. He said it didn’t matter but I saw at the end that he’d have wanted to clutch at it.” He was shaken by a violent shudder. “He knew who I was. We didn’t speak about politics,” he explained.
Then he recognised me and his face took an ashen shade. Then he recovered and sniggered.
“Go on, Potter, I don’t care. He’s dead now and you won’t be able to press any charges against me, my mother won’t let you.” He frowned. “How come you’re there, by the way? I can’t say I didn’t expect it, but not so soon...”
I wanted to say it wasn’t important, what was important was what he’d done and that I’d only started to understand, but that would have sounded accusing and... wrong, in that situation.
“Your mother worried.”
“Mother always worries. So she told you where to find me, then? Well, I suppose that if she told you and now you’re here... Come with me.”
I watched him. He’d always been pale and slender, but now was worse than ever before. He’d grown much while I was away; he must be taller than me by at least two or three inches. He was wearing a black robe that made his thinness all the more obvious. With every step he took, I was afraid he’d fall and I wondered when he had last eaten.
He pushed a door open. Lucius Malfoy laid on a bed, dressed in a fine robe, his eyes closed. He was as thin as Sirius had been when I had seen him after Azkaban, but he was still recognisable.
I turned to Draco, who stood impassive, his arms crossed.
“What - ?”
He came closer to his father’s lifeless body, a soft smile on his lips.
“He’d have died anyway. He was already dying. He didn’t last any longer here, but at least his last few days were...” He hesitated and didn’t finish his sentence.
I didn’t ask how they had made him escape. It could be done, it had already been.
“Nobody was supposed to know, just Mother and I, and Andromeda if Mother told her.”
I tried to say something.
What could I say anyway? He’d just tell me I was a hypocrite. I wasn’t sorry his father was dead and -
“Are you going to blame me, Potter?”
“I suppose I’d have done the same,” I confessed.
Sirius killing someone, Sirius a Death Eater, Sirius in Azkaban, Sirius condemned for things and crimes I didn’t care about... I’d have done at least what Draco had done.
He looked surprised, then less so. “Yes, I imagine you would.”
I was the first one to break the silence.
“What are you going to do?”
“About Father?... Set fire to the house. That’s always how he wanted to go.” There was something like pride in his eyes. “Father wasn’t a cold man. Everything he touched burned, money and people and dreams... He was the one who encouraged me to play Seeker in the team. He didn’t like Quidditch, he thought it was vulgar, but Mother and I always loved it... He even found us seats in the official box at the Quidditch Cup. He wasn’t patient and he sometimes was unfair, and sometimes he lied and sometimes he did things he didn’t think were right, but he never wanted me to become a Death Eater and he always protected Mother and I, and... and he was my father.”
I wasn’t ready for an eulogy of the man. I had hated him and I had seen all his faults first hand, but I couldn’t bring myself to stopping Draco. I had absolutely no respect for Lucius Malfoy, in spite of what is sometimes said about a fallen enemy or such stupidity, but his son deserved better.
“He believed in the blood and he’d have set Hogwarts’ Basilisk on Muggle-borns and he didn’t know the Dark Lord was a half-blood... His family was less old than Mother’s. Andromeda says that’s why he was obsessed with blood, it was the same with their aunt. She said everyhing to Mother after disposing of Dumbledore and the others... That anyway no blood was pure, that in a three thousand years old line there were bound to have been so many bastards that it didn’t even count as blood, that wizards nowadays were closer to the next Muggle than to Merlin... I didn’t tell Father of course. He’d already lost any faith in Mother after she left him two years in Azkaban... ”
I left him to ruminate centuries old stories about blood and treason.
“I’m not sure he even admitted that Amelia Bones refused Mother’s plea when I told him. I think he thought she should have done like Andromeda, killing everyone who had had a hand in his emprisonment. But Andromeda didn’t do it when her sister went to Azkaban, and she had Bellatrix killed after - after your godfather’s death... And she hadn’t done it when he was in Azkaban either...”
So he hadn’t completely forgotten I was there. I refused to analyse his words. It could and would wait.
When he’d been silent for a long time, I asked again, “No, I meant, are you going to come back?”
His lips curved.
“Why, Potter. Is that an invitation?”
My jaw fell.
Then, I answered lightly: “Yes, why not?”
Now it was his turn to have a dropping jaw. It made him look stupid, I affectionately thought.
He curtly nodded and stammered a yes, okay. If I let him introduce me to his family. And after I’d done the same, of course.
He was trying to joke, but his face was pale. I imagined the scene with Ron and Snape at each other’s throats, with disapproving and shocked expressions... Honestly, was it worth it?
Only one way to find out.
I agreed.
It would be awkward as hell, but it would stop after a while. And if we didn’t last until then, at least we’d have tried. And maybe he was only joking, anyway. And I didn’t know if I loved him but I thought it was worth trying to find out, and we’d hated each other but that was a lifetime ago and life is never certain anyway...
When the flames of the cottage rose high in the sky, my hand found the way to his shoulder and his head turned to mine.
Author: runespoor7
It was meant to stay a riddle for historians. There never was a war; instead, people were just found dead. Six months after my godfather died, Amelia Bones was made Minister; she was supported by Narcissa Black and Minerva McGonagall. Who had both spent a busy six months, the former in settling matters about her sister’s ignominious death and her divorce, the later in taking up Hogwarts after Dumbledore’s death. That was all.
I spent the two weirdest years of my life. Ron and Hermione assured me McGonagall was a good Headmistress; Hermione didn’t quite manage to hide that she thought McGonagall was a better Head than Dumbledore ever was. I was wondering if she was mad at first, when Snape became Deputy, but I assume she had her reasons. Hufflepuff won the Cup for two years in a row, which seemed to satisfy everyone and put a rein to the fears that no-one would ever win the Cup but Slytherin. (There were rumours about Snape giving detentions for that, saying it showed a lack of trust in the Headmistress; everyone judged it quite impressive on Snape’s part and decided to give him a chance after that. As Ron was the victim of that detention, I can’t say it says much of Snape’s respect of McGonagall.)
The letters I received from them were few and far between. I must say I didn’t stay in the UK; when Dumbledore was killed in late August, I decided not to come back to Hogwarts. I felt relieved. I had toyed with the idea of dropping out since going back to Privet Drive, but I knew I never could. Not with Dumbledore. Of course McGonagall disapproved; Hermione worried; Ron tried not to; Lupin understood and Aunt Petunia, who was, after all, my legal guardian, didn’t care as long as I was far away.
I still don’t know how come nobody argued about Voldemort being a menace. (No, I’m lying. Molly Weasley tried. She’s a well-meaning woman, Molly Weasley, but she can be completely off the mark.) Then again, he had been considerably weakened by the debacle in June. I suppose the consensus was that I was better off learning Russian and sweating for my life in the deepest of the Sahara than plotting an instant attack on the Dark Lord to try and extract my revenge. I was to be followed - that was only confessed to me the year after, months after I had found out. I hated it, but it was a guarantee and that kept me from trying to escape being watched. They usually were locals, people whom Lupin or Snape had met during their travels, or a member of the Order who ‘just happened’ to drop by, sometimes with news from home, Nymphadora Tonks after she left StMungo’s but before the Ministry accepted her back in the Auror ranks, Percy Weasley who was so mortified after realising his family had been right all along he insisted on being the first one to check on me, so he could apologise, as I later learned. It was a dreadfully awkward scene, but Percy earned more of my respect then than ever before. I don’t know many people who are ready to acknowledge their mistakes, to act upon it and to still try to make things work.
I only came back for a few days at Christmas and two weeks in summer. Then, when Hermione and Ron had passed their NEWTs, I was invited to Tonks and Charlie’s wedding. Moody was their best man, which I knew some considered to be bad luck, among whom I would have counted my ex-boyfriend if I hadn’t made such an effort of not thinking about the bastard (we’d been travelling together for three months; he was a Muggle journalist and had dumped me for a paper in Argentina).
It was a big wedding, as I realised before the celebration, not so surprising considering the extent of the Weasley family or Tonks’ character. I felt somehow at loss, since Tonks had wanted Hermione to be a maid of honour and Ron was busy alternatively peeping at them for his sake and for that of his older brother (who had been told to go and compose himself after he had broken more plates than the bride on her best days. From what Ron managed to tell me, Charlie was just a pack of nerves today).There were people I didn’t know, friends of the happy couple, Aurors or dragon-keepers, and people I didn’t want to talk to.
Finally I saw Remus next to the door; he seemed deep in conversation with a black-haired woman in a very attractive burgundy robe. I hadn’t seen him since the summer before (he was never at home for Christmas) and we hadn’t had the occasion to talk since I had come back.
The woman looked up when I came closer. “Remus, why don’t you introduce me to your step-godson?” she said decisively. Her voice sounded pleasant enough, but there was a note of steel as a point of tension. She wasn’t wholly agreeable; when she looked at me, I was taken years back, when I had first seen Bellatrix Lestrange. She had similar eyes, but grey, a similar brow and cheekbones and a chin I knew I had seen before, but couldn’t find out where. She was staring at me. It was a strange experience.
Remus smiled as an answer. “Andromeda, please meet Harry Potter, my adoptive godson.” That was Remus’ phrase to put something that couldn’t be legal. It was the best, I think, that could explain the care he took of me. “Harry, please meet Andromeda Black, Tonks’ mother.”
“That will be ‘Nymphadora’ when I’m in hearing range, thank you.” It didn’t sound as a joke, but she looked as if she was joking. (I was proceeding the information.) “How are you? I hear you’ve been travelling recently.”
“Yes, yes I was...”
“Seen anything interesting?”
I tried to find what could interest a woman who had left her family to marry a Muggle-born, who had, as far as I knew, never been part of the Order, and whose daughter was marrying today. Everything seemed pretty ordinary compared to that. Everything I could think of related to blood in some way, and I had the feeling it would not be welcomed by that woman. Luckily, I was saved from embarrasment by the arrival of several more guests, whom Andromeda Black turned to, ignoring both my startle and Remus’ fixed smile.
“Severus, so good of you to come. I’m sure Nymphadora will be delighted.” Snape slightly bowed. He didn’t look as sour as I’d have thought he would.
“Why, Andromeda, it’s always a pleasure.” He glanced around the crowded room. “But I don’t see your daughter... Should I look for anything in particular?” Now, was that just me, or had Snape just made a joke?
Andromeda Black shrugged, a surprisingly common gesture on such a distinguished woman; on her, it looked as if she was a lady pretending to be a street girl. It was... alluring. Not my style at all, but alluring. “She’s going to be in white. That’s all I know. Ted refused to tell me anything more.” She rolled her eyes, as if to say she had humoured them. Upon reflection, I judged her to be less cold than what I first thought. “You should ask him, I think she decided she didn’t want her father with her now. He’s so worried, you’d think he’s the one who’s getting married!”
There was a compliment waiting to be made, but Snape’s mouth just curved. “I see. I shall ask him then.”
I risked a glance at Andromeda Black but she was just smiling. I supposed she knew him and knew not to vex herself because he was a stoneman. Then she turned to the next guests.
“Narcissa...” She embraced her sister and I realised that was who she had reminded me of. Narcissa Mal- well, Narcissa Black, now - returned the hug. She was wearing a sky-blue robe that was better cut than her sister’s, but in a more classical way. When Andromeda pulled away, she greeted the person standing next to Narcissa. “Draco.”
Narcissa didn’t look particularly ill at ease; perhaps her back was a bit too straight and her chin tipped a bit too high. Her son, on the other hand, clearly looked to be on the defensive. I wondered if he had ever seen his aunt before. Before he had the time to open his mouth and say anything, she had kissed him on both cheeks and was watching pink go to his face with obvious satisfaction. “A-aunt Andromeda,” he answered in a peculiar tone. Defensive.
Andromeda Black winced. “What did I tell you about the ‘aunt’? Just Andromeda, please. I don’t feel quite that old.”
There was a pause. Then Narcissa forced a smile. “Now, Andromeda, could you introduce me to your friend?”
“Oh, certainly. Draco could go with Harry, I’m sure our mindless chatter would just bore them.” She looked at us; I don’t think either of us had understood what was going on. “You were in the same year, weren’t you?” Then, paying no more attention to Draco and I, she went away, her sister and Remus on her side. I thought I could hear whispers (“Now, Andromeda, don’t you think you’re exaggerating? You were in the same year as Fabian Prewett, and Merlin knows I don’t remember you going on so well with him!” “Fabian Prewett was an idiot who chose Dumbledore over me for no good reason except that he was an idiot, and you know it, Narcissa!”) but I decided I had imagined it. For one, I couldn’t imagine Narcissa Black would have abandoned her only son to the company of someone she perfectly knew he hated.
There was a silence. For a moment, I wondered if I could just leave him by himself. But it would be offensive to Andromeda Black, and anyway I couldn’t think of an excuse. When I stopped avoiding looking at him, I was surprised at how serious and pale he seemed. Probably had a row with his mother about coming to a Mudblood and a Weasley’s wedding. But his first words weren’t disdainful in any way.
“So, Potter.” He paused. “Have you seen anything interesting while you were abroad?” He looked vaguely interested, and I wondered what was up with everyone asking me what I had seen. I wondered if he hoped that there were still Death Eater-like active groups. I wondered if it was because he’d have wanted to go away too, to leave England, its politics and his Azkabanned father.
“You know, when you see too much, you don’t know afterwards what qualifies as interesting and what doesn’t. What about you?” I had it on the tip of my tongue to ask about the UK, but everyone had been intent on telling about it, and I was afraid of what he’d tell me anyway. That he wished Voldemort hadn’t been killed? That he’d start politics to take up after his father? That one day the wizarding world would see the light and kill all Muggle-borns?
“Oh, you know. Graduated from Hogwarts, passed NEWTs, all that.” He fugitively smiled. “I had a hard time convincing Vellimont I didn’t want anything to do with them, though. You have heard about Vellimont, haven’t you?”
I nodded. Yes, the school that had been founded by remaining Death Eaters or sympathisers not long after Amelia Bones’ election. It was reserved to the “Sons and Daughters of the Blood”. I had thought Malfoy would have been the first one to desert Hogwarts. He continued. “They haven’t accepted yet. They’ve even offered me a Professor choir!” He derisively smirked. It looked less genuine than the ones I remembered. “I’d be about as pleasant as Professor Snape, and not half as effective.” It was the first time I heard a Slytherin criticise their Head of House. “And for what? For a dozen students or so.” He shook his head. “They’re mad.” That was deadpanned.
“A dozen?” I didn’t think I had heard right. That wasn’t even the number of Death Eaters that had been condemned to Azkaban.
He looked tired, and sighed. “People have other things to do than raise their children with the hope that one day, they’ll be judged worthy and be killed at the orders of another madman. Thirty years is a long time to live in fear.”
We stayed silent for a while. I was working through what he had told me. It had been thirty years since the name Voldemort had started transpiring through the wizarding world, since it had started inspiring either fear or exaltation. Sometimes both. People had been dying, on his side or against him, for years before I was born. Families had been destroyed - I had the living proof before me; the Blacks, who could say they’d done better than that, Death Eaters and members of the Order, killed for or by Voldemort, sacrificing to blood or to love? And after that, there had been fifteen years of distrust. I could remember how people had feared saying Voldemort’s name, how Hagrid had said he didn’t think the Dark Lord was dead. A Minister had fallen because of that fear; Hogwarts had been nearly destroyed. If, after that, things could just stop with a small number of victims, such as Sirius or Draco’s father, people wouldn’t kill to do more. They just wanted to live in peace. There had been trials, more serious and more trials than the first time around, to settle things for good. Then they’d start over something new. I found I had done the exact same thing.
After that, we started speaking about less essential things, what we’d do now I was back and he had his NEWTs. He was thinking about a career in Quidditch, in wand-making or in Potions, but for now he was just enjoying his summer. He wanted to know if I’d go into Quidditch; I shrugged and explained that of course I loved Quidditch, but did I love it enough to make a living out of it? He seemed to understand exactly what I meant and exclaimed that yes, exactly. It didn’t seem to be a real job somehow. And professional Quidditch was so different from the games we played at Hogwarts. He was curious about what I’d do without NEWTs, but it was a curiousity that was very careful not to offend, and he didn’t say anything about Aurorship. I answered that I’d probably take my NEWTs one day, in two or five years, but for now I wanted to learn more of the wizarding world. I had travelled: I had discovered things in other countries that I had barely glimpsed at in my five years at Hogwarts.
“Real life, eh?” There was a tired sneer on his face.
“No,” I contradicted. “Studies are just as real as what is outside. Take Hermione for instance. She probably knows at least as much of the wizarding world as Ron. And she learned most of it in books. I don’t have that ability, so I must learn things otherwise.”
He stared at me. I wouldn’t have said that two years before, and I knew he knew it, but didn’t dare to comment on it. Then I asked some question about Quidditch and he gratefully answered. We spoke only of Quidditch until I saw Ron coming back; Hermione must have threatened to hew him one time to many for him to stay there. Malfoy saw him too, excused himself, and went to the buffet.
Ron didn’t explode, as he no doubt would have two years before. Malfoy and I weren’t the only ones who had changed while I was absent. I suddenly realised we were adults, we were of age now.
“Should have thought he’d be there,” he remarked. “Tonks said everyone would be there.” Only then he frowned. “He didn’t bother you, did he?” I thought Ron would make a good father one day, with his protective tendencies.
“No, we just... talked.”
He felt I didn’t want to talk about it, and he changed the topic. Hermione had promised to Stun him if she saw him once more before the celebration. I laughed at his face and he pretended not to see what was so funny. It was good to see that, no matter how much they had changed, I still knew my friends.
***
I didn’t hear of Draco Malfoy for a few months, until, in October of the same year, Lucius Malfoy died in Azkaban. There was a small ceremony, which Tonks refused to attend. Her parents went, with Remus whom Narcissa Black had apparently taken a liking to. (There had been much snickers about it from the twins and a grumble from Moody about how he’d never have thought such a thing from Remus, you’d better watch out my boy. At first Remus had tried to dispell the innuendos, since even Molly Weasley seemed convinced there was something going on between the two of them, then he just ignored them after seeing that everything he did to defend himself was useless and only served to make the snickers grow in intensity, along with shifty looks. He never complained about it, but I suspected he sometimes felt as if he was a teacher in Hogwarts, with students suspecting a romance between him and another teacher, with Molly Weasley playing the role of a somewhat more suspicious Dumbledore.)
Two days later, Draco Malfoy disappeared without a trace: I learned it from Hermione, who knew it from Tonks, who knew it from her mother whom Narcissa had told it to, saying he hadn’t been to work either. (Once interrogated, Hermione said he had found a job at Quidditch Quality Supplies; she had seen him there when she was looking for a gift idea for Ron, “but please don’t tell him I have to start looking now to find something that he’ll like for Christmas, he’s never going to shut up about it”.)
Why I decided to investigate Draco Malfoy’s disappearance is at anyone’s guess. Merlin knows I’ve wondered myself several times since. What was I thinking? That he’d try and avenge his father? That he’d start a perverse cult around his father? That he’d go looking for Voldemort’s remains? That he’d look for a way of resurrecting Lucius? That he’d kill himself? That now his childhood hero was dead, he’d travel around the world as I had imagined he’d love to? That he’d been abducted by angry ex-Death Eaters that didn’t forgive him not having done anything to follow in his father’s footsteps?
The first thing I did was verifying how things had been at Quidditch Quality Supplies. Yes, he had been employed there for a little over a month; he was very knowledgeable about Quidditch. Their previous salesman had found a better job somewhere, and, in fact, they’d only decided to employ him on the second time he sent them his letter. After all, Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater’s son, and while his own innocence had never been put under question as well, there were suspicions... The owner looked so smug and knowing (he had been right all along, that boy had been up to no good) that I couldn’t stop myself.
“Of course. Most of Voldemort’s servants were fifteen years old. Can you think of any other culprits?”
He seemed to realise what he had implied. “Oh, no!” he protested. “That’s not what I meant, Mr Potter! I was just speaking about him! I didn’t mean...”
I knew exactly what he had meant. I imagined the last two years hadn’t been too much fun for Draco Malfoy.
“But his mother supports the Minister, doesn’t she?” I was fascinated. Suddenly this man was incarnating the vox populi in all its glory, what I had looked for and found in other communities, but never before in my own country. That was the kind of things even the Daily Prophet didn’t say; they were too busy singing the praise of Amelia Bones and the incredible courage which had united the wizarding world in those harsh times. (Imagine. Seeing four people drop dead, two of them being Death Eaters and another one the Dark Lord himself. Very traumatising, having to watch without doing anything. If only they’d known it would be so easy...)
He raised a perspicacious finger. “Ah, but Miss Narcissa is a Black. She didn’t know her husband was a Death Eater. We know that because, you see, she took her name again.” He nodded, and repeated, “Madam Narcissa Black. A very honourable lady.”
That was the same very honourable lady which had had a hand in my godfather’s death, I suspected. I also suspected she had been the one to advise Lucius to make himself scarce after Voldemort’s first fall. And to say it was Lucius, all along, whom we had thought was the political-minded one, the éminence grise... But now wasn’t the time for realisations about Narcissa. What was of interest to me was her son.
I didn’t have much choice, as I realised when, upon stopping for a drink at the Leaky Cauldron, I counted who had a chance to know anything about Draco. I doubted Tonks could tell me anything, but at least she’d ask her mother for me. There were Andromeda and Narcissa; perhaps Tonks’ father, whom I knew even less than his wife, and was anyway a Muggle-born, and thus unlikely to have heard anything from Draco Malfoy that could explain why he’d disappeared; Remus, for all I knew; and Severus Snape. Draco Malfoy’s social circle and mine tended not to overleap, I discovered. I could go to his former Housemates, but I had good reasons not to; first, I didn’t know if they had parted on good terms; second, I didn’t know if they had turned their coats as swiftly and spectacularly as Narcissa Malfoy, and would be disposed to help me; third, I’d still rather facing Severus Snape on a bad day than trying to have a conversation with Goyle or Pansy Parkinson. At least I knew I’d never be mad enough to raise my wand against Snape. I wouldn’t swear the same about the other two. If they gave me a good reason...
Then I thought how it would look if I went and asked Remus and Tonks about Draco Malfoy’s whereabouts. Our decency at Tonks’ wedding had attracted its fair share of attention, and Ginny had been mildly convinced that I had become an idealist and it was only a matter of weeks before I claimed my belief in such things as universal goodness and that Voldemort had just been misunderstood, if only someone had lent him a teddy-bear when he was a small boy. I didn’t even dare thinking about the reaction to that. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Remus’ or Tonks’ discretion; but I had experimented with the twins’ latest inventions, and I knew what they could do.
I went to Andromeda Black. I was repeating to myself it was that or Snape, since I had absolutely no way to contact Narcissa Black, but I couldn’t help feeling weird about it. Which was stupid, because that woman had been nice and pleasant and I had absolutely no logical reason to be afraid of her. The fact that she was the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy didn’t mean anything about her. Her own daughter was an Auror!... Then again, I had heard things about Aurors. Just because they were supposed to be good people didn’t mean they had to be nice. Besides, Tonks had explicitly invited Severus Snape to her wedding. What kind of people would want Snape anywhere close to them on their wedding day? (And by close, I don’t just mean “less than 300 km away”.)
I had worked me up to that kind of state when she opened the door. Tonks’ parents lived in a great flat in Soho. I didn’t quite to know what to think of it. On the one hand, Soho seemed right for the people who had brought pink-haired Tonks up. On the other hand... the Potter fortune wouldn’t be large enough to buy more than two or three of the likes of that flat.
“If it isn’t Remus’ stepgodson! Do come in,” she ordered. She was wearing a skirt that would have seemed several inches too short on her daughter. Wizards aged differently from Muggles, I remembered. Andromeda Black’s legs were there to prove it. Still. Not my thing.
While I followed her, I enquired, “Why do you call me ‘Remus’ stepgodson’?”
“Do you have a better way to put it?”
I had to admit I didn’t. But I suspected that there was rather more to it than just to make it short. On the other hand, I didn’t need her to comfort my doubts. One day I’d ask Remus, when I’d already be sure of the answer.
She led me through several corridors. Through the opened doors, I saw large rooms with elegant furnitures. What I could see of the walls were painted in several colours - green, grey, blue, mauve or light brown - under a frightening amount of bookshelves and paintings. I had seen several of them in art books, with the words “private collection”. Definitely half of the Potter fortune.
Finally she opened a door and gestured me to enter. It must be her office. The stack of papers on the desk were as high as the piece of furniture itself. I looked away, half afraid that it would fall if I stared at it. Two chairs appeared from the papers Andromeda Black removed and put in vague drifts. (Hadn’t Tonks vaunted her mother’s housekeeping spells? This looked like Florida after a hurricane.) She sat on one, and lighted a cigarette.
“I’m not going to offer you tea because strange things tend to happen with my papers afterward. I imagine you came here for a reason. I’m listening.” Her hair was flying out of its knot. “And don’t mind the mess”, she added as if she’s just realised it was there. “I was looking through it when you rang.” The sole reason this didn’t sound accusing was because she saw no reason to accuse anyone for something she didn’t think was a bother.
I crossed my legs, then my fingers on my lap.
“Er... It was about your, your nephew.”
I felt very stupid.
“Huh? Oh, you mean Draco,” she said as if she’d only just made the link between her and Draco Malfoy through her sister. “Yes, well.” She shrugged. “I suppose he found something worthwhile to do with his time.” She considered that sentence. She was clearly passing no judgement. Draco Malfoy may be torturing Muggles to push further his research in wand-making, she wouldn’t intervene. “But we’re not so close.” (Ah, so she’d thought about her closeness to him. Only not in terms of nephew. I rejected that train of thought, quite determinedly.) “You’d better see Severus,” she concluded.
I stared.
***
That’s how I found myself doing what I had just hoped I’d avoid by seeing Andromeda Black. (As I left the building, I met her husband, who excused himself of her brusqueness by explaining she was very taken by her last research on ‘Madness in the Blood in Great Wizarding Families from the Celtic Age to the end of the Twentieth Century’; she was having trouble explaining Hufflepuff away.)
I went to Hogwarts only marginally reassured by the fact that I had faced a blood-crazy historian with no more harm than anyone else. (I did as I imagine most people do: I Apparated to Hogsmeade, then I walked to the castle, was greeted by Hagrid who didn’t doubt I had good reason to be there, and finally felt quite stupid when realising I could have just travelled by Floo Powder.)
Snape was in the dungeons. In the corridor that lead to the classroom, I could hear an explosion, then a silky whisper, and was finally run into by two students who seemed in a hurry. The back of one and the face of the other were scorched. Seemed Neville hadn’t been such an unique case after all. I waited until the end of the lesson next to the door. From where I was, I could have sworn Snape couldn’t miss seeing me but he didn’t look once in my direction, nor did he act as if he had.
Finally, once the students had left as if devil was on their heels and he had let go a sufficient amount of minutes to satisfy his inner vanity, he deigned to acknowledge my presence.
“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, don’t stay there, close the door.” I obeyed.
He paused. “I didn’t mean to say you could enter, you do realise that?”
Thinking again, I admitted I had certainly misunderstood him. He had clearly asked me to go and never darken his doorstep again. Something I’d have done with great pleasure if...
“Oh, well.” He sent me a basic, deflated glare.
I tried to sound mature and tried to suppress any stutter. Merlin, that was someone I hadn’t missed. “Andromeda Black told me to come and see you.” (What a pitiful little squeak.)
“About Draco, yes, yes, I know, she warned me,” he gritted between his teeth. So I wasn’t the only one he was furious after. That was a refreshing thought. Yet if I could read him well, he hadn’t managed to make her pay for what she had brought him and that upset him. And I was still the only one at wand distance. Not too good, I judged. “Oh, take a seat.”
Sitting in a student chair, I wondered if it wouldn’t have been more productive to go to his office. Hum. Snape’s office. Bad vibes, my memory informed me. But I still could remember that handful of lessons that had gone surprisingly well; and the last time I thought I’d go back to Hogwarts, I had been impatient to see Snape. I couldn’t imagine he’d take my Outstanding grade too well, especially since it meant having me in his class again. I took strength in it.
“Well?”
“Well, I don’t know, now do I?” His voice was dripping with venom. “And even if I knew, I can only imagine he has good reason to hide from you.”
“What?” Hiding from me? I hadn’t done anything, for once! This was outrageous!... Unless he’d indeed decided to avenge his father.
Snape did a vague gesture with his glass, which was half filled with alcohol. I didn’t have time to ponder where he had acquired it. “Not you in particular. Just you in general, I suspect.” He took a sip and went on, his voice low. “He didn’t tell me anything.”
“At least we know it’s something to do with his father’s death,” I commented.
“Really? Then you know more than I do. Pray say how you came to this conclusion.” There was something in his expression that led me to hear “Prey, say.”
I opened my mouth to try and demonstrate why I thought that, but he interrupted me. “No, I can see what you mean. That’s something I never managed to understand about Draco.” He sardonically smiled. “But I suppose you can understand that, can’t you?” The Pensieve incident hung between us. “On the other hand, Lucius was far from being a perfect father...”
“He was his father.”
He disgustedly looked at me. “If you can think like that, I assume you’re rather more like Draco than I am... You’d get on perfectly with Andromeda or Narcissa. She’s the one you should see.”
He sighed, and mournfully glanced at his glass. It was desperately empty. “Did you know I was supposed to watch over him?” A small, sad chuckle escaped him.
I didn’t dare interrupting him.
“Regulus was to be godfather, but he refused... I think he already wanted out. I should have known. I should have approached him. So Narcissa chose Evan. He had never forgiven himself for Andromeda, then joining the Death Eaters... And then he was killed, a few months after Draco was born. I was to replace him, if not in name, at least in fact. But I failed him.” His tone sounded blank.
That was exactly the kind of thing Sirius could have said. Self-guilt trips I recognised when I saw one.
“If he’d wanted you to know, he’d have told you. From what I know about you, you wouldn’t have let any clue pass unnoticed, would you?” Paranoid, subtile spy Snape? Not bloody likely.
He sneered. “If I had wanted your commiseration, I would have poisoned myself rather than telling you, so why you do you bother me with it?”
Unsufferable man.
***
And that’s how I didn’t go to see Narcissa Black. Yes, honestly. I’d never spoken to her, she must know her son hated me, she must hate me since after all I had a part in locking her husband in Azkaban, and it was Snape who was advising me to see her. I didn’t put it past him to send me into a very, very painful trap.
***
The next day, I received an owl from her, in the form of an invitation to tea. The choice had been taken out of my hands, especially with Andromeda Black standing in front of me with an indulgent grin, who was invited too.
In fact, her role was only to force me into 12, Grimmauld Place. (She explained that a Malfoy branch had claimed the estate back after Narcissa had taken her maiden name back; their request had been granted since the heir - that was Draco - wasn’t of age then. Andromeda herself was the legal heir of Grimmauld Place, but she liked her own flat better and anyway she wouldn’t let a sister of hers go destitute, even if she had committed herself in getting married to that new blood Malfoy. There, she sighed something about bourgeoisie.) Then she mercilessly abandoned me in front of her sister, who was waiting for me in the - one of the numerous living-rooms, with a china teapot and two cups that looked less white than she.
Narcissa Black, I soon discovered, was a worried mother. Her hands were trembling - too much for someone who just didn’t know. She had to suspect something, at least.
I don’t remember what we said, except that it was long and painful. She was twirling her cup in her hands.
Finally she put it down.
“Okay.”
She took a deep breath.
“I-I’ll tell you.”
She looked imploring.
“Just... Don’t...”
She paused, then looked down and started speaking to the cup.
“There are - rumours - already. I’m afraid that we don’t do something very quickly, someone will bring it before the Minister... Amelia has been understanding, but there’s only so much she can do before the Daily Prophet starts -” She closed her eyes.
Then she opened them, and she looked sharp at me. “You’d better not hurt him, or I’ll send Andromeda after you.” She smiled a thin smile. “She doesn’t consider you as one of hers yet.”
I wordlessly nodded.
“And don’t think I’m doing you a favour.”
***
Draco was hiding somewhere in the country, under a Fidelius Charm, with his mother as his Secret-Keeper. When I asked her why, she said that he didn’t want to tell Severus anything and he wasn’t sure he could trust Andromeda’s strange sense of family. It was a nice cottage outside town.
I knocked at the door, and Draco’s voice told me to enter.
I found him at the kitchen table, staring into space. He didn’t seem to see me.
“He’s dead.”
I stayed silent.
“He’s upstairs, in his room. I’m sorry I couldn’t find his cane. He said it didn’t matter but I saw at the end that he’d have wanted to clutch at it.” He was shaken by a violent shudder. “He knew who I was. We didn’t speak about politics,” he explained.
Then he recognised me and his face took an ashen shade. Then he recovered and sniggered.
“Go on, Potter, I don’t care. He’s dead now and you won’t be able to press any charges against me, my mother won’t let you.” He frowned. “How come you’re there, by the way? I can’t say I didn’t expect it, but not so soon...”
I wanted to say it wasn’t important, what was important was what he’d done and that I’d only started to understand, but that would have sounded accusing and... wrong, in that situation.
“Your mother worried.”
“Mother always worries. So she told you where to find me, then? Well, I suppose that if she told you and now you’re here... Come with me.”
I watched him. He’d always been pale and slender, but now was worse than ever before. He’d grown much while I was away; he must be taller than me by at least two or three inches. He was wearing a black robe that made his thinness all the more obvious. With every step he took, I was afraid he’d fall and I wondered when he had last eaten.
He pushed a door open. Lucius Malfoy laid on a bed, dressed in a fine robe, his eyes closed. He was as thin as Sirius had been when I had seen him after Azkaban, but he was still recognisable.
I turned to Draco, who stood impassive, his arms crossed.
“What - ?”
He came closer to his father’s lifeless body, a soft smile on his lips.
“He’d have died anyway. He was already dying. He didn’t last any longer here, but at least his last few days were...” He hesitated and didn’t finish his sentence.
I didn’t ask how they had made him escape. It could be done, it had already been.
“Nobody was supposed to know, just Mother and I, and Andromeda if Mother told her.”
I tried to say something.
What could I say anyway? He’d just tell me I was a hypocrite. I wasn’t sorry his father was dead and -
“Are you going to blame me, Potter?”
“I suppose I’d have done the same,” I confessed.
Sirius killing someone, Sirius a Death Eater, Sirius in Azkaban, Sirius condemned for things and crimes I didn’t care about... I’d have done at least what Draco had done.
He looked surprised, then less so. “Yes, I imagine you would.”
I was the first one to break the silence.
“What are you going to do?”
“About Father?... Set fire to the house. That’s always how he wanted to go.” There was something like pride in his eyes. “Father wasn’t a cold man. Everything he touched burned, money and people and dreams... He was the one who encouraged me to play Seeker in the team. He didn’t like Quidditch, he thought it was vulgar, but Mother and I always loved it... He even found us seats in the official box at the Quidditch Cup. He wasn’t patient and he sometimes was unfair, and sometimes he lied and sometimes he did things he didn’t think were right, but he never wanted me to become a Death Eater and he always protected Mother and I, and... and he was my father.”
I wasn’t ready for an eulogy of the man. I had hated him and I had seen all his faults first hand, but I couldn’t bring myself to stopping Draco. I had absolutely no respect for Lucius Malfoy, in spite of what is sometimes said about a fallen enemy or such stupidity, but his son deserved better.
“He believed in the blood and he’d have set Hogwarts’ Basilisk on Muggle-borns and he didn’t know the Dark Lord was a half-blood... His family was less old than Mother’s. Andromeda says that’s why he was obsessed with blood, it was the same with their aunt. She said everyhing to Mother after disposing of Dumbledore and the others... That anyway no blood was pure, that in a three thousand years old line there were bound to have been so many bastards that it didn’t even count as blood, that wizards nowadays were closer to the next Muggle than to Merlin... I didn’t tell Father of course. He’d already lost any faith in Mother after she left him two years in Azkaban... ”
I left him to ruminate centuries old stories about blood and treason.
“I’m not sure he even admitted that Amelia Bones refused Mother’s plea when I told him. I think he thought she should have done like Andromeda, killing everyone who had had a hand in his emprisonment. But Andromeda didn’t do it when her sister went to Azkaban, and she had Bellatrix killed after - after your godfather’s death... And she hadn’t done it when he was in Azkaban either...”
So he hadn’t completely forgotten I was there. I refused to analyse his words. It could and would wait.
When he’d been silent for a long time, I asked again, “No, I meant, are you going to come back?”
His lips curved.
“Why, Potter. Is that an invitation?”
My jaw fell.
Then, I answered lightly: “Yes, why not?”
Now it was his turn to have a dropping jaw. It made him look stupid, I affectionately thought.
He curtly nodded and stammered a yes, okay. If I let him introduce me to his family. And after I’d done the same, of course.
He was trying to joke, but his face was pale. I imagined the scene with Ron and Snape at each other’s throats, with disapproving and shocked expressions... Honestly, was it worth it?
Only one way to find out.
I agreed.
It would be awkward as hell, but it would stop after a while. And if we didn’t last until then, at least we’d have tried. And maybe he was only joking, anyway. And I didn’t know if I loved him but I thought it was worth trying to find out, and we’d hated each other but that was a lifetime ago and life is never certain anyway...
When the flames of the cottage rose high in the sky, my hand found the way to his shoulder and his head turned to mine.