Chapter Nine “ New Beginnings
In each family a story is playing itself out, and each family's story embodies its hope and despair.
Auguste Napier
At about the same time as Cho was sitting in the library, Draco flopped onto a sofa in the Living Room of Malfoy Manor. It had cushions in a tasteful shade of dark green, with elegantly carved legs made from mahogany. He’d just eaten a huge three-course dinner, the sort they had when important guests dined with them. Except it had just been Draco and his parents, with enough food “ and table “ to last them for a week. Perhaps he should have eaten slightly less; he was starting to feel a bit uncomfortable.
But there was always room for chocolate. His mother had given him a box of Fondant Fwoopers after the meal, and she’d be upset if he didn’t have one or two. Of course, he didn’t really want any, but seeing as his mother had gone to the trouble to get them, he should be grateful. She was always giving him presents at the moment. The excitement of seeing a wrapped box was beginning to wear off.
The same went for living here. When it had been decided Hogwarts had to close, Draco had been celebrating. No more too-hard Transfiguration homework, loosing to Gryffindor or Potter-worshipping. But it was early November now, and he’d pretty much run out of things to do. It wasn’t like the holidays when his mother made sure she was available, and his father took time off work, so they could take him out. His father was out at the Ministry, and his mother was busy. So, for once in his life, Draco had been left entirely to his own resources. And they’d completely run dry. For months he’d been spending most of his days wondering about the house trying to keep himself amused. If only something would happen…
The door to the hall opened, and his mum put her head round it. “Oh, Draco,” she said, coming in and shutting it behind her. “I thought I might find you here. I need to speak to you.”
Not knowing what to expect, he budged up on the sofa to give her some room to sit. Instead, she seated herself in an armchair opposite him. In private, his mother always seemed to want to make herself as small as possible, as though she was afraid someone might step on her. Draco didn’t understand why, as she was really rather pretty.
She had fine, pure-blooded features, which could be mistaken for haughtiness by people who didn’t know her. Her skin was almost white, with only the tiniest blush of carnation pink. She had high cheekbones, a pointed chin and an oval face. Maybe the lines of her jaw were a little too sharp, but they were hidden well by her abundance of hair. His mother had white-blonde, silken locks, falling only slightly short of her waist. Her hair was almost straight, but it had a slight ripple to it like running water. She tucked a wisp behind her elf-like, pointed ear.
“I’m going to make a request, which is probably going to seem strange to you.”
Draco had only just noticed she was holding a letter in one hand. She twisted it nervously in her lap as she spoke, but he could make out some of the writing. It was thin and slanted, which made it difficult to read upside down. He could only make out one word in the mass of squiggles. Was it ‘prophecy’? Or perhaps ‘portkey’?
“You mustn’t think I’ve gone mad, or anything like that. But I can’t explain why I want you to do this.”
Trying to relax, Draco ate another chocolate. “Just tell me, mother!”
“Of course.” She bit her wine-coloured lip. “I “ your father and I “ want you to “ go to Hogwarts. To see Dumbledore.”
If Draco had been standing up he would have fallen over. As it was he had to be content with dropping his box of chocolates. “But Hogwarts is being used for the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. They’re not exactly going to let a Death Eater’s son wander in!”
His mother’s voice trembled as she spoke. “It’s all arranged. Dumbledore sent me a portkey for you to use.”
“Aren’t you even going to consider asking me? Maybe I don’t want to go!”
She got to her feet. Every muscle inside her was trembling. She fixed him with a tragic look from her bluebell-coloured eyes. It should have made him feel guilty, but today it just made him more annoyed. Draco jumped up from the couch. He focused his small, grey eyes into her large, deep ones.
“It’s not my decision. If you have any consideration for me or your father, you’ll go.”
“Why should I when you won’t tell me anything about what I’m going to do?”
“I told you, Draco. I can’t.”
He folded his arms huffily. “You’re always making decisions without me. I’m never allowed to do what I want. It’s not fair.”
She blinked rapidly, but her eyes were filling with tears. They collected at the bottom of her eyelids, then spilled out onto her cheeks. His anger dissolved, he could never stand seeing her cry. Forgetting their argument, he put an arm round her shoulders and sat her down on the sofa. Most women looked awful when they cried, but his mother looked as beautiful as ever. He passed her a tissue, and she wiped her eyes.
“Oh Draco,” she put a slim hand on his cheek, “I don’t want you to leave me, any more than you want to go. I’m scared I’ll never see you again.”
“Is it going to be really dangerous?”
His mother dropped her gaze to the floor. Staring at her feet, she said, “No “ nothing like that. I’m s-sure you’ll be fine…”
Draco shook her arm until she looked him straight in the eye. “Mother, just tell me. Will it be dangerous?”
She nodded, and then burst into tears again. He waited as patiently as he could while she cried into the arm of the couch. Eventually, she sat up and wiped her face with her hands. “I w-wish I could protect you, but it’s t-time for you to go out into the world, and do things y-yourself.”
“I agree entirely.”
“You do?” Her face lit up with rays of hope. “So you’ll go?”
“I suppose,” said Draco, finally resigned to the fact he was going, so he may as well try to be pleased about it. “But what are you going to tell father?”
“Oh, he knows,” she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. His mother glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece, and gasped. “Quarter to eight? Draco, we haven’t got much time before the portkey leaves. I’ve packed for you, but you need to check, just in case there’s anything else you want to take.”
Without waiting a moment longer, he ran out of the room.
***
Nearly fifteen minutes later, Draco came down the grand marble staircase clutching his school trunk. He gazed around him, at the dark mahogany panelling, the glittering chandelier, the expensive crimson stair carpet. How long would it be before he saw all this again? A shiver fluttered up his spine like a frightened bird. If he ever came back here.
There was a voice coming from the Living Room. Abandoning his trunk by an oil painting of one of his ancestors, Draco crept silently and stealthily towards the door. If no one was going to tell him what was going on, he’d have to find out for himself.
It was a heavy door, made from mahogany like the wall panelling. Draco thanked his stars that he’d left it slightly ajar. If it had been closed, he wouldn’t have been able to hear anything. He crouched down on the floor, and peeped through the slit of light.
His mother and father were standing together in the middle of the room. In a rare moment of informality, she was crying on his shoulder. He was trying to calm her down, stroking her hair as he did so.
“It’s for the best,” he murmured, more gently than Draco had ever heard him speak before.
“Why does he have to go?” she wailed. “I don’t want him to leave me.”
“Dumbledore will need him to be there. He has to go, Cissa.”
“I know. I always tried to remember we would only have him for a short time.”
“And he’ll be much happier.”
“Do you think Dumbledore’s going to tell him…about Lily and James Potter?”
“I don’t know,” his father said, clutching his wife to him. “I just don’t know.”
Draco stood up. He felt a sick feeling rising from his stomach. What had Potter’s parents got to do with him? He desperately wanted to ask his mother and father, but he wasn’t supposed to have heard in the first place.
Wanting to rip someone’s head off with frustration, Draco grabbed his trunk and knocked on the door. He waited for his father to tell him to come in, then entered.
His mother was sitting in an armchair with her back to the fire. She was holding a tissue in one white hand. When she saw her son, she whimpered, and put a hand to her face. At the fireplace, with his face half-hidden by shadow, stood Draco’s father. He motioned for him to come closer. When his son was within arm’s length, he held out a hand.
Completely confused, Draco picked up the silver ring he gave him. It had a lion’s head carved into it, with miniature rubies for eyes.
“What’s it for?”
“That’s your Portkey to Hogwarts. When does it leave, Narcissa?”
“Ten minutes past eight.”
Draco looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was difficult to read in the flickering firelight, as it was made from some stone or other that was as black as the deepest depths of the sea. He didn’t know why they kept it, but his mother said it had been a wedding present from some great-aunt or other. They had about two minutes left.
“Goodbye, Draco.” His father shook hands with him. “I hope you make me proud.”
“I’ll try.”
He nodded, and went to his mother. She jumped up and threw her arms around him, enveloping him in the sweet smell of jasmine. “Keep yourself safe, darling! Don’t do anything reckless. Listen to Dumbledore. And don’t fight anymore than you need to!”
“I’ll do my best for you, mother.”
She held onto him tightly, not wanting to let him go. Draco could hardly breathe. “I don’t know when we’ll see you again, but I hope it’ll be soon. If you’ve left anything behind I’ll send it to you. but don’t-”
His father’s voice cut in sharply, “Narcissa, the portkey. It’s almost time for him to go.”
“Goodbye, Draco!”
“Bye.”
He grabbed his trunk and held the portkey tightly in the other hand. His parents were holding each other closely, both trying to smile and failing miserably. What did it matter to them, they still had each other? Draco turned away from them. He didn’t want to see the people who were sending him off into the unknown. His parents didn’t care about him at all.
They waited a few more seconds, before Draco vanished, the portkey taking him far away, leaving a grieving father and a sobbing mother.
Roses and Thorns by Phoebe Gruzelier
Chapter Notes: For Alesha Dixon, winner of 2007's Strictly Come Dancing, because her beautiful dancing and bubbily personality have cheered me up during the depressing winter months.