Draco stared down at the page, disbelieving. His mother, Snape, and Dumbledore. It all been a plan—a set up. By his mother.
And Snape? But Snape had been a Death Eater. Right?
He had become the Headmaster at Hogwarts following Dumbledore's death, with the full approval of Voldemort.
Just the way his mother had planned.
Draco was reeling from the information. His mother had helped The Order. So had Snape. He wasn't entirely sure how to reconcile that bit of information quite yet.
Feeling exhausted, Draco placed the journal back inside the box, where something caught his eye—sticking out of the next journal was an envelope. Draco furrowed his brows and pulled the envelope from the book. The envelope was sealed with the Black family crest, and as Draco could have predicted, the back was adorned with his mother's familiar elegant handwriting, which simply said: To my son, Draco.
With trembling hands, Draco broke the seal and gently unfurled the parchment that was inside.
My darling Draco,
If you are reading this letter, then at last the inevitable has come to pass, and I am no longer with you. If such is the case, my dearest son, please know that I love you, and that I am sorry. If you've been reading my journals, then I am certain that you have questions. This letter—my final letter, will hopefully answer all the questions you may have, and I hope that it will give you peace, my darling.
I know that these last few years have been hard on you, Draco, and for that I truly apologize. If there had been an easier way, for either of us, I would have chosen that option. Unfortunately, because of my own decisions, that was not to be.
When I married your father, I was so in love with him, Draco. I thought there could never be a love as beautiful as the one I shared with Lucius. I was naïve in my young love, and so I made the choice to soul-bond with your father, as I'm sure you're now aware. It was a foolish choice, ensuring that I could never leave your father without dire consequences.
I loved your father for a long time, Draco, as foolish as that may have been. It was easier when I was young, when it was just me and him. Tom's ideas were never any of mine, which may be surprising, given how I was raised. I have always been someone who has thought for myself, Draco. You are like me in that way, darling, even though it took you a little bit longer to find your way.
I want you to know that I am proud of you, Draco. I always have been.
I was raised to be a good, pureblooded wife, and I did the best that I could, even to my own detriment.
It wasn't until you, my love, that I did anything about it. When Tom fell, I knew he wasn't gone for good. There was simply no way. So I did the only thing I could think of and I went to The Order. I was never a true member of The Order, Draco, as I never would have been welcome. But I was considered to be a spy by the highest-ranking members, namely Dumbledore and Severus.
I'm sure you have questions about Severus. Yes, he was a Death Eater. He officially switched sides at the end of the First War, for reasons of which I remain ignorant of to this day. Severus was a triple agent, which is why he was the perfect person to take both the Unbreakable Vow and take over at Hogwarts as Headmaster.
Severus was a lonely man, but a brave one. I mourn his death every day, and I am grateful for the ways in which he saved you, and me.
I thought I was protecting you, Draco. I really did. But I did not do enough. Not nearly enough, my darling. I didn't realize it until was too late, my love, and I hope that one day you can forgive me.
The day Lucius told me he'd offered your service to Tom was the day that my love for your father ended.
After the First War ended, he became so devoted to me. He was so sweet, and doting. It was like I was meeting him all over again, and I fell head over heels for him once more. It worked for a time, but I could never truly forget. Not like he could.
He offered you to Tom like the coward he was, and I will never forgive him, Draco.
One day, I hope that you can.
I did everything I could to keep you alive, Draco. The plan with Severus and Dumbledore—I wanted to tell you about it so badly, but I couldn't, and I am so sorry that you lived that year the way that you did. I am so, so sorry.
One day, I hope you can forgive me.
I've been having these Flashes for as long as I can remember, Draco, and when I was just a child, something told me that it was important that I write everything down. So I did. It took me a long time to realize that I was writing it all down for you—to help you understand. Because I made a decision, Draco, the day after Dumbledore died and you came home to me, I decided that I was going to leave your father, consequences be damned.
I could not have you chained to him for the rest of your life, Draco. And if I stayed with him, that's precisely what would have happened.
I'm sure you have some understanding of what a soul-bond entails at this point, my darling, and to put it the simplest of terms, everything that I am is bound to your father. Not just my soul, but my magic and my money as well. Every Galleon and Knut that was in my name belongs to your father for as long as I remained married to him.
You have the Malfoy accounts, and your own trusts, but I do not want you to have to rely on the Malfoy name for money if you do not wish to. I do not want you to have to make money the Malfoy way.
I left your father so you would never be wanting for money without strings attached. Everything of mine is yours, Draco. No strings. No expectations. No limitations. I took it back so you and Miss Granger would be well-provided for. I fear that the Malfoy accounts would never truly recognize Miss Granger, and I do not think it fair for her to accept such a thing. The Black accounts, however, have been cleansed and will welcome Miss Granger with no complications on the day of your choosing, my darling.
I know I have been unwell these past few years, darling, and I know that you think it is your fault. It is not. I have been separated from your father since the end of the War, and it has caused my magic to destabilize and become erratic, especially where my mind is concerned. It's ironic, I suppose, that my mind helped defeat the darkest wizard ever known, and it is the part of me that is most ravaged. Since the separation, my mind has been hazy. Memories after memories, as if I'm reliving them. Migraines, debilitating and daily. I have been in agony for the past few years, my dear, but I'd do it over and over again for you. Every time, I would choose the pain for you.
The divorce has been finalized, and as I had expected (and hoped), I am completely lucid for the first time in years. It is the calm before the storm, as the Muggles would say. My lucidity will last for 24 hours, perhaps 48, before the broken bond kills me.
I am writing this letter with haste, because I need you to know, Draco. I love you, Draco, my son. I love you.
Another truth for you, darling. Our divorce only took so long because I was waiting for Miss Granger. Truthfully, I thought she would have made her appearance much earlier based on the sheer number of Flashes I'd had about her, and how long I've been having them. The first one, my dear, is perhaps the most bizarre: she had turned herself into a cat.
And so we arrive at perhaps the most important topic of this letter: Miss Granger. I finally pulled the divorce papers from my drawer, finally ready for them to be signed, because finally, Miss Granger had appeared. Your girl, your dragon. The one I've been seeing for years. The one who will take care of you when I'm not around. She will take care of you now. She will protect you now.
I know I am leaving my son in good hands.
I am sorry for how much my death will hurt you, my darling boy. I am so sorry. I have been willing to die for you a thousand times over, and if I could protect you from this, I would. But I cannot. This is for you.
I have always been willing to give up my life you, Draco, and I feel at ease with the decision. I love you, my darling Draco. My good, sweet, kind boy. You are so smart, and talented, and creative, and you will always, always, be my little boy.
Love,
Your mother,
Narcissa Black
P.S. You already have her ring, love.
Draco was sobbing, again.
He read the letter three times before he returned it to its envelope, wiping furiously at his eyes and laying down on the floor and staring up at the ceiling, sniffling slightly.
His mother had done absolutely everything for him. She had sacrificed her life for him.
For him, and for Hermione.
That realization caused him to laugh bitterly through his tears. A waste, then, because there was no Hermione. Sitting back up, Draco grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey and brought it to his lips. Just as he was about to take a sip, a word flashed through his brain, as quick as a spark: Try.
Staring down at the mouth of the bottle, Draco realized, perhaps for the very first time, what a complete and utter hypocrite he was. Potter had told him to try, and he'd told Astoria to try, but he was not trying. Not in the very least. All he was doing was downing a weekly potion to please Pansy, then drinking himself into a stupor and feeling sorry for himself. He was very much not trying.
Fuck, Draco swore internally. His mother had given up her mind, her sanity, her comfort, and her godsdamned life so Draco would never want for everything. He knew without a doubt that if his mother could see him now, she would be so disappointed in him. Draco had a life because of her and he was squandering it at the bottom of a bottle—Well, several, for accuracy's sake.
Draco stood somewhat unsteadily, still holding tightly to the bottle, and walked back over toward the box that contained all of his mother's journals. Abandoning the bottle of firewhiskey on his bedside table, he pulled out every last one of the books, gently placing them on top of his bed. With the box now empty, Draco returned his attention back to the bottle of firewhiskey. He pulled the cork from his trouser pockets and rolled it around his hands for several moments before stoppering the bottle. Draco spent several more seconds staring at the bottle before he let out a heavy exhale and tossed the bottle into the box. He tucked his wand into the waist of his trousers and picked up the box, heading to the cellar.
With his stomach in his throat, Draco took every bottle of firewhiskey off the shelves and tossed them into the box, where they joined the half-drank bottle. When the box was full and the shelves empty of firewhiskey, Draco levitated the box out in front of him and headed to the gardens.
Draco stopped at the fountain, a plan forming in his mind. The empty fountain had been his favorite drinking spot at Black Manor, and it seemed only fitting that his last drink take place here. Grabbing the first bottle, Draco stared at the label, studying it: Blishen's, 1982. Draco closed his eyes, sucked in a large breath and slowly released it as his hold on the bottle tightened. When he opened his eyes, he was no longer looking at the bottle, but at the empty fountain. Then, with all the force he could muster, he threw the bottle down into the fountain. The bottle shattered on impact, the sound echoing off the tiles.
He repeated this action, shattering every single bottle of firewhiskey until the fountain began to fill with firewhiskey and shards of broken glass and the air began became thick with the scent of cinnamon and alcohol. Draco ignored it until there was only one bottle left in the box—the one from earlier. Carefully, he removed the cork and took a small sip before he looked down at the bottle's label: Ogden's, 1993. "Goodbye, my old friend," he said quietly to the bottle. "I can't keep you around anymore." He took several steps toward the fountain, upturned the bottle and poured it out with the rest. When the bottle was empty, Draco dropped it into the fountain. "Incendio," Draco said quietly. Instantly, the fountain went up in flames.
Draco took a seat on the bench, content to watch the blaze.
This catharsis was poetic, in some way, he supposed—His whole life had gone up in flames, and now he was setting the catalyst of his ruin up in flames. He chuckled darkly to himself, still feeling the residual effects of the alcohol. He didn't know how long he watched the blaze, but as the flames began to peter out, Draco called for Jinxy, who appeared instantly with a small pop. "Master Draco is calling, sirs?" she asked, before surveying the broken glass and quickly dying flame inside the fountain with a tight expression.
Draco nodded. "Yes, Jinxy. Could you bring me a Sober Up? I believe there is some in my cabinet."
Jinxy nodded, her eyes now fixed on Draco. "Yes, sirs," she replied.
"And Jinxy—" Draco began. "I don't—" he stammered for a moment. "Please see to it that another bottle of firewhiskey never makes its way onto this estate."
Jinxy's eyes widened incrementally, before she smiled up at Draco. "Jinxy will sees to it, sirs. She will also be letting Hexys knows, too," she said, before popping away. She returned in short order, holding out a bottle of Sober Up for Draco.
Draco downed the potion in two gulps, and instantly the bit of haze that still clouded his mind melted away. He continued to stare at the smoldering wreckage that had once been a rather expensive collection of vintage firewhiskey for several minutes, until exhaustion began seeping into the edges of his consciousness.
It had been a long day, and Draco was both mentally and emotionally physically exhausted.
After casting a quick Aguamenti over the fountain, Draco returned to his bedroom. His mother's journals were still stacked neatly on his bed. He took the next one in his hand and found that it was from 1968. Draco ran his free hand through his hair and sighed, unsure if he could handle anymore entries today. Instead, he opted for sleep, crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over his shoulders, expecting a full night of rest.
Draco did not sleep well at all. He jerked awake only hours after he had fallen asleep, his entire body drenched in sweat. He was so hot. Irritated and uncomfortable, Draco flung the covers off his body and attempted to return to sleep. Despite the sudden coolness, Draco found he could not get relief from how hot he was. Desperately seeking relief, he reached for the glass of water that had gone untouched on his bedside table, and dunked several of his fingers into the water before spreading the water across his brow. This helped minutely, and eventually, he fell into a light slumber.
He jerked awake again, having dreamed he had fallen from a great height and his body was bracing for impact. The sweating had returned. Draco swore and swung his legs over the side of the bed, removing his trousers and his shirt. Clad now only in a pair of boxers, Draco closed his eyes and again, tried to go back to sleep. But now, his sheets were soaked with sweat, and he felt sticky. Giving up on sleep for the moment, Draco headed to his bathroom and took a quick, lukewarm shower to rinse the sweat from his skin.
After the shower, Draco felt remarkably better, and now determined to go to sleep, he drew the comforter up over his sheets and laid down on top of it, curling his body around the fabric. It took nearly an hour before he finally fell asleep again.
It was then that the nightmares started. Bizarre, vivid dreams that felt unbelievably real: Waltzing with Nagini before she took a giant bite out of his shoulder, blood spurting from the wound as he screamed. The Dark Mark, slithering around his wrist, tightening with every coil until his hand was blue and numb. Dumbledore, his body falling heavily from the astronomy tower, before sitting up, his bones jutting out of his skin, and smiling at Draco, telling him that this had always been the plan. Hermione, dancing with Viktor Krum, wearing the same dress she had at the Yule Ball all those years ago. He had thought she had looked lovely then, even if he had been in denial about it at the time. In this dream, Krum did not make it Hermione in time, and she drowned in the Black Lake, and her blue, lifeless body was dragged ashore.
The sun was just beginning to rise in the sky when Draco jerked awake for the final time, his body once more covered in sweat, the comforter beneath him soaked through. He was shivering.
It was earlier than he normally liked to rise, but sleep appeared to be a lost cause. Draco took another shower—hot, this time, to ease his shivering and the ache in his bones-—and dressed quickly, determined to head outside to the gardens.
Despite the early hour, he found Jinxy surrounded by planter pots and already hard at work, the little dress she wore smeared with dirt. "Good morning, Master Draco, sirs!" she greeted happily before pressing her hands into a pot that appeared to be full of fresh dirt. "You is being up rather early!"
Draco shrugged. "I had a bit of trouble sleeping," he admitted, taking a seat next to where Jinxy was working, crisscrossing his legs.
"Jinxy will bring you Dreamless Sleep tonight, Master Draco!" Jinxy offered.
"That would be wonderful, Jinxy, thank you," Draco replied, feeling a bit relieved. He watched Jinxy for several minutes as she planted seeds with her gnarled hands, covering the seeds with fresh dirt before dousing the top with water. "Can I help?" Draco asked, itching to have something to with his hands.
Jinxy did not reply, but grinned and nodded at him before repeating the process once more. "Is not hard, sirs!"
Draco grabbed one of the pots and mimicked Jinxy. After completing several pots, Draco found that it the work wasn't too terribly difficult, and it kept both his mind—and his hands—busy.
He and Jinxy worked for several hours, planting seed after seed, until there were no more pots left. With his muscles aching, Draco leaned back on his heels and looked to Jinxy for their next step. As if sensing his question, Jinxy spoke: "We wait for thems to take, sirs, then Jinxy will take them from the pot and plant them in the gardens."
Draco nodded in understanding.
Smiling at him, Jinxy wordlessly cast a spell over one of the pots, and as if on cue, a small, solitary flower popped out of the soil. "Elf magic, sirs," she said conspiratorially. "The gardens will be beautiful again in no time. I start on the roses now, sirs."
As soon as Jinxy had disappeared, Draco's mind was already deciding what his next task would be. As he looked around the gardens, his eyes swept across the fountain, now charred and full of broken glass.
As good a place to start as any, he decided.
Draco started with the fountain, then moved onto some shingles that he noticed were missing from the roof. After the shingles, Draco decided the front steps needed to be repaired. After the front steps, came the back steps. And after those, he cast recast the enchantment on the paint on the entire exterior of the Manor, making it appear as if were brand new. After the paint, Draco moved inside.
In the mornings, he and Jinxy planted flowers. In took very little time for a fledgling garden to appear. They first began repotting plants around the fountain, which was in working order for the first time in perhaps a decade. When Draco could think of no more projects to busy his hands with, he'd sit in front of the fountain with his eyes closed, listening to the light tinkle of the fountain and taking in the delicate scent of the blooming flowers.
Even with Dreamless Sleep, Draco still had difficulty sleeping. He rarely slept more than four hours at a time, and more often than not he woke covered in a fine layer of sweat. And despite the potion's name, Draco dreamed.
Always of Hermione.
On the worst nights, he'd sit in the newly refurbished living room and read journal after journal until he could barely keep his eyes open.
And every seventh day, he took a bright pink potion from the basket that now lived on his bedside table.
Perhaps most importantly of all, he did not drink.
Not when the urge to do so overwhelmed him. Not when he could nearly taste the firewhiskey on his tongue. Not when he was desperate for sleep. And not when his fingers trembled, aching for action.
It took nearly a month before Draco was finally able to sleep through the night without sweating through his sheets, and another two weeks before he could sleep without Dreamless Sleep.
He still dreamed of Hermione.
Draco was tending to some of the trees in the front of the Manor when he felt the niggle for the first time in nearly two months. Somewhat surprised, Draco turned around, expecting to see Potter trudging up the walk. Instead, he found Pansy and Astoria, walking hand-in-hand. Tucking his wand into the pocket of his trousers, he jogged to greet them. "Hey," he said breathlessly.
Immediately, Pansy wrinkled her nose and took a step back from him.
Astoria, however, jumped into his arms and wrapped her arms around his waist. "It's so good to see you, Draco," she exclaimed.
"Astoria, he's filthy."
"Oh, shut it, Pans," Astoria replied gleefully, taking several steps back to look up him. "I think he looks good."
Draco let his eyes sweep over Astoria. Her hair had been cut, but it was neat and clean. Her eyes were wide and bright, and she had gained a bit of weight. Her skin was clear and flushed. She looked good. The best Draco could ever remember seeing her since Hogwarts. "You look good, too, Astoria," he said.
"The treatment worked," she said quietly, her eyes gleaming.
He laughed. "I can tell," he replied before looking to Pansy, who merely nodded.
"My magic—" Astoria began, before faltering. "Well, it's not quite the same." A slight frown. "But it's not gone." A smile, bigger than the frown. "Just weaker."
Draco nodded. "Are you okay?" he asked.
Astoria looked at him seriously. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you for everything."
"Draco," Pansy interrupted, her eyes sweeping over the Manor. "Have you hired a decorator? The place looks much better."
He couldn't help his smirk. "No. It's me. I've been fixing it up, bit by bit."
Pansy looked surprised, briefly, before she scoffed. "How plebian."
"Keeps my mind and my hands busy," Draco said with a shrug, tucking his hands into his pockets. "Would you like to come in?" he asked after a moment. "I have furniture now."
"Yes," Astoria replied brightly.
Astoria and Pansy followed him into the Manor, where he showed them to the living room. Pansy, predictably, frowned at the couch he had found hidden in the attic, but took a seat nevertheless. "Are you going to offer us drinks?" she asked primly.
"I have water, tea, and pumpkin juice," Draco offered. "Maybe some coffee—I'm not sure."
"No firewhiskey?" Pansy asked, somewhat harshly as she studied her nails.
"No," Draco replied flatly.
Pansy's eyes flew open, and Draco saw the unmistakable expression of pride on her face. "Yes, tea for me, and a pumpkin juice for Astoria—here let me help you," she said hurriedly, standing and heading towards the kitchen. Draco rolled his eyes but followed dutifully. As soon as they were alone in the kitchen, Pansy began asking questions: "You're not drinking?"
"No, Pansy."
"How long?"
"Nearly two months now, Pansy."
"Are you okay?'
"I don't know, Pansy."
"Are you still taking your potion?"
"Every week, Pansy."
Pansy stared at him, studying him, as if she were trying to catch him in a lie.
Draco rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "I'm actually—I'm actually running out of potions," he finally admitted.
Pansy grinned widely. "Well, perhaps it's time to pay Granger a visit then."