"There are dozens of these, Draco," Pansy said, seemingly in awe. She leaned towards him and the journal in his hands. "What does it say?" she asked, in predictably nosy Pansy Parkinson fashion. She grabbed another journal from the box and went to open it.
Draco barely thought the Accio, but the box tore itself from Pansy so forcefully that she fell to her knees and was dragged several inches, forcing her to drop the journal in her hands. Pansy looked up at Draco, shocked. He grimaced. "Sorry, Pans," he said quietly.
"What the fuck, Draco!?" Pansy cried.
"I—" Draco began, not certain what he should tell Pansy. He wasn't even entirely sure what the journals contained, but he did know he didn't want Pansy looking at them—at least, not yet. It was too private, too personal, something that felt wrong to share with Pansy. His thoughts unhelpfully flickered to Hermione. This was something he would only share with Hermione.
Except there was no Hermione. Not anymore.
Pansy righted herself, smoothing her skirt. She glared at Draco. "That was rather rude," she said crisply.
"I'm sorry, Pansy," he repeated. "But these are—well, they're rather personal. I think I should look at them alone."
She studied him for a moment before narrowing her eyes. "Fine," she replied shortly. "I should check on Astoria anyways." At the mention of Astoria, Pansy's face twisted into a vaguely devastated expression before she caught herself, righting her features and smoothing them into a mask.
Draco instantly felt guilty. Pansy had done nothing but help him since she had shown up at Black Manor, and all he'd done was mope and—albeit accidentally—drag her across the floor. He took several steps towards Pansy and wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you, Pansy. For everything. I just—I need some time alone with these. I think—I think they might be important."
Pansy didn't initially respond to the hug, but at Draco's admission, she relaxed into him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I understand," she said begrudgingly. "But if I don't receive an owl from you by noon tomorrow, I will be back here."
Draco laughed and pulled away from her. "You got it, Pans."
She glared at him once more before she walked out the front door, heading towards the apparition point.
Once Draco was certain that Pansy was gone, he turned back to the journal that he still held in his hand. Flipping it open once more, Draco ran his eyes over the phrase again: the most handsome little boy with white blonde hair. Swallowing, he flipped the page. June 18, 1979. Then: A peacock and a snake. There is always pride before the fall.
In an instant, Draco understood what the journals contained. "You recorded everything, didn't you?" Draco said lowly, mostly to himself. He shut the journal and closed his eyes, rubbing his brow in exhaustion. He needed to talk to his mother. First, though, he needed a drink.
Draco went back to the cellar, his previous conviction all but forgotten, grabbed the nearest bottle of firewhiskey and headed towards the mausoleum, pausing at the foyer to grab a handful of journals.
When he reached the mausoleum, the door immediately swung open, allowing him entrance. Draco settled himself before his mother's tomb, staring up at the gleaming placard. Absently opening the firewhiskey, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a long sip. "I found your journals, Mum," he began quietly. "I don't know if you want me to read them or not—" Draco paused, taking another gulp of firewhiskey. "But I'm going to." He picked a journal from the stack at random and read the cover. "I guess we're starting in 1973."
Draco flipped open the journal and began to read.
September 15, 1973
I am officially a married woman.
There was a point in time that I was utterly terrified that I would never marry, and that I would be a spinster, an old maid. That seems so utterly laughable now, now that I'm married and feel as if I've made a horrible mistake.
It was a beautiful day, really. Everything was perfect: the weather, the flowers, the guest list. Lucius was perfect. So sweet, and so handsome. We danced and sipped at the finest Champagne all night long, and the way he looked at me. Merlin, the way he looked at me. It very nearly took my breath away. Today was complete and utter bliss, truly. I'd just married the love of my life. How could it be anything but?
I curse my naivete. I had to do everything the old-fashioned way, the proper way, the pureblood way. I was a good girl who waited until marriage, a good girl who insisted on a soul-bonding ceremony.
But he promised me that he didn't have it. He promised me. And of course, I believed him.
Imagine my surprise, then, upon seeing my husband unclothed for the first time, that I see that he has, in fact, had himself branded.
I had imagined my wedding night more times than I can count, but truth be told, I remember very little of it. The whole time, all I could do was stare at the horrible brand on his forearm. The brand he had convinced me he did not have.
He's asleep next to me as I write this, and Merlin, he is so beautiful. I still love him, of course. How could I not? But as I stare down at my perfect husband, all I keep thinking is that I'm trapped.
September 21,1973
I finally had the courage to ask him about it one morning over breakfast. Of course he'd known that I'd seen it, now that I've seen all of him. I asked him why he told me he had not taken the brand—The Dark Mark is what it's called, I have since learned. He was unapologetic for his lie, smiling that smile that never fails to make me weak in the knees. He spoke about it as if it was of no consequence, and he told me everything would be all right. He didn't want me to worry, that's why he lied to me about it.
All of I've done since I've seen it is worry. I understand the sentiment of The Dark Lord's ideas, but I don't trust him. He is charismatic; too charismatic. But there is something about his eyes, and his smile that I don't trust. And even from a distance, I can tell that there is something wrong with his aura.
I don't tell Lucius this, of course. He'd think me mad if I ever told him about my flashes.
But I think him mad for following The Dark Lord.
That Mark is all I can see when I look at him now. Whenever we're intimate, when he's on top of me, it's all I can see. Now that I know it's there, he makes no attempt to hide it. He flaunts it, like he's proud of it.
Meanwhile, I am nearly sick with worry.
What have you done to us, husband of mine?
October 1, 1973
A snake. A snake larger than any I have ever seen. A lightning bolt. Blood. So much blood. A ghost. Neither here, nor there. In limbo. Purgatory.
October 17, 1973
Voldemort is what he calls himself. When I first said his name, I felt cold. So cold. It's a horrible name, and a ridiculous one at that. But it does what it is intended to do; it strikes fear in anyone that speaks or sees his name. Just seeing it written here makes me feel clammy.
I do fear we are in the presence of a madman. I'm uncertain whether this has to do with my Seer abilities, or if it is simply intuition, but I do not trust this Dark Lord.
And I do not trust him with my husband. Lucius has been spending more and more of his time with The Dark Lord, doing his bidding, I suppose. He does not tell me what he does, and I do not ask.
I don't want to know.
Not only does The Dark Lord preach for the extermination of Muggles and Mudbloods, but he also actually carries it out. There have been several attacks on Muggle London as of late, made to look like natural disasters and terrorist attacks. What the Muggles don't know is that it's worse than that. And it's going to get even worse.
Lucius assures me that we are fine, and we will continue to be fine. We are purebloods, and we are on the right side of the War. He actually used the word 'War.' What I don't tell him is that I'm not worried about us. I'm worried about them; the other.
I worry that this makes me a blood traitor.
November 25, 1973
Things are getting steadily worse. There are more attacks on Muggle societies, now as far spread as Russia. He is gaining more followers with the help of my husband. Lucius has become The Dark Lord's right hand, convincing many Sacred Twenty-Eight families to join The Dark Lord's service.
There is something wrong with The Dark Lord, and I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Being around him is...It's unsettling; off-putting. There is a strange magic that I can feel coming off of him in waves that makes me feel ill. I'm certain it's Dark Magic, but I've never felt Dark Magic quite like this before. When I look at him in the eyes (as infrequently as I do) I no longer feel like I'm looking at someone who is wholly human.
It sounds crazy, but it's as if his soul is missing.
December 16, 1973
I'm pregnant. I don't want to be, but I am. I haven't told Lucius yet as he's been abroad in the Ukraine for nearly a week.
Despite his absence, I feel as if I'm suffocating. I'm pregnant and living in a world where a despot murders anyone he perceives is below him. My mother has become the most fervent supporter of The Dark Lord, so I don't want to tell her yet either. I don't want to talk to her. Bellatrix is and always has been deranged.
I feel if I keep this to myself, I'll go mad; that I'll explode. So, I did something I haven't done in over a year. I owl Andromeda. My favorite sister who married a Muggleborn and got herself disowned.
We met for a cup of tea at her house, which is small and lovely and cozy and everything that my world hasn't been since I married Lucius. I burst out into tears as soon as I saw her, and everything that I've been keeping inside of myself just came pouring out of me. I told her how Lucius was Marked and lied to me about it, I told her that I don't trust The Dark Lord, that I don't think that everything is going to be okay, probably ever again. I told her that I'm pregnant. She's the first one to know.
I met Ted Tonks, the man my sister supposedly destroyed her life for. I don't see it that way at all. Ted is friendly, intelligent, and clearly infatuated with my sister. He is capable of magic. How could he be lesser than I?
These are dangerous thoughts, so I keep them to myself.
December 20, 1973
I have told Lucius that I'm pregnant, and he was absolutely overjoyed. He has been so sweet and gentle and caring, and for a moment, I forgot that he is The Dark Lord's right hand; He is simply my husband. The man that I love, the man that I'm soul-bonded and married to. My perfect, beautiful, adoring husband who is excited that his wife is going to have a baby.
But then I remember that he follows the teachings of a murderer, and I worry about what kind of world my baby is going to grow up in.
All I do is worry.
January 8, 1974
The snake again. A tiara. A cup. A locket. A ring. A diary. A pair of metal glasses.
January 19, 1974
I'm no longer pregnant. Lucius is devastated.
I'm relieved.
February 24, 1974
The Dark Lord has begun using the Cruciatus on my husband whenever Lucius displeases him. He comes home in the evening in agony, barely able to walk. My husband is strong man, though, and does not shed a tear, even though the pain is clearly unbearable. I've begun to stock up on pain potions, that way I'm always prepared if he comes home after a bout of Cruciatus, which has been more often than not as of late.
When he comes home in pain, I'm reminded that this is still the man that I love, and I hate seeing him in any kind of discomfort. He's softer, after being tortured, and he lets me hold me in him in my arms, and I forget who he is and what he's doing. I want to ask him to stop. I want to ask him to quit all of this. We have all the money we'll ever need, and I know Lucius' family has estates on nearly every continent. We could run away and leave The Dark Lord behind. I want to leave this all behind. I just want to love my husband.
I finally got up the courage to ask him, to tell them that I love him—truthfully, I don't remember the last time I've told him—but then I caught him staring down at his Mark, the look in his eyes reminding me of the way he looked at me on our wedding day, and I know even if I ask, he will never quit. He will never go.
The Dark Lord is his master.
March 3, 1974
Whenever Lucius is abroad, I find myself at Andromeda's. Her little cottage in the country is the only place I can breathe nowadays. It is here that I learn about The Order of the Phoenix, and I can breathe because finally I know that not everyone in this world is completely and utterly mad. There is a resistance, an opposition, fighting against The Dark Lord and the world he wants to create. When I ask Andromeda and Ted if they've joined, Nymphadora promptly begins to scream from her crib in the other room.
I don't need them to tell me that the answer is no. They have a child to raise.
Perhaps it is selfish of them, not to fight. But I know I'd do the same. If and when I do have a child, I know I'd do the same. I would never do anything to put them in harm's way.
March 6, 1974
An otter. A peacock. A dragon. Far away and obscure, doused in a fine shroud of mist.
March 22, 1974
Lucius has just returned from an assignment in India, and brought me back three white, baby peacocks. They're silly, scrawny-looking things, but they're rather sweet and already quite attached to me, and I find myself quickly falling in love with them. Lucius tells me that they're a very special, magical breed only found in India, and I'm assured that while they are in fact females, one day they will plume just as beautifully as their male counterparts.
I won't hold my breath. They really are rather ugly.
I have named them Priscilla, Lillibeth, and Hera.
April 9, 1974
I'm pregnant again, and I am terrified.
I sit outside with the peacocks, who have already grown over a foot since I've had them, and fawn over them, wondering if I would make a good mother.
I'd always been raised with the expectation that I settle down with a husband and produce an heir, but the expectation is vastly different than the reality. Andromeda is a wonderful mother, and I worry that I would fail to live up to her example. She was always the smartest of the three of us.
She knew when to get out.
I figured it out just a little bit too late.
April 28, 1974
I am considering running away. Andromeda and Ted are worried that they may have to go into hiding soon, and they have offered to take me with them. I don't want to leave Lucius, but I also don't want my child growing up in this world.
I don't want him or her to grow up learning about nothing but hate, the way Lucius and I did. I think Lucius would make a wonderful father, but I fear he is too entrenched in his beliefs to even consider raising a child any differently.
So, I haven't told Lucius that I am pregnant yet. I have to weigh my options carefully.
May 7, 1974
Running would be fruitless, and idiotic. I've spent hours in the library, doing extensive research on the soul bond that was performed on Lucius and I, and it appears that if I were to ever intentionally leave my husband, the magic would slowly kill me. Ridiculous, archaic magic. Furthermore, and let me just say that I love that my parents never told me this—upon our soul bond and marriage, all of my inheritance was placed in Lucius' vaults. All of my money belongs to him. And the only way I'll get it back is to divorce him.
Following?
If I ever want my money, I have to divorce him.
If I divorce him, I die.
I just had to have a soul bond, didn't I?
So, my only option is to stay and raise this baby the best I can in this fucked up world.
Excuse my language, Ted is a terrible influence.
May 12, 1974
The Dark Lord is to come to dinner this evening. In our home. And I have to play the charming hostess for him and five of his closest followers. It makes my skin crawl thinking that he will be eating at my dinner table, in my home, and I will have to sit there and smile like everything he stands for doesn't absolutely disgust and appall me.
I'm officially a blood traitor now. I spend the majority of my free time with Andromeda and Ted, and I've found Ted to be everything I could ever ask for in a both a brother-in-law and a friend. A real, true friend; not the society friends that I'm forced to pretend to have even if I can barely stand them.
But alas, I must plan out a formal dinner for The Dark Lord, and smile prettily, and be the perfect hostess though his presence always makes me feel ill.
I wonder if Jinxy would be willing to poison the food. She's always been a devious little thing.
May 13, 1974
No more baby.
June 28, 1974
Andromeda and Ted have gone into hiding with Nymphadora. Things are continually getting worse, and I don't begrudge them leaving. But I miss them so much it hurts. They were my only friends, the only people I could confide in. Lucius is so distant lately, and the only time he ever seems to look at me is when we're having sex.
The Dark Lord's branded followers have started calling themselves Death Eaters.
Every time we have sex, all I can think is that I'm having sex with one of The Dark's Lords Death Eaters, and the title makes me wonder: has my husband caused someone's death in the name of The Dark Lord?
If the answer is yes, I don't know how I'd bear it.
Andromeda says she'll contact me when it's safe, and that's the only thing that gets me through the days.
July 5, 1974
A snake again. Even bigger than the other one—nearly the size of a house. A girl with a mirror. A handsome boy with an ophidian smile.
July 9, 1974
Still no word from Andromeda. I know it's only been a few weeks, but I cannot help but worry. I don't know where they are headed, nor how to contact them. I tried to protest this, but Ted told me it would be too dangerous if I knew where they were.
I suppose I'm already in a fair bit of danger in recording my thoughts, but my enchantments I have on my books should hold strong if Lucius ever finds them. The Dark Lord, however, is another matter entirely. I suspect he could break my enchantments with the flick of a finger. Luckily, as long as I continue to play my part as I have been, I suspect I will never draw The Dark Lord's attention.
Here's to hoping at the very least.
July 21, 1974
I have finally received word from Andromeda and Ted, assuring me that they were safe. I wish I could say the same for my husband, who has been gone nearly a week. I don't even know his whereabouts. I am all alone in this gigantic house, and I have never felt loneliness quite this acutely before.
I imagine myself on the coast of Spain with Andromeda and Ted, or perhaps in the mountains of Italy, safe and cozy and not alone. Somewhere people love instead of hate, where there was peace instead of war. Where there was a life and not death.
Somewhere other than here.
August 3, 1974
A constellation. One I can't name off-hand, but it ebbs and flows like a wave. Waves, rolling over and petering out over thin, childlike ankles, toes curling in the sand with delight.
August 29, 1974
Normally, at this time of year, I'd be preparing to return to Hogwarts. I'd be buying books, parchment, and quills. New robes, the finest that money could buy, with custom fabric from Madame Malkin's. I'd be preparing to see friends, and enemies. Gossiping about who was seeing who, and who had ugliest set of robes, no matter how expensive they might be. Seventh years will be preparing for their N.E.W.T.s.
Not this year, not for me. When September 1st comes, nothing will change for me. I will remain in this giant house, with more money than I know what to do with, and an absent husband. Perhaps I will redo the dining room simply for something to do. We certainly need a new dining room table—I can't get the image of The Dark Lord sitting at the head of the table, grinning his detestable toothy grin down at his followers out of my head.
This. Imagine that this used to be the life I thought I wanted.
September 15, 1974
Happy anniversary, my love.
Draco had forgotten about the bottle of firewhiskey long ago, completely enraptured by his mother's journal. A year. A whole year of her life—a whole year of her thoughts. So many details, so many facts—so many little things that added up and made everything else make complete and utter sense.
It was only one year, one journal out of dozens, but suddenly Draco had so much more insight into his mother's life than he had thought would ever be possible.
Now he had whole books—a whole box of books.
He closed the journal and laid it down by his feet, looking back up at his mother's tomb. "You did the best you could, Mum," he said quietly. "I—" Draco began, realizing he was unsure of what he wanted to say as soon as he opened his mouth. "I never knew any of this, Mum."
It sounds crazy, but it's as if his soul is missing.
Draco stilled, as he realized what the words meant. There had been whispers amongst the pureblooded families that Voldemort had created a Horcrux—perhaps even more than one. Hermione had even told him that Potter himself had been a Horcrux.
A pair of metal glasses.
The snake again. A tiara. A cup. A locket. A ring. A diary. A pair of metal glasses.
His mother had known. She had known every single one of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
He needed to talk to Potter, immediately. Without another thought, Draco grabbed the journal and apparated to 12 Grimmauld Place. He started banging at the door as soon as he arrived.
It took several minutes before a disgruntled Potter swung the door open. "Malfoy?" he asked dazedly through a yawn.
"I need to talk to you," Draco replied, pushing his way inside Potter's house.
"Malfoy, do you know what time it is?"
Draco looked around briefly, noticing that it was dark outside, as well as inside Potter's house. "No," he replied. "But this is important."
"Have you been drinking?" Potter asked.
"Earlier," Draco replied. "But I'm completely sober now."
Potter stared at him for a moment, studying him. "Okay," he said reluctantly. "What's so important? It's 2 a.m."
"I need you to tell me about Him. About—Voldemort." Draco winced. "I need you to tell me everything about him."
Potter continued to stare at him. "What?" he asked after a moment.
Draco rolled his eyes. "How did you defeat Voldemort, Potter?"
"All right, I'm getting you a sobering potion and a cup of tea," Potter said, turning away from him.
"Malfoy?" asked a softer voice.
"Great. Now you've woken my wife."
"Ginny," Draco said, ignoring Potter. "How did he defeat Voldemort?"
Ginny appeared to be shocked for a moment, before coming closer to him. "Have you been drinking?" she asked.
"Can you people please stop asking me that and answer my damn question!"
"Harry defeated Voldemort by destroying all of his Horcruxes," Ginny finally answered.
"So it's true then," Draco said quickly, nodding. "There had been rumors. There was more than one, wasn't there?"
Potter took several tentative steps towards Draco. "Malfoy, what's going on?"
"What were they? The Horcruxes? What were the objects?" Draco continued, ignoring Potter's question.
"Should we Floo Hermione?" asked Ginny lowly, looking to Potter.
Draco rolled his eyes, frustrated. He opened his mother's journal and began to read: "'January 8, 1974. The snake again. A tiara. A cup. A locket. A ring. A diary. A pair of metal glasses.' What were the fucking Horcruxes, Harry?"
Potter gaped at him. "How could you possibly—?" He turned to Ginny "How could he possibly—?"
Ginny looked just as bewildered as Potter did, and merely shrugged her shoulders.
"Do not Floo Hermione. I am not having a breakdown," Draco said, as the couple eyed each other. "Were those the fucking Horcruxes or not?"
Slowly, Potter nodded. "Yes," he replied. "How did you—?"
Draco closed the journal and hugged it to his chest protectively. "I didn't. My mother did." Potter watched him expectantly. "She was a Seer—well, sort of," Draco amended. "She used to see flashes of things. Singular images, most of the time." He paused and gestured to the journal. "She wrote it all down."
"She knew?" Potter asked in disbelief. "In 1974?"
Draco nodded. "How did you find out about the Horcruxes?" he asked Potter.
Potter rubbed absently at the back of his neck. "From Dumbledore. I found out about them from Dumbledore."
"Of course—fucking Dumbledore. He always knew everything—always meddling in everything," Draco grumbled.
Potter's eyes glazed over for just a moment before he looked back at Draco. "He was always a step ahead, wasn't he?" he said slowly. "I always found it quite strange—it frustrated Hermione to no end."
Draco flinched at the mention of Hermione.
"Maybe—" Potter began. "Maybe—someone helped him."
Draco looked down at the journal in his hands. "There are dozens of these, Potter. Are you suggesting—?"
Potter nodded vigorously. "That's exactly what I'm suggesting, Malfoy. Your mother might have been helping the Order.