What Shakes The Elephant

What Shakes The Elephant

Chapter 16 – This Hell When You’re Around

As soon as he heard the gates close behind Potter, Draco felt his knees threatening to buckle. He flicked his wand behind him and cast a disillusionment charm before collapsing on the ground, his face in his hands, fisting at his white-blond hair. He leaned back against the marble pillar that upheld one of the stone statues in his mother’s memorial.

Why did Potter keep doing this? Why did he have to keep pushing into Draco’s life to turn everything upside-down and then walk out? He would never understand these strange feelings within Draco. Hell, Draco hardly understood them himself and he had felt this way before.

He had felt this way in sixth year at Hogwarts. He had felt this way in Seventh year just before the end of the war. He felt this way a lot at school and always as a result of what Saint Potter did. Always these intolerable emotions running amok inside his mind and body, sending him into spirals of uncontrollable actions. He hated it. He hated it.

He hated the way Potter always had to be the hero. He hated the way he always tried to be there for everyone. Draco had never been first on his priority list except if it involved catching him red-handed. He had never been particularly important to Potter before. Never enough in seven years and now, what? Nineteen years later he decides to change it all and suddenly give a damn about Draco??

Suddenly, NOW, Draco is a good person who is just misunderstood? Who did Potter think he was? He had no right to go messing with Draco’s head. None.

Draco felt his eyes well up with unshed tears. These were the ones that had simmered inside of him from the moment that he had been told his mother was dying. The ones that multiplied the day he realized that Hydra would never care for him at all. The day he knew that Lucius was not infallible, not invincible. The day he let himself be attacked by his homicidal wife, forgetting his son’s needs in the process and hoping to give in to selfish desires. The day that Narcissa died. The day Harry Potter came back into his life…

Draco cried out in a hoarse voice and tugged harder at his hair, knowing it was a bad idea but not caring. He let the tears fall and screwed up his face, allowing just this one moment to contain his misery and his humiliation. He could not walk out of the garden this way. He could not face his son this way, not when Scorpius relied so much on him for support. He was a single parent now…

He was a single parent.

He thought of his son and how he was going to feel without a mother. He thought of how he might raise Scorpius, what was left for him to deal with. How was he going to face a lifetime alone and manage to support his son the whole way through? Not to mention an aging father.

He was alone now. Really alone.

Potter’s last words echoed in his head and Draco balled his fists and slammed them into the soft grassy ground. Damn him! Damn Potter and his selfish comments. His self-righteous beliefs and perceptions. DAMN HIM TO HELL.

How dare he pretend to know Draco at all? How dare he presume to understand what Draco was doing and who he really was? Potter knew nothing of him! He knew nothing of the pressure and the constant condemnation that followed him and overshadowed his every accomplishment. He knew nothing of what it meant to be friends with a Malfoy in the world he created after Voldemort’s fall! He did not feel it as he was the fucking Saviour of the Fucking Wizarding World. He was Harry Fucking Potter, for god’s sake! He did not hear what rumours flew around Draco every time someone mentioned them both in the same sentence. He did not see the cutting looks that followed Draco STILL to this day as he walked in Diagon Alley.

“He doesn’t know what it’s like to fight for me,” Draco hissed angrily at the marble tomb before him. “He has never done it, how should he know?” He shook his head and leaned against his knees, his grey eyes stained with red from crying as he stared at his mother’s resting place. “He will never understand how I feel. He will never feel the same way. Why should I let him in just to face more pain?”

He stared at the marble as though waiting for a reply. His mother had always given him the best advice, the most rational voice with the most understanding. Lucius had made for a powerful role-model but Narcissa understood him better. She was his confidant. She was the one who had all the answers.

And now she was gone.

Draco was still in shock. Still in disbelief. He still, even after months she spent at St Mungo’s, expected to turn around and see her standing there, tall and beautiful as she always had been, about to scold him for dirtying his good trousers on the grass, for tugging at his hair. He expected to see her sitting next to his father every morning at breakfast and then again at dinner.

He still silently bid goodnight to her when he bid goodnight to his father and he still knocked before entering her private study. He didn’t expect that to change but with every passing time, something heavier and heavier dropped to his stomach as the realization came that she was not there, nor would she be again.

He finally got to his feet, wiped the moisture from his face and cast a glamour over his features to hide the lingering residues of tears. Stepping up toward the marble tomb, Draco placed a hand on its face. A shiver coursed over his body as his fingertips caressed the sculpted rock.

“Goodbye, Mother,” he whispered. “I wish I knew what to do the way you did.”

Draco nodded his head to the monument and walked back out of the garden, removing the disillusionment charm as he did. He needed to go see his father.

“Scorpius,” Draco called into his son’s room. The boy was sitting at his desk writing feverishly on a parchment as his very own snowy owl sat perched on the windowsill waiting for him. The owl was named Romulus. Draco had not been sure why his son chose this name, but had not argued it. “We are going to go see your Grandfather. Are you ready?”

“Just a moment, father,” he replied, hastily signing the bottom of the parchment and rolling it up to send – to Albus Severus no doubt –back with Romulus. He saw his owl off before carefully picking up his outer robe and running up to meet his father. “Are you alright, dad?”

Draco tried not to frown. Lucius had insisted that Scorpius refer to him as ‘father’ and not ‘dad’, but Draco did not mind at all. He preferred the familiarity with his son.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he answered, tilting his head. “Why do you ask?”

“You didn’t seem pleased to see Mr. Potter at the door,” the young boy replied. “Does he make you angry?”

Draco thought for a moment and decided it was best to answer truthfully.

“Sometimes,” he replied quietly, nudging his son along toward the floo.

“Perhaps it’s because he is worried about you,” Scorpius replied abruptly. Draco stopped and stared at his son, silently demanding an explanation. “Albus makes me angry sometimes when he worries too much. He has this belief that everyone should get along and he’s almost painfully innocent.” The boy ignored his father’s look and took some powder from the ornate vase on the mantle. “But he is my best friend and helps me when I most need it but refuse to accept it. I do the same for him. That’s what it’s like for you and Mr. Potter, isn’t it?”

Draco studied his son for a moment and wondered how, exactly, he had turned out this way. He wondered where this wisdom and understanding had come from, but pushed the thought aside.

“Something like that,” Draco replied simply, gesturing for his son to go ahead.

“Will Albus be able to spend some time here over Christmas, father?” he asked before he called into the fire. Draco could not suppress a smirk.

“We’ll discuss it later,” he said before Scorpius gave him a mischievous smile and flooed off to St Mungo’s. Draco shook his head, picking up his own outer robe from the chair and followed his son into the hospital.

He stepped out into the white reception area, behind the Welcomewitch. They said their hellos and Draco calmly escorted his son up to the third floor where Lucius still lay in a private room.

As they got off on the right floor, nodded to the staff on duty as they passed and made their way toward Lucius’ room, Dracao saw a mildly familiar figure step out of the room, waving goodbye to someone Draco could not see. The figure turned and then Draco’s eyes widened slightly as he realized who it was.

“Hello there, Scorpius,” Neville Longbottom greeted Draco’s son with a smile. “How have you been holding up?”

“I’m alright, Professor,” the little blond replied politely, returning the smile to his school teacher. Draco placed a hand on his sons shoulder.

“Scorpius, why don’t you go ahead,” he told him. “I’ll be along in a minute.”

Scorpius nodded solemnly and Draco watched his son’s retreating back until he turned safely into the right room. Then he turned back to Longbottom who waited patiently for his attention. He had grown a lot in nineteen years. He sported rugged but well-trimmed hairs along the line of his jaw and chin. His hair was longer than it had ever been before and fell in soft waves around his ears. His eyes were also sharper and more knowing than Draco had ever seen them before.

He held out a hand to Draco, who, taking it, noticed that there were many scars and wounds along the edges of his fingers. They were most likely a result of his job but Draco continued to wonder precisely what had caused them.

“Malfoy,” Longbottom’s voice came calm and soothing. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother and father.”

“Thank you, Longbottom,” he replied politely, trying to identify the man’s intentions. He gave Draco a sad look.

“I know it must be hell,” he added, unabashed. “Scorpius seems to be dealing well.” He glanced back at the door down the hall. “He’s a fine boy, Malfoy. Truly.”

Draco allowed himself a smirk.

“Nothing like me, then,” he tempted silkily. Longbottom laughed. It was not nervous or uncomfortable but accepting and simple.

“Neither would you have been, had you been best friends with a Potter,” he quipped. Draco nodded gently.

“I suppose not,” he agreed, refusing to let his mind linger on Potter for very long. “Though I don’t like to underestimate the influence I could have had on the Chosen One.”

Longbottom considered him for moment and smiled brightly, taking his cheek in stride. Draco was dumbstruck.

“Well, I best be going,” Longbottom admitted. “Take care, Malfoy.” He pressed a hand to Draco’s shoulder, just missing the bandages on his arms. “You’ll pull through. You always seem to.”

“Yes, I have an annoying tendency of coming out alive,” he sneered softly. Longbottom smiled and they parted ways.

Draco had never faced Neville Longbottom since he last spied him celebrating at the end of the war. Already then he seemed like a much stronger and heroic person. Yet, he felt odd about the fact that the man had managed to sound so caring and understanding towards him, despite their past.

Why was it, then, that the only person he seemed to have a serious problem getting on with was Saint Potter himself? Why was it only Harry Potter who managed to dreg up the past and bring it back to life?

Draco stepped into his father’s room to find Scorpius sitting quietly on a chair next to Lucius. Malfoy Sr. was, meanwhile, watching an air Luna prepare his next potion while humming loudly. He did not seem pleased.

“Hello, father,” he greeted as he approached. “How are you today?”

“Horrendous, Draco,” Lucius replied sternly, his eyes still fixed on Luna’s back as she dropped a large solid object haphazardly into the bottle she was holding, sending droplets flying everywhere. Those that landed on the ground began spitting and fizzling until they turned into tiny solid rocks. “She has been doing strange things like this all day, Draco. I fear for her sanity. Are you certain I can trust the potions she gives me? She does not seem,” he gave her a look of displeasure. “All there.”

Draco gave his father a tight-lipped smile.

“Luna is the best of the best for patients recovering from a poisoning of this nature,” he explained simply. “Surely you would not want anyone but the best, father?”

Lucius grimaced.

“Certainly not,” he shot back, glaring at his son for the suggestion of less than the highest quality care. “I would simply expect someone so highly recommended to come with a more… professional composure.”

Luna spun around and shook the topped bottle in her hand, apparently dancing to her very own music. Draco smirked.

“Looks can be deceiving,” he murmured as she opened her eyes, uncapped the bottle and handed it over to Lucius. He took it gingerly with a look of utter revulsion on his face.

“Oh hello, Draco,” she greeted having just noticed he was there. “Are you doing alright?”

“As good as can be expected,” he answered. Lucius had swallowed the potion and now had what could only be referred to as a goofy smile on his face. It was very out of place. “Can I speak with you for a moment, Luna?”

“That is more of a question you should ask yourself,” she replied dreamily. “I would be very willing should you find yourself able.”

Draco ignored the remark and gestured her over to the side of the room. Lucius was now speaking with Scorpius and commending him on his achievements at school. There must have been something to cause delirium in that potion. Lucius never encouraged, simply demanded.

He turned his attention back to Luna and pulled the necklace and charm she had given him out from under his tunic. He held it out to show her.

“When you gave me this,” Draco told her quietly. “You already suspected that Hydra had been the one to poison my father, didn’t you?”

“I find it difficult to judge people on first impressions alone,” she admitted mildly. “They are so often wrong. I assumed that you would have a better knowledge of what your ex-wife would or wouldn’t do than I would.”

Draco nodded calmly to her and considered the strange ornament on the ribbon again.

“You gave this to me, then,” he continued. “Knowing that I would instinctively make myself more aware of the person I suspected and you assumed that I already suspected her.”

“Naturally,” she agreed brightly. Her orb-like eyes were boring into Draco’s and he felt as though she could see right into his soul. “You have a gift with solving cryptic riddles, Draco. I don’t see why you should be so tormented about your emotions.” She held a hand to his chest and prodded him gently with that ever so annoying ‘all-knowing’ smile. “You know the answers already.”

“Luna,” he began again, wanting a better explanation out of her but he was interrupted.

“Luna?” a woman’s voice came from the door. “I was told that you are in here treating a patient. Lily and I just wanted to pop in and say hello.”

Ginny Weasley (now Potter, though he could not bring himself to refer to her that way) stepped into the room –without an invitation naturally –her youngest child and only daughter in tow. She stopped dead, naturally, once she saw the occupants of the room. Her face turned a soft shade of pink as he eyes bounded from one Malfoy to the next, each one of them a picture of the same person through the generations.

“Oh,” she said abruptly. “This is your room.” She was clearly addressing Draco, though it was not his room at all. “Luna, are you busy? I’m sorry, we can come again later if you are.”

Figures. She apologizes to the Healer but not the patient she might have disturbed. Very polite, little Weasel bint, Draco thought.

“I was just discussing something with Draco,” Luna replied. At that moment, Lucius’ eyes went glassy and his mouth went slack, letting his tongue loll. Draco immediately stepped in front of him to shield him from view. “Oh, just a moment Ginny.”

Luna rushed forward with a sack of small crystals and began sprinkling them on Lucius’ tongue. Draco, meanwhile, stood calmly in front of Potter’s wife.

“Malfoy,” she finally greeted, clearly having been given no other choice. “I heard about your wife. Bit surprised.”

He did not allow his face to change at all. She would get no expression but boredom out of him. He felt a rage well up in his chest at the very sight of her. She was the bane of his existence… though he would not admit why.

“That she tried to kill me or that I didn’t fight back?” he drawled, his eyes matte and cold.

“That you made it out alive,” she answered curtly.

Draco’s rage bubbled inside of him and his lip curled in a derisive snarl. Lucius began spluttering behind him as Draco was about to draw his wand and show her just why he had come out alive. But Luna interrupted.

“I’m sorry, Ginny!” she called out. “I won’t be able to talk right now. I’ll owl you later!”

“That’s fine, Luna!” she responded calmly. “We were just leaving anyway.”

She gave Draco a cutting look before turning on her heel and leaving with her daughter. He growled lowly.

--That’s the reason for my torment, Luna. That and that alone.—

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A/N: This chapter was intensely difficult to write as I channelled a lot of the emotions I experienced (and still experienced) while facing the loss of my grandfather. I often write Draco’s reactions akin to my own and I felt this was one of the strongest I’ve had. I hope it came across alright.

I hope you enjoyed it, or well… yeah. I dunno if enjoyed is the word for this chapter, but it helped me to write it. I love Draco.

Reviews are love!