How They Fell

Chapter Thirteen


Draco spent the remaining week before the start of term mourning the loss of his mother and father. Madam Pomfrey was still unsure about his father’s health and constantly emphasised that it might all be nothing. But Draco could feel a cold certainty seeping into him.

His father had grown more and more unbalanced over the last three years. He was increasingly distant from his wife and son. Granted, he had never exactly been loving and tender. However, he had still cared for them in his own way.

Draco winced as he remembered the ever-increasing number and length of Lucius’ ‘business trips,’ synonymous with his increasing coldness and eventually cruelty towards his mother.

Their relationship had lasted longer, but only because of Lucius’ wish to create an exact replica of himself. When Draco failed Lucius had become bitterly sarcastic, demanding more and more of his son.

Three years at Voldemort’s right hand and Lucius was estranged and resented by his family. He had become fevered and neurotic in his desperate attempts to please his master. Azkaban, even without the Dementors had made it all much worse.

Draco tasted the bitter, sickly taste of bile in his mouth. He should have guessed! It was so obvious! Lucius had been partly insane for the last six months. Being betrayed and tortured by the master he had given so much to serve had made his brain shut down. His father, like his mother was utterly gone from him, leaving Draco lost and alone in a world which had no place from him.

Dumbledore had made that very clear to Draco. He had been so accustomed to people dropping anything in order to fulfil his smallest wish. His family name had acted as a carte blanche in every possible situation. - But when it had mattered, when their very lives were in danger there had been no one to help them, Dumbledore had stood at the doors of Hogwarts like some fearsome God of judgement and the Malfoy name had meant nothing. Draco, in all his impetuousness, had meant nothing. Before Dumbledore’s impenetrable gaze his life had been weighed and measured, and all those things he had been brought up to believe were essential were revealed as completely inconsequential.

For some reason beyond him he had been granted entrance, he had been given help, but it was made clear that inevitably there was a price for this service and it was Draco who was going to answer for it.

Everything had been taken from him. He still had the name, the manor and the money, but only on the condition that he understood how empty they were. The mother he loved and the father who constructed his every opinion on the world around him, had been violently ripped from him in a single vision of green, black, red and white. And he mourned them. Them and the loss of the world he had believed in for his whole life.

* * *

Snape did his best to help and Draco felt grateful. He visited his godson as often as he could. However, his visits often brought Draco more pain than pleasure. For instance his heartfelt congratulations on Draco becoming Head boy only brought his father’s reaction to mind, reducing Draco’s pride in his achievement.

Just Snape’s presence forced him to think of his parents. Snape was too intimate with his family. Of course Draco now knew that Severus’ relationship with Lucius was purely for the purpose of gaining information. However, he felt that this was not the case with his mother. Snape and Narcissa had always got on well, and during Lucius’ absence Snape had visited his mother with increasing frequency. His distress in the hospital wing that day was enough to prove to Draco that Snape’s sorrow over the events was real.

When Snape visited they did their best to avoid the subject of Draco’s parents, instead choosing to discuss more mundane subjects. But their conversations often felt haunted by the unsaid, only privately acknowledged gap, separating them.

However, this changed the night before the start of school, three weeks after his mother’s death.

Sitting down in an armchair opposite Draco, Snape watched him steadily. Draco immediately felt on edge as he sensed Snape’s purpose.

“Draco,” he began. “I think it is time we spoke of your parents.” Draco flinched. “I know that you do not wish to, but it is now time to start moving forward. The start of school will force you to do this and I feel that it is necessary for you to fully understand recent events.” He paused looking at Draco searchingly. “Will you listen?”

Draco was sorely tempted to refuse, but he knew that Snape was right. He would have to start getting on with the rest of his life, as unsure as he was about how to go about it. It was also needed to prepare him for any insult or taunt his former friends might throw.

He nodded for Severus to continue.

“It is important…” Snape paused, reconsidered and started again. “I have been inquiring into the circumstances surrounding the attack on your parents. I will do my best to tell you of my findings, but I apologies in advance if I falter. It is hard for me to relate these things.” He paused again, collected his thoughts and began in earnest.

“The ‘mission’ your father was working on was very important to the Dark Lord. Very important. I do not know the details, but it was a difficult situation and demanded some highly complex magic. Because of this it was insisted on at a certain point, quite late in the proceedings, that the essential spell casting element was going to be handed over to Nott.” Another pause. “Unfortunately, due to unforeseen circumstances the project failed – badly. Your father was the mastermind behind the whole thing, and the only one who knew all of the details, including the specific spells used by Nott. Now…” Snape shifted uncertainly. “The Dark Lord has long suspected a spy in his inner circle.”

“You.” Draco interrupted.

“Yes me – but I am not in his inner circle, I am merely a trusted friend of many who are, as well as a skilled legilimens. This places me out of suspicion. But – your father’s knowledge of the project meant that he was highly suspect. I regret this confusion deeply.” He paused again, the depths of his emotion evident in his face.

“Nott took advantage of your father’s knowledge. He accused him of being the spy in order to cover his own failing during the project. I…” Snape stopped again. “Due to the information that your father passed on to me over the years there was some possibility that it could be him. The disaster at the department of mysteries two years ago, the sudden appearance of Aurors, also added to the suspicion facing your father.”

“However, I feel that were it not for Lucius’ treatment of many Death Eaters recently, these suspicions would have gained little support. The Malfoy name was too strong and his position with the Dark Lord too influential, but you must be aware of your father’s recent behaviour. He had managed to…alienate a few of the most influential Death Eaters including Nott and…Bellatrix.” The name was half whispered, half hissed.

“Belatrix aligned herself with Nott, and, as you must be aware she holds considerable sway among the Death Eaters. The combination of the two, as well as the spreading of insidious rumours was enough to create a strong faction against your father. The Dark Lord became aware of the situation and…responded negatively.”

Draco squeezed his eyes closed, feeling tears rise to the surface. Aunt Belatrix?

Snape continued speaking with forced calm, his tone measured. But his face was hard and tense, his eyes burning with unexpressed pain and rage.

“Your father was taken and handed over personally to the Dark Lord by Belatrix. He was held and intermittently tortured for five days while arrangements for bringing your mother were made. The Dark Lord wanted his vengeance over the hated spy to be…complete.” Snape’s eyes went dark and blank as he carefully enunciated the last word.

“Your mother was invited to tea at the Parkinsons.” Draco shuddered violently. Snape paused and continued. “If you had left the manor, you too would have been taken.”

Draco felt his stomach churn as the urge to vomit filled him.

“Ironically it was the training your father was insisting on that saved you. Your parents…” He stopped again, as though uncertain of what to say next. “Your parents, suffered greatly, at both his hands, and those of his supporters. I do not attempt to conceal this from you…they were returned to the manor in a state that was considered as good as dead.”

“How…How?” Draco paused, took a deep breath, then continued; he had to know. “How is it that my father survived if…?”

Snape thought briefly. “I can only guess, but when you narrated the events of the morning and things leading up to it, you described a feeling of wrongness in the house which built up over the period of half an hour, as though its strength was flowing away. You also told us of your suspicions that your father was using a Vernage Complicite charm, tying the manor and all of its contents to him. This makes it possible that the house was sending its strength to Lucius in order to ensure his survival, hence the ‘leaning’ you described. As master of the house he was protected and saved, but the house was not tied to your mother and owed her no such loyalty.”

The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, but Draco did not notice. He felt as though his very soul had been plunged into a bucket of ice. ‘Half an hour! Half an hour! For half an hour he had lain in his comfortable cushioned bed while his mother lay dying to the lawn. He had stayed there moping about house elves while…’

And suddenly an emotion which Draco had never felt before rose up inside him. Self Disgust. ‘Half an hour. Half an hour on a cold, damp, hard grass lawn, bleeding to death.’

Draco’s head sank into his hands as the new emotion over came him. ‘Half an hour.’

But Snape was still talking. “I am sorry Draco. I know it is hard, unbearably so, but you must know…It has pained me more than I can say to have discovered these things, especially as so much of it was down to me.” He broke off, his voice no longer neutral but racked with guilt. “But, I want you to know this Draco – I wasn’t invited! It was felt that I was too close to your family…Had I been there-.” Again he stopped, his voice vibrating with earnestness. “Had I been there, I would have stopped it, I would have tried – The Dark Lord and Dumbledore be damned!” Another pause, then in a quieter voice, barely discernable to Draco. “Narcissa deserved more than that – so much more…”

They sat in silence for some time, Draco desperately fighting the emotions duelling with in him. Eventually Snape spoke again.

“Draco…” He waited for Draco to look at him. “I realise that now is not the time, - but it would be best if you claimed your inheritance. You are now the oldest Malfoy male who is able to take the post as head of the family.” He stood quietly, placed a sympathetic hand on Draco’s shoulder, murmured a final, “I’m sorry Draco,” and left.

* * *

Draco had a night to come to terms with this information.

The following morning he arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast. He appeared a broken man.

No longer did he stand tall and stride forward. He moved slowly, his shoulders hunched forward as though under the weight of the shame that was consuming him.

Snape half stumbled to his feet at the sight, his face filled with concern. But a glance from Dumbledore and he sat again, his eyes never leaving the stooped form clad in black.

* * *

When Draco set his eyes on his old friends he felt even more lost. His small glimpse of them only served to highlight how different he was now, as well as to remove the possibility of returning.

The sight of Pansy and Nott made his blood run cold. Even Crabbe and Goyle, their fathers must have been present and they didn’t do anything?

He had avoided them earlier by arriving late to the start of term banquet, forcing him to sit at the end of the table.

To him everything felt paranormal. The candles in the Great Hall were to bright, the warmth was but an empty creation of his senses, and the food, its taste went unnoticed by him and it did nothing to fill the emptiness inside of him. He felt as though he sat in the middle of a vast wasteland with a mere illusion of a feast placed over it. It’s true nature was dust, empty and filled with nothing.

He attempted to leave the hall quickly, but he got stuck in the block of people pushing through the doors. When he got free he made his way swiftly across the entrance hall and up the main flight of stairs to his rooms. He turned down the first corridor only to find his path blocked.

Crabbe and Goyle stood menacingly. Before Draco could demand what they thought they were doing he heard footsteps behind him. Turning to the noise he was brought face to face with Nott, Pansy and a group of the most important Slytherin Sixth and Seventh years.

Grimly Draco tried to prepare himself. He had hoped that he would have at least a day to face this, but it appeared luck was against him. This statement so summed up his life recently that Draco wondered why he was remotely surprised.

Nott strode towards him, clearly indicating that he now held dominance over Slytherin house. Draco felt rage boil through him, but clenching his fists he contained himself.

“You!” Nott spat.

“Yes?” Asked Draco, desperately trying to draw cold impenetrability around him. Nott smirked slightly and responded with a similar coldness, but his contained a hard edge of sadistic cruelty.

“We wished to inform you that you are no longer welcome, in the common room or any other circumstance. You have disgraced your name, your blood and your house and we wish to tell you of your exile.” Then with a sneer, “you are no longer considered worthy.”

Draco felt cold hands clutch at him.

“If you should attempt to break this exile in any way we will be forced to more clearly show our displeasure.” Then stepping closer he whispered to Draco. “The Dark Lord wants you dead Malfoy and I would be only too happy to carry out his wishes. You deserve it!”

Draco was about to argue back, to assert his usual dominance, but – ‘you deserve it!’ It echoed around his head, to be answered with: ‘Half an hour.’ He did deserve it, he…he did! Where it not for his selfish egotism his mother might still be alive.

Draco’s shoulders slumped again, he paled visibly. Nott smirked at him in triumph.

“Is that your best, Malfoy? No quick come back? If I had known you were this easy to defeat I would have done it years ago!” Then turning towards Draco’s former friends and supporters he said. “Come on lets go, I can no longer stand to be in the presence of someone so week and pathetic. You see I told you Pansy, he is really nothing to be scared of.” Her cackle joined his laugh and the Slytherins turned their backs to Draco and walked off, Crabbe and Goyle pushing roughly passed him.


************


Author's note: yay! My reviewers make me so happy! Just to say, I am on the look out for a beta as there is only so much that word’s spell check can do.