Coming Home I: Familiarization of Liberty, chapter one
Chapter list
I don't own anything; it's the property of JKR, Raincoast, RTD, Cowlip, Showtime, et al.
Warnings for this story: slash, of course, language, adult themes.
I've had to play with the timeline a bit to get things to match up, and despite HP's significant use of actual dates (1980 as Harry's birthday, for example), I'm moving the Potter-verse up about four years so that it coincides with the world of QaF rather than the reverse. This was done, mostly, because technologically, the Muggle world changed tremendously in that time: cell-phones, lap top computers, and email, for example, were not nearly as commonplace in 1996 as they were in 2000. Considering the dependence on the contemporary of the show and the lack of it in the books and that the majority of the story will be set in Pittsburgh, it seemed to make more sense to do it thusly.
Other than that, this should be HP canon-compliant until early in HBP, except that Lucius fought in the battle at the Department of Mysteries but escaped being captured.
QaF (US) - this story begins just before Season Two, Episode Three, meaning there are MAJOR, MAJOR (I can not express how MAJOR) spoilers for the end of Season One. Please, please, if you haven't seen the show to that point, go and watch it (these are beautiful, beautiful men who are very, very talented actors, and I recommend watching as much as you can).
Familiarization of Liberty will be set in the times mentioned above; the sequel, Sins of the Father, will take place after Season Five of QaF (so, full series spoilers) and well after the books (and I don't know yet how canon-compliant it will be). Forewarned is fore-armed.
Home is not where you live but where they understand you.
~Christian Morgenstern
Originally posted: 20 Jan 09 (Unbeta’d)
Coming Home I: Familiarization of Liberty
Chapter One
He knew he had to leave. While it had been a shockingly easy decision to make, it was proving to be extraordinarily difficult to put into practice. He didn't know where he was going, how he would be getting there, or how he'd manage to escape capture.
But I've taken the first step, Draco Malfoy thought, putting the last of his things in his satchel. Looking around the room at all that he would be leaving, all that he would likely never see again, he regretfully amended the thought: the last of the things that would fit, anyway.
But it was worth it. He'd finally met Voldemort for the first time, and it had been terrifying. Not because the Dark Lord looked like something out of a nightmare (though he did) nor because he was undeniably insane (though he was) but because he had demanded the impossible and had tortured Draco when he'd hesitated. That might not have been enough, on its own, but Lucius had not only apologized for his son's disappointing behaviour, he'd offered to Crucio him for it. And had done. To his heir. Given what they'd ordered him to do, Draco knew that chances of his success were remote, and it had been made very clear that there would be no quarter given if he were to be unsuccessful.
Which, of course he would. He was not stupid enough to refuse the task or to point out that the plan was ludicrous. He was not foolish enough to attempt impossible. He was not smart enough - though it galled him to admit it - to think of a workable alternative that would accomplish the same end. He was, however, Slytherin enough to want to survive, so he'd play to the stereotype and run, because that's what he needed to do. With an affirming nod, he closed the satchel, and turning to leave his childhood home for the last time, he came face to face with the first of his obstacles: his mother was standing in the doorway of his room.
Draco tried very hard not to panic, not to flinch as though he were doing something wrong, and looked at her inquiringly. She stood there, staring silently at him for several moments before saying, "You're certainly not my little boy anymore. You're growing so quickly. Becoming such a gentleman."
Draco nearly rolled his eyes. Such a typically vain and shallow comment, especially considering he was making his first truly adult decision of his life.
"When you're ready, we can depart."
Draco looked at her, puzzled. He'd asked his parents at breakfast if his presence would be required this afternoon, specifically, before he deciding, when the answer was negative, that it would be the perfect time to leave.
"Diagon Alley is such a terrible crush once the Hogwarts letters have arrived. It will be far more practical to obtain what we can in advance. New clothes, certainly," she said eying the robes he was wearing with disapproval. There was no way he could argue that it wasn’t necessary: it seemed unlikely that he'd ever be as tall as his father, but he’d grown at least a couple of inches in the last year, and his robes no longer fit as they should. Draco, resigned that he would have to pretend to be the dutiful son for at least a while longer, started to put his bag down.
"Why would you go to the trouble of packing that if you didn't intend to bring it?"
He looked up nervously and tried to guess what she'd meant by that, but her face was frozen in the blank, distant expression she wore in public. It served her well, convincing most of society that she was flightier than a Snidget and half as useful.
He hesitated with his hand still on the bag, and she raised her brow slowly, challengingly. He was familiar with that expression as well - it usually warned of punishments for insolence or willfulness - so Draco dutifully picked up the bag and headed for the door. If she did suspect what he intended to do and didn't want to confront him here, that would be better for him anyway. The house elves answered to his father, no matter how much any of them might prefer otherwise, and since Dobby had disappeared, Lucius had kept a much tighter reign on them. If she didn't suspect anything, there was no point in giving her cause to watch him now, when he least needed it.
Draco looked around the Gringotts vault, their first stop of the day, and he was reminded once again how much he was giving up - in practical terms, this time, rather than nostalgic ones. While his mother collected what she needed, he noted all the amount of money there, money that should theoretically have been his one day, money that he knew he would need, wherever he was going. He'd accepted that he would need to change his life-style (the best of everything was expensive), but he had no idea at all about other options - what they were, where to get them, how much they would cost.
He'd taken as much as he could from his own vault, but the limits on the account aside, Lucius would be suspicious if there was more activity than normal, and Draco hoped to capitalize on his parents' usual lack of interest in his whereabouts. If he were careful, and lucky, it might be days before they noticed he was missing. His mother's decision to visit Diagon today was an unexpected boon, since it allowed him to withdraw his term money, which would help tremendously. That and what little he'd accrued this summer was all he'd have: even if Lucius couldn't seize the trust Draco's grandfather had left for him - and Draco was certain he'd find a way - Draco wouldn't be able to access the funds without returning to Diagon Alley or leaving some sort of paper trail, and being found was not part of the plan.
"We're finished here, I think. Except..," his mother waved at a trunk near the door, plain but obviously expensive and in good condition. "I know you have your heart set on a new trunk, Darling, but perhaps you could consider using that one?"
Draco was bemused. He hadn't a word about a new trunk, since he knew, even if she didn't, that he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts in September and wouldn't need one, but he stopped himself from protesting when Narcissa glanced warningly at the Goblin in the doorway.
"It belonged to..." she paused a moment as though she were trying to remember a name or the exact degree of relationship, which surprised Draco, since he couldn't remember her ever losing track of ancestral details. She shrugged elegantly, "a distant relative. On the Malfoy side, of course," she continued, waving at the initials, GM, engraved on it. "That can be a comfort when you're far from home. Excellent craftsmanship, of course - you won't the likes of this from the hand of a common stranger. And family, above all, should be remembered, treasured, even if it is indirectly." She placed her hand on his back, a gesture that had replaced hugs years before he'd started at Hogwarts, and coupled with the knowledge that he wasn't sure he'd ever see her again, it was too much. Before he did something disgraceful like start to cry - in front of a goblin, no less - he moved to see what was inside the trunk. A Boggart or the memorabilia of a long ago ancestor would need to be emptied before it could be used. Before he could open it, however, she stopped him and waved her wand to shrink it. "We don't have time for that now, Darling. Let's put it in your pocket and examine the contents later, shall we? We've spent far too much time here as it is."
Draco dutifully followed his mother through most of the shops in Diagon Alley, taking the opportunity to practice restraint. He was used to purchasing (or convincing his parents to purchase for him) anything that caught his eye. In his new life, he wouldn't have the funds or the space for anything but necessities for a long while, and Draco would have to get used to that.
It wasn't as morally enriching an experience as he'd expected. No wonder the Weasel was so lacking in humour.
Spending the afternoon playing elf for his mother grew old before long, despite most of the items being shrunk before being put in the bags. That most of it she'd purchased for him made the hurt more, not less. The True Path Candle would have been particularly useful to take with him (it extinguished when the carrier made a wrong turn and lit again when the error was corrected), and knowing that he would have to leave behind the latest offering from the Nimbus Racing Boom Company caused an almost physical pain.
He finally left his mother in the clothier's, intending to wait for her from the comfort of a chair and a cold Butterbeer, but his attention was caught by the cover of the Daily Prophet: ~Harry Potter: The Chosen One?~
He picked up a copy from the rack. "....Some are going as far as to call Potter the 'Chosen One,'" he read, "believing that the prophesy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of He Who Must Not Be Named."
"Eh, now, that's for buying, not for reading, leastwise, not 'til it leaves this stand."
Draco apologized (to quiet her, mostly, as she had a very carrying voice) and handed her the Knuts to pay for it. He took the paper and headed down the street, wondering if the solution to his problem could be as easy as that. What it would take, he wondered, for Potter to believe that he'd truly abandoned his father's rhetoric?
Absorbed as he was in considering the possibilities, it wasn't until he looked up to cross the street that he recognized the needlessness of doing so.
Fortescue's was closed. He'd forgotten.
Part of Draco's fondness for shopping had come from his mother's insistence that all trips conclude with a sweet, provided he'd behaved himself, and over the years that had evolved into a tradition of ice cream sundaes. He'd order caramel sauce on vanilla ice cream (How pedestrian, his mother would tease), while she assembled a monstrosity of chocolate - chocolate fudge ice cream, covered in chocolate sauce and chocolate shavings - topped with whipped cream. Draco would tease in return that the whipped cream, not being chocolate, was inappropriate, and she'd defend the gustatory perfection of the contrast. They'd continue in that vein until the sundaes were finished, but in truth, they sampled equally from both.
They wouldn't be able to do that today because Death Eaters had taken the owner the shop and killed him.
It shouldn't hurt this much: it was just a boarded up shop. He knew, though, that it was more than that: something precious had been irreparably broken. It symbolized the loss of his childhood. It was the embodiment of what the Death Eaters would do to the wizarding world.
He would not simply wait and let them destroy him as well.
"What are you staring at, Ferret? Gloating over what your father and his friends have done? Or did you do it yourself?"
Without doing anything so obvious as stiffening his spine, Draco braced himself for the impending confrontation. He turned to find the Weasel flanked by the Weaselette and the Mu-Know it All, with no Boy Who Lived to be seen, just his luck. The only time in his life he actually was remotely interested in speaking to the Specky Git, and that's when he chooses to be absent.
"Yes, of course, Weasley. The first step in my plan for World Domination was indeed to force the closure of the ice cream shop. And before you ask, yes, I did it simply because I knew it would annoy you." Changing his tone from patronizing to falsely sincere, he continued, "I really must commend you on your dedication to the cause of Equality for Wizards. Not many I know would be willing to sacrifice pride and dignity to assume the persona you do simply to show the Mu-" Draco's pause here was deliberate "-uggleborns to advantage."
As expected, Weasley leapt to Granger's defence: "I'm not pretending anything to make Hermione look good!" He was yelling, nearly, and the girl in question shushed him. Weasel took offence that his gallantry wasn't appreciated, and they began bickering. Fortunately, the volume had dropped to heated whispers.
Draco hadn't fully appreciated the extent of Potter's patience, and he wondered, not for the first time, why the other boy bothered. Assuming a sympathetic look, he turned to the Girl Weasel. "Please extend my sympathies to your mother. I hadn't put much credence in the dangers of inbreeding amongst the pure-blood families, and I realize now that may have been a mistake."
Predictably, once the Weasel had worked out what Draco meant, he launched a tirade against Draco himself, Lucius Malfoy, and Death Eater families in general. Having received numerous lectures on the subject of self-control and the consequences if he continued to disgrace to the family name with public humiliation, Draco fought his instincts and managed - barely - to hold his temper and his tongue. It would be just his luck that his father would be in Diagon today as well and catch him. He couldn't afford to have Lucius detaining him, not today, when he was prepared and nearly had a plan.
Since he wasn't composing retorts, he was able to listen to the girls and the twin menaces - who arrived, as they were wont to do, at the first sign of drama - as they tried to calm their friend and brother. What he heard was not encouraging: they focused on the impropriety of the time and place, not even mentioning the severe generalizations and unsupported accusations the Weasel was making.
Listening to them, Draco recognized the impossibility of turning to Harry Potter for help. Even if the Gryffindor Golden Boy could put aside his personal grievances (and he had far more reason to be offended than anyone, excepting, perhaps, Granger), even if he could be convinced to give Draco a second chance, those around him would never allow it. Dumbledore might, possibly, given his belief in second chances (witness the way he was being duped by Snape), but Draco didn't trust McGonagall, Potter's friends, the rest of their allies.... They would eventually convince him that the danger of trusting Draco Malfoy was beyond even a Gryffindor's idea of a worthy risk. As much as they joked about it in Slytherin, bravery did not automatically equal foolhardiness. He'd be forced to deal with constant suspicion, biting remarks, and, worst of all, pity.
Without Draco responding to his taunts, Weasley gave up earlier than usual, and Granger, the Weasley girl, and the twins were able to drag him to the twins' shop just as Draco's mother caught up to him. "This not the sort of attention you need right now," she said quietly, leading him to one of the cafes further down Diagon Alley.
They'd settled themselves at one of the little tables and were having dessert - chocolate torte and crème brûlée, without any ice cream to be seen - but it wasn't the same. Part of the delight of the Fortescue's tradition was Lucius's disdain for ice cream consumed on it own, and Draco could name three places off the top of his head, including Malfoy Manor, that served better crème brûlée.
He was trying to be congenial and carefree, the way he would be under normal circumstances, but it was an effort. He was far too worried about what he would do, where he would go. He didn't trust the Ministry or Dumbledore, and he'd just written off Potter as well.
He was startled out of his thoughts by his mother's hand on his arm, and he looked up to find her staring at him intently. He shifted, hoping to dislodge her hand, but she tightened her grip until he stilled.
She placed a thick envelope on the table and slid it towards him. It was plain, good quality, of course, with 'ante omnia, sorores' written across the front. There were no other markings.
Puzzled, he looked up at his mother.
"It's charmed - you won't be able to open it.” She said quietly. “Take it to my sister. Do what she tells you to do without asking a lot of questions. It will be difficult and frightening, but be patient." She held him with a piercing stare, and he realized that she was more there than he could remember ever seeing her. "Your aunt will help."
Her discretion, her intensity, the care she took with her words - it made him suspect she meant more than the obvious interpretation of her remarks, and a shadow of an idea began to form. He nodded and tried to put the letter in his bag, but his mother didn’t let go, looking at him for several moments, searching his face for something. She seemed to find it eventually, nodded once, then released the envelope. That seemed to confirm his suspicion, and he tried hard not to gawk as he felt everything he knew to be true shatter and realign into something unrecognizable and strange. He put the envelope away, and his mother resumed her chatter. It had been a bit surreal, and without the envelope in sight, Draco nearly convinced himself that he’d imagined the whole thing.
Draco had originally intended to suggest that they Floo home from the Leaky Cauldron; his mother could Floo first, or he could see to it that she would be distracted as he left, and he would be able to change his destination unobtrusively. After their conversation at lunch and Narcissa’s strange behaviour all afternoon, however, Draco suspected that distracting her wouldn’t be as difficult as he’d feared. If he understood his mother correctly, he had a plan, the beginnings of one, at least. In fact, he was feeling rather optimistic. That is, until they were entering the pub, and he ran into Severus Snape. Literally.
“Excuse me, sir.” Draco held his bags tightly and was relieved when neither they nor their contents spilled onto the floor.
“I realize that you are technically a child on vacation,” his professor sneered the word as though it were something pornographic, “but I had hoped that you understood what is expected of a Malfoy."
“Yes, sir,” I’m very aware.
"Are you?" Snape looked at Draco’s mother. “How surprising to see you here, Narcissa. Lucius should have informed you at luncheon that you would be having very important guests this evening. I would have expected you to be at home preparing." He looked pointedly at Draco. "Both of you."
Draco knew with cold-blooded certainty what that meant, and he thanked whatever deity had prompted him to choose today to leave.
Narcissa laughed without humour. "Our staff is excellent, Severus, you know that, and more than capable of preparing a worthy meal even with only a few hours notice. What would be the point of having them if I had to monitor their every movement? We were just picking up a few things for Draco."
"Then you are prepared to do what is necessary to uphold the honour of the Malfoy name?"
"Of course, sir." Better than I'd feared I'd be, thanks to your inadvertent warning.
“On your way, Draco," Narcissa interjected, "As much as I've enjoyed our afternoon together, your professor is correct; you have Important People to meet.”
"Of course, Mother. Good afternoon, sir." They seemed too casual, too meaningless, to be the last words he'd likely ever say to two of the most important people in his life, but they would have to suffice. He watched gratefully as his mother unobtrusively steered Snape away from the fireplace, engaging him in conversation about his plans for the remainder of the holidays.
Hoping he'd read his mother's signals correctly, Draco spoke the unfamiliar Floo address quietly, but he needn't have bothered. From the Floo, he was able to see - though he was the only one who could - his mother flick her wand towards the bar-keep, and Draco's words were lost in the shattering of glass as he was swallowed by the green flame.
Next Chapter
I don't own anything; it's the property of JKR, Raincoast, RTD, Cowlip, Showtime, et al.
Warnings for this story: slash, of course, language, adult themes.
I've had to play with the timeline a bit to get things to match up, and despite HP's significant use of actual dates (1980 as Harry's birthday, for example), I'm moving the Potter-verse up about four years so that it coincides with the world of QaF rather than the reverse. This was done, mostly, because technologically, the Muggle world changed tremendously in that time: cell-phones, lap top computers, and email, for example, were not nearly as commonplace in 1996 as they were in 2000. Considering the dependence on the contemporary of the show and the lack of it in the books and that the majority of the story will be set in Pittsburgh, it seemed to make more sense to do it thusly.
Other than that, this should be HP canon-compliant until early in HBP, except that Lucius fought in the battle at the Department of Mysteries but escaped being captured.
QaF (US) - this story begins just before Season Two, Episode Three, meaning there are MAJOR, MAJOR (I can not express how MAJOR) spoilers for the end of Season One. Please, please, if you haven't seen the show to that point, go and watch it (these are beautiful, beautiful men who are very, very talented actors, and I recommend watching as much as you can).
Familiarization of Liberty will be set in the times mentioned above; the sequel, Sins of the Father, will take place after Season Five of QaF (so, full series spoilers) and well after the books (and I don't know yet how canon-compliant it will be). Forewarned is fore-armed.
Home is not where you live but where they understand you.
~Christian Morgenstern
Originally posted: 20 Jan 09 (Unbeta’d)
Coming Home I: Familiarization of Liberty
Chapter One
He knew he had to leave. While it had been a shockingly easy decision to make, it was proving to be extraordinarily difficult to put into practice. He didn't know where he was going, how he would be getting there, or how he'd manage to escape capture.
But I've taken the first step, Draco Malfoy thought, putting the last of his things in his satchel. Looking around the room at all that he would be leaving, all that he would likely never see again, he regretfully amended the thought: the last of the things that would fit, anyway.
But it was worth it. He'd finally met Voldemort for the first time, and it had been terrifying. Not because the Dark Lord looked like something out of a nightmare (though he did) nor because he was undeniably insane (though he was) but because he had demanded the impossible and had tortured Draco when he'd hesitated. That might not have been enough, on its own, but Lucius had not only apologized for his son's disappointing behaviour, he'd offered to Crucio him for it. And had done. To his heir. Given what they'd ordered him to do, Draco knew that chances of his success were remote, and it had been made very clear that there would be no quarter given if he were to be unsuccessful.
Which, of course he would. He was not stupid enough to refuse the task or to point out that the plan was ludicrous. He was not foolish enough to attempt impossible. He was not smart enough - though it galled him to admit it - to think of a workable alternative that would accomplish the same end. He was, however, Slytherin enough to want to survive, so he'd play to the stereotype and run, because that's what he needed to do. With an affirming nod, he closed the satchel, and turning to leave his childhood home for the last time, he came face to face with the first of his obstacles: his mother was standing in the doorway of his room.
Draco tried very hard not to panic, not to flinch as though he were doing something wrong, and looked at her inquiringly. She stood there, staring silently at him for several moments before saying, "You're certainly not my little boy anymore. You're growing so quickly. Becoming such a gentleman."
Draco nearly rolled his eyes. Such a typically vain and shallow comment, especially considering he was making his first truly adult decision of his life.
"When you're ready, we can depart."
Draco looked at her, puzzled. He'd asked his parents at breakfast if his presence would be required this afternoon, specifically, before he deciding, when the answer was negative, that it would be the perfect time to leave.
"Diagon Alley is such a terrible crush once the Hogwarts letters have arrived. It will be far more practical to obtain what we can in advance. New clothes, certainly," she said eying the robes he was wearing with disapproval. There was no way he could argue that it wasn’t necessary: it seemed unlikely that he'd ever be as tall as his father, but he’d grown at least a couple of inches in the last year, and his robes no longer fit as they should. Draco, resigned that he would have to pretend to be the dutiful son for at least a while longer, started to put his bag down.
"Why would you go to the trouble of packing that if you didn't intend to bring it?"
He looked up nervously and tried to guess what she'd meant by that, but her face was frozen in the blank, distant expression she wore in public. It served her well, convincing most of society that she was flightier than a Snidget and half as useful.
He hesitated with his hand still on the bag, and she raised her brow slowly, challengingly. He was familiar with that expression as well - it usually warned of punishments for insolence or willfulness - so Draco dutifully picked up the bag and headed for the door. If she did suspect what he intended to do and didn't want to confront him here, that would be better for him anyway. The house elves answered to his father, no matter how much any of them might prefer otherwise, and since Dobby had disappeared, Lucius had kept a much tighter reign on them. If she didn't suspect anything, there was no point in giving her cause to watch him now, when he least needed it.
Draco looked around the Gringotts vault, their first stop of the day, and he was reminded once again how much he was giving up - in practical terms, this time, rather than nostalgic ones. While his mother collected what she needed, he noted all the amount of money there, money that should theoretically have been his one day, money that he knew he would need, wherever he was going. He'd accepted that he would need to change his life-style (the best of everything was expensive), but he had no idea at all about other options - what they were, where to get them, how much they would cost.
He'd taken as much as he could from his own vault, but the limits on the account aside, Lucius would be suspicious if there was more activity than normal, and Draco hoped to capitalize on his parents' usual lack of interest in his whereabouts. If he were careful, and lucky, it might be days before they noticed he was missing. His mother's decision to visit Diagon today was an unexpected boon, since it allowed him to withdraw his term money, which would help tremendously. That and what little he'd accrued this summer was all he'd have: even if Lucius couldn't seize the trust Draco's grandfather had left for him - and Draco was certain he'd find a way - Draco wouldn't be able to access the funds without returning to Diagon Alley or leaving some sort of paper trail, and being found was not part of the plan.
"We're finished here, I think. Except..," his mother waved at a trunk near the door, plain but obviously expensive and in good condition. "I know you have your heart set on a new trunk, Darling, but perhaps you could consider using that one?"
Draco was bemused. He hadn't a word about a new trunk, since he knew, even if she didn't, that he wouldn't be returning to Hogwarts in September and wouldn't need one, but he stopped himself from protesting when Narcissa glanced warningly at the Goblin in the doorway.
"It belonged to..." she paused a moment as though she were trying to remember a name or the exact degree of relationship, which surprised Draco, since he couldn't remember her ever losing track of ancestral details. She shrugged elegantly, "a distant relative. On the Malfoy side, of course," she continued, waving at the initials, GM, engraved on it. "That can be a comfort when you're far from home. Excellent craftsmanship, of course - you won't the likes of this from the hand of a common stranger. And family, above all, should be remembered, treasured, even if it is indirectly." She placed her hand on his back, a gesture that had replaced hugs years before he'd started at Hogwarts, and coupled with the knowledge that he wasn't sure he'd ever see her again, it was too much. Before he did something disgraceful like start to cry - in front of a goblin, no less - he moved to see what was inside the trunk. A Boggart or the memorabilia of a long ago ancestor would need to be emptied before it could be used. Before he could open it, however, she stopped him and waved her wand to shrink it. "We don't have time for that now, Darling. Let's put it in your pocket and examine the contents later, shall we? We've spent far too much time here as it is."
Draco dutifully followed his mother through most of the shops in Diagon Alley, taking the opportunity to practice restraint. He was used to purchasing (or convincing his parents to purchase for him) anything that caught his eye. In his new life, he wouldn't have the funds or the space for anything but necessities for a long while, and Draco would have to get used to that.
It wasn't as morally enriching an experience as he'd expected. No wonder the Weasel was so lacking in humour.
Spending the afternoon playing elf for his mother grew old before long, despite most of the items being shrunk before being put in the bags. That most of it she'd purchased for him made the hurt more, not less. The True Path Candle would have been particularly useful to take with him (it extinguished when the carrier made a wrong turn and lit again when the error was corrected), and knowing that he would have to leave behind the latest offering from the Nimbus Racing Boom Company caused an almost physical pain.
He finally left his mother in the clothier's, intending to wait for her from the comfort of a chair and a cold Butterbeer, but his attention was caught by the cover of the Daily Prophet: ~Harry Potter: The Chosen One?~
He picked up a copy from the rack. "....Some are going as far as to call Potter the 'Chosen One,'" he read, "believing that the prophesy names him as the only one who will be able to rid us of He Who Must Not Be Named."
"Eh, now, that's for buying, not for reading, leastwise, not 'til it leaves this stand."
Draco apologized (to quiet her, mostly, as she had a very carrying voice) and handed her the Knuts to pay for it. He took the paper and headed down the street, wondering if the solution to his problem could be as easy as that. What it would take, he wondered, for Potter to believe that he'd truly abandoned his father's rhetoric?
Absorbed as he was in considering the possibilities, it wasn't until he looked up to cross the street that he recognized the needlessness of doing so.
Fortescue's was closed. He'd forgotten.
Part of Draco's fondness for shopping had come from his mother's insistence that all trips conclude with a sweet, provided he'd behaved himself, and over the years that had evolved into a tradition of ice cream sundaes. He'd order caramel sauce on vanilla ice cream (How pedestrian, his mother would tease), while she assembled a monstrosity of chocolate - chocolate fudge ice cream, covered in chocolate sauce and chocolate shavings - topped with whipped cream. Draco would tease in return that the whipped cream, not being chocolate, was inappropriate, and she'd defend the gustatory perfection of the contrast. They'd continue in that vein until the sundaes were finished, but in truth, they sampled equally from both.
They wouldn't be able to do that today because Death Eaters had taken the owner the shop and killed him.
It shouldn't hurt this much: it was just a boarded up shop. He knew, though, that it was more than that: something precious had been irreparably broken. It symbolized the loss of his childhood. It was the embodiment of what the Death Eaters would do to the wizarding world.
He would not simply wait and let them destroy him as well.
"What are you staring at, Ferret? Gloating over what your father and his friends have done? Or did you do it yourself?"
Without doing anything so obvious as stiffening his spine, Draco braced himself for the impending confrontation. He turned to find the Weasel flanked by the Weaselette and the Mu-Know it All, with no Boy Who Lived to be seen, just his luck. The only time in his life he actually was remotely interested in speaking to the Specky Git, and that's when he chooses to be absent.
"Yes, of course, Weasley. The first step in my plan for World Domination was indeed to force the closure of the ice cream shop. And before you ask, yes, I did it simply because I knew it would annoy you." Changing his tone from patronizing to falsely sincere, he continued, "I really must commend you on your dedication to the cause of Equality for Wizards. Not many I know would be willing to sacrifice pride and dignity to assume the persona you do simply to show the Mu-" Draco's pause here was deliberate "-uggleborns to advantage."
As expected, Weasley leapt to Granger's defence: "I'm not pretending anything to make Hermione look good!" He was yelling, nearly, and the girl in question shushed him. Weasel took offence that his gallantry wasn't appreciated, and they began bickering. Fortunately, the volume had dropped to heated whispers.
Draco hadn't fully appreciated the extent of Potter's patience, and he wondered, not for the first time, why the other boy bothered. Assuming a sympathetic look, he turned to the Girl Weasel. "Please extend my sympathies to your mother. I hadn't put much credence in the dangers of inbreeding amongst the pure-blood families, and I realize now that may have been a mistake."
Predictably, once the Weasel had worked out what Draco meant, he launched a tirade against Draco himself, Lucius Malfoy, and Death Eater families in general. Having received numerous lectures on the subject of self-control and the consequences if he continued to disgrace to the family name with public humiliation, Draco fought his instincts and managed - barely - to hold his temper and his tongue. It would be just his luck that his father would be in Diagon today as well and catch him. He couldn't afford to have Lucius detaining him, not today, when he was prepared and nearly had a plan.
Since he wasn't composing retorts, he was able to listen to the girls and the twin menaces - who arrived, as they were wont to do, at the first sign of drama - as they tried to calm their friend and brother. What he heard was not encouraging: they focused on the impropriety of the time and place, not even mentioning the severe generalizations and unsupported accusations the Weasel was making.
Listening to them, Draco recognized the impossibility of turning to Harry Potter for help. Even if the Gryffindor Golden Boy could put aside his personal grievances (and he had far more reason to be offended than anyone, excepting, perhaps, Granger), even if he could be convinced to give Draco a second chance, those around him would never allow it. Dumbledore might, possibly, given his belief in second chances (witness the way he was being duped by Snape), but Draco didn't trust McGonagall, Potter's friends, the rest of their allies.... They would eventually convince him that the danger of trusting Draco Malfoy was beyond even a Gryffindor's idea of a worthy risk. As much as they joked about it in Slytherin, bravery did not automatically equal foolhardiness. He'd be forced to deal with constant suspicion, biting remarks, and, worst of all, pity.
Without Draco responding to his taunts, Weasley gave up earlier than usual, and Granger, the Weasley girl, and the twins were able to drag him to the twins' shop just as Draco's mother caught up to him. "This not the sort of attention you need right now," she said quietly, leading him to one of the cafes further down Diagon Alley.
They'd settled themselves at one of the little tables and were having dessert - chocolate torte and crème brûlée, without any ice cream to be seen - but it wasn't the same. Part of the delight of the Fortescue's tradition was Lucius's disdain for ice cream consumed on it own, and Draco could name three places off the top of his head, including Malfoy Manor, that served better crème brûlée.
He was trying to be congenial and carefree, the way he would be under normal circumstances, but it was an effort. He was far too worried about what he would do, where he would go. He didn't trust the Ministry or Dumbledore, and he'd just written off Potter as well.
He was startled out of his thoughts by his mother's hand on his arm, and he looked up to find her staring at him intently. He shifted, hoping to dislodge her hand, but she tightened her grip until he stilled.
She placed a thick envelope on the table and slid it towards him. It was plain, good quality, of course, with 'ante omnia, sorores' written across the front. There were no other markings.
Puzzled, he looked up at his mother.
"It's charmed - you won't be able to open it.” She said quietly. “Take it to my sister. Do what she tells you to do without asking a lot of questions. It will be difficult and frightening, but be patient." She held him with a piercing stare, and he realized that she was more there than he could remember ever seeing her. "Your aunt will help."
Her discretion, her intensity, the care she took with her words - it made him suspect she meant more than the obvious interpretation of her remarks, and a shadow of an idea began to form. He nodded and tried to put the letter in his bag, but his mother didn’t let go, looking at him for several moments, searching his face for something. She seemed to find it eventually, nodded once, then released the envelope. That seemed to confirm his suspicion, and he tried hard not to gawk as he felt everything he knew to be true shatter and realign into something unrecognizable and strange. He put the envelope away, and his mother resumed her chatter. It had been a bit surreal, and without the envelope in sight, Draco nearly convinced himself that he’d imagined the whole thing.
Draco had originally intended to suggest that they Floo home from the Leaky Cauldron; his mother could Floo first, or he could see to it that she would be distracted as he left, and he would be able to change his destination unobtrusively. After their conversation at lunch and Narcissa’s strange behaviour all afternoon, however, Draco suspected that distracting her wouldn’t be as difficult as he’d feared. If he understood his mother correctly, he had a plan, the beginnings of one, at least. In fact, he was feeling rather optimistic. That is, until they were entering the pub, and he ran into Severus Snape. Literally.
“Excuse me, sir.” Draco held his bags tightly and was relieved when neither they nor their contents spilled onto the floor.
“I realize that you are technically a child on vacation,” his professor sneered the word as though it were something pornographic, “but I had hoped that you understood what is expected of a Malfoy."
“Yes, sir,” I’m very aware.
"Are you?" Snape looked at Draco’s mother. “How surprising to see you here, Narcissa. Lucius should have informed you at luncheon that you would be having very important guests this evening. I would have expected you to be at home preparing." He looked pointedly at Draco. "Both of you."
Draco knew with cold-blooded certainty what that meant, and he thanked whatever deity had prompted him to choose today to leave.
Narcissa laughed without humour. "Our staff is excellent, Severus, you know that, and more than capable of preparing a worthy meal even with only a few hours notice. What would be the point of having them if I had to monitor their every movement? We were just picking up a few things for Draco."
"Then you are prepared to do what is necessary to uphold the honour of the Malfoy name?"
"Of course, sir." Better than I'd feared I'd be, thanks to your inadvertent warning.
“On your way, Draco," Narcissa interjected, "As much as I've enjoyed our afternoon together, your professor is correct; you have Important People to meet.”
"Of course, Mother. Good afternoon, sir." They seemed too casual, too meaningless, to be the last words he'd likely ever say to two of the most important people in his life, but they would have to suffice. He watched gratefully as his mother unobtrusively steered Snape away from the fireplace, engaging him in conversation about his plans for the remainder of the holidays.
Hoping he'd read his mother's signals correctly, Draco spoke the unfamiliar Floo address quietly, but he needn't have bothered. From the Floo, he was able to see - though he was the only one who could - his mother flick her wand towards the bar-keep, and Draco's words were lost in the shattering of glass as he was swallowed by the green flame.
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