A Dream For The Dead

A Dream For The Dead

Chapter 5

Vacant and Stained

Dear Father,

I’m sorry I did not write you sooner. The first two weeks of school have been very busy, much busier, in fact, than I expected. I hope you were not too worried about me in the meantime. I’ve been perfectly fine. Actually, I’m rather excited.

I was sorted into Slytherin, though I expect you knew that would happen. The Sorting Hat took a while to decide it. It told me I could do well in Ravenclaw as well, but I asked to be put in Slytherin so it did. Is that alright, Father? I know you said you wouldn’t mind regardless of what happened… I chose Slytherin.

I made some friends on the train as well. Not all of them ended up in Slytherin with me, but one of them did. A boy named Albus Severus. Strange name. He says his father is Harry Potter. I didn’t believe him at first until he showed me a picture. He really is! He told me he was worried about being put in Slytherin because no one in his family ever has been, but I told him that was alright. I said I was hoping for Slytherin but that it doesn’t matter, really.

The hat took forever on him deciding. He told me afterwards that it suggested Ravenclaw as well. It even said Hufflepuff would work but that Slytherin was best. He seemed a little worried about it but when the whole house clapped for him I think he felt better. He brother came over to see him too. James, I think his name is. He told Al it was okay to be in Slytherin and that their father would be proud. I tried not to listen too closely.

Do you think that’s true? Do you think Harry Potter would be happy to have a son in Slytherin? He was a Gryffindor in your year, wasn’t he, Father? I thought, because of all the Dark Wizards that came from Slytherin he might not like the house very much. I hope he isn’t angry with Al.

Albus seems to be worried about it too. What should I do to reassure him, Father? You always know what to do.

We have two classes with the Gryffindors this year. Potions and Defense Against The Dark Arts. We have one class with the Ravenclaws too. Transfiguration. Al has one cousin in Ravenclaw. Her name is Rose, I think. And his other cousin, Hugo, and his brother are in Gryffindor, but they’re older than we are.

I also met Mr. Nott’s son, Thomas. He’s nice enough, I suppose, but very quiet.

My favourite class so far is Potions but I like Defense Against the Dark Arts very much as well. Professor Smith says I’m a natural at it. Al too.

I don’t think the Herbology teacher likes me very much though. Professor Longbottom is his name. He seems rather stricter with me than the others.

Anyway, I need to get to my homework. I miss you, Father. And Mother as well. Can you have her send me some of Nanny Cissa’s biscuits? I miss them most.

Love,
Scorpius

P.S. Al wishes you luck for your game against the Tornadoes. He said he’s a big fan of yours.

+++++

Draco stroked the Eagle owl he had purchased for his son. Hugin, was his name, as he recalled. He nipped gently at Draco’s fingers as he read his son’s letter. A relaxed smile pulled at the corners of his lips. He was standing in the hallway, lit only by the setting sun in the window. The world had stopped moving, the shadows stopped dancing and Draco was calm.

Scorpius was so different from him, and yet, so much the same. Inexplicably drawn to a Potter, trying to impress him. He had to admit that Scorpius had been more successful than the eleven year old Draco had been. Scorpius had the advantage of being born after the war. He had the advantage of not being raised in a prejudiced Pureblood home. Draco could never quite muster the energy to blame his parents entirely for his life’s misfortune, however. He loved them too much, and had grown up too much to think it was acceptable.

Still, Draco had ensured that, even though Scorpius was a Pureblood and would have the best that Draco could offer him, he would not, by any means, predispose his son to prejudice. He couldn’t afford it. Their family couldn’t afford it.

Scorpius was too analytical, anyway. He would have questioned the beliefs until they were meaningless words floating in the ether. He would have deconstructed the ideas and traditions to get at their components and then reconstructed them new and better. He would not have simply accepted an idea like “Pureblooded wizards are better than those of mixed descent.” Not in a million years.

Draco hummed, nibbling gently on his fingernail as he read. Now that he considered it, Scorpius would have done well in Ravenclaw. He wasn’t, however, going to lie to himself and pretend that he wasn’t glad Scorpius was in Slytherin.

He folded the letter and slipped it into the inner pocket of his robes. Draco opened the window and let Hugin out to the owelry before turning back inside and heading towards his study.

He was feeling much more relaxed now he had heard from his son. The Quidditch practice and the feel of Wood against him was almost completely faded from his mind. He felt at ease for the first time in weeks.

“Where have you been?” A harsh voice punctured the silence around Draco and he stopped. In the low light ahead stood a tall and commanding figure. He sighed and angled his head in a defiant way. He continued to walk, hoping to push past his father.

“I’ve been working,” he answered sharply. His father stepped into the space before him, effectively cutting him off. Draco stopped and stood tall, staring his father in the face.

“Working at what?” Lucius’ voice was cold. Draco was not as easily swayed by it anymore.

“At my job,” he continued darkly. He was not in the mood for this. “I had practice.”

Lucius’ face pulled up into a sneer as he looked down at his grown son.

“That’s not work,” he spat. “That’s a hobby. It’s a sad excuse for a career.” He stepped back and sized up his son. “You haven’t been working, you’ve been playing. I raised you better than that. I gave you everything you ever wanted and needed. I gave you opportunities to become great! And you pay me back by spending your life chasing a ball.”

Draco felt the heat rising in his face and he set his jaw. He was grimacing at his father like he never thought he would. But he was sick of hearing the same spiel over and over.

“No,” he replied viciously. “I pay you back in Galleons. I pay you back by keeping you in the lifestyle you took for granted, once. We lost everything and I got it back, chasing my ball as you put it. This is what the real world is like, Father.”

“It’s disgraceful!” Lucius spat back, haughtily craning his neck. “You could have been Minister for Magic if you had tried. Instead you chose to be a poster boy for the salacious lifestyle your kind lead. You chose riches over success, infamy over respect.”

“No, you chose infamy,” Draco snapped. His fists were clenched now and all his serenity gone. “I took what I could get, after the war. And Quidditch was certainly good enough for me once.”

“When you were a boy,” Lucius hissed angrily. “I would have thought you would grow out of it. Get yourself a real career.” He gave Draco a disgusted look. “Stop parading yourself around like a peacock, letting the muggleborn drool over you and become a man.”

“I can’t believe you,” Draco said suddenly, exasperated and angry. “You were sent to prison! You dragged our family name through the mud and brought me down with you but you still somehow think you’re better than everyone else.” He glared at his father. “How do you manage it?”

“You are mistaken, Draco,” Lucius responded icily. “I do not believe that I am better than everyone else. I simply know that I am a better man than you’ve become.” Draco felt as though he had been punched in the gut. “I take pride in myself and my family, for having survived. You are ashamed of survival.”

Draco said nothing but watched his father leave. He felt the world lurch and churn around him, stripping him of his strength and his resolve. He dropped his head and leaned against the wall for a moment.

His father could never know just how much he wished he could do it all over. He could never know just how hard Draco fought, every day. But then, Lucius wouldn’t care. He fought for them during the war and went to prison for them. He bore the humiliation of having a failure for a son and still put Draco’s safety first.

Perhaps Lucius was right. Perhaps he was a better man, with all his flaws and mistakes, than Draco would ever be.

He stepped into his study and shut the door, his hand lingering on the handle for a moment as he stared at the ground. The fire was lit and the room was warm. Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to calm himself and the movement.

“Hello.”

Draco suddenly spun around and pulled his wand, staring wide-eyed at the room he had believed to be empty. Sitting in Draco’s armchair was a man that, if there was any justice in the world, he would never have seen again.

Though, perhaps it was in fact that very justice that made it so this man always found his way into Draco’s life, somehow.

“What are you doing here, Potter?” he asked angrily, calming down and lowering his wand. “You might be allowed to wander the Ministry as you please, but this is my home. You aren’t entitled to everything.”

“Your father invited me in, Malfoy,” Potter responded curtly. Draco then noticed that he had a roll of parchment on his lap and a quill poised to write. “I’m here to update his file so that we can close his case permanently.”

Draco stared at him for a moment. He was trying to see through Potter’s thick skull to find out if he was lying. He might have used Legilimency but he had the impression that reading the thoughts of a trained Auror might be a mistake.

“I see,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting around the room. There was no one else present. “And considering my father is gone, why are you still here?”

Potter frowned and shifted in the chair. Draco allowed himself a small smirk before turning to the desk. He picked up the decanter and poured himself some Firewhiskey. He had no intention of offering any to Potter, but then thought the better of it. Manners were important, regardless of whether or not your guest is a colossal prat.

“I need to ask you a few questions,” Potter answered stiffly. “To complete the file, I need you to attest to his progress and compliance with the parameters of his release.” He paused and Draco faltered slightly with the tumbler. “I thought that was why you came in here.”

Draco narrowed his eyes at the bookshelf behind the desk and reminded himself that Potter could not see his frustration. He turned around without the glass.

“Actually, I came in here because this is my study,” Draco drawled. “I do own the house, if you recall my earlier statement. Being the owner, I like to live in it.” He tried to keep the sharp edges out of his voice but failed miserably. Potter glared at him.

“Just answer my questions, Malfoy,” Potter ordered him. “And then I can leave and we can both go back to pretending the other doesn’t exist.” Draco frowned deeply and stared directly into Potter’s eyes. Despite the roaring fire in the hearth, there was no light in his eyes. Starless eyes.

“Very well, Potter,” Draco said, attempting to be polite. It was ridiculously difficult when addressing Potter. “Would you like a drink?”

The Auror eyed him suspiciously, apparently weighing out the chances that Draco had poisoned the cup, and then shook his head.

“No, thanks,” he responded coldly. Draco shrugged and then took his tumbler with him to the other armchair. He felt Potter’s eyes on him as he moved and dropped smoothly into the chair. He swilled the drink for a moment before taking a sip. It burned as it went down and he hummed quietly at the feeling. He relaxed slightly and then smirked sardonically at Potter.

“On with the questions then, Potter,” Draco drawled. “I haven’t got all night.” Potter rolled his eyes and dotted the parchment with his quill.

“Are you sure you want to answer these questions while drinking?” he asked, an incredulous look on his face. Draco eyed him and then smirked more fully. He downed the drink in one go and dropped it onto the side table.

“There you are,” he replied with false kindness. “I am no longer drinking. Now ask the bloody questions, Potter.”

Potter shook his head and licked his lips before beginning.

“You have been the official sponsor for your father, Lucius Malfoy, during his rehabilitation and reintegration into the wizarding community,” Potter rattled off.

“That wasn’t a question, it was a statement,” Draco shot. Potter glared at him.

“I wasn’t finished,” he snapped. “Is this information correct?”

“No,” Draco answered sarcastically. “His actual sponsor is a resurrected Voldemort but I thought that might alarm people if I put it on the official form.” Potter glared at him and pinched the bridge of his noise.

“You will answer my questions honestly and directly, Malfoy,” he said quietly. “Lest I be forced to arrest you.”

Draco snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, motioning some form of agreement.

“Yes, the information is correct,” he responded in a monotone. Potter checked off something on the parchment and the scratching of the quill made Draco grimace.

“And, during this period, he has been living with you, under your supervision?” Potter had the uncanny ability to turn statements into questions. Draco might have been amazed if it had not been infinitely annoying.

“Yes,” Draco answered. “Perhaps you would like to actually ask me a question, Potter, rather than simply adding a question mark at the end of normal sentences. It might be more effective. Tell me, do you conduct all your interrogations this way? Is that not called leading?”

“Has your father found gainful employment since his release from Azkaban?” Potter pressed on, ignoring Draco’s comment entirely.

“No,” Draco answered. “Although that’s probably because he couldn’t get hired if he tried. Former-Death-Eaters generally aren’t well looked upon in today’s society. You made sure of that.”

Potter paused and looked at Draco. His eyes were cold and piercing. Draco did not look away.

“I made sure to send criminals to prison,” he answered. “Your father was a criminal. He went to prison and served his sentence. I am not responsible for his choices, nor yours. If your father cannot find employment it is in no way my fault.”

Draco tensed and his jaw twitched slightly.

“My father doesn’t need to work,” he said suddenly as Potter seemed about to make a note. “I support my family with my earnings. He and my mother are my dependants.”

Potter paused and then nodded slightly. He scratched away at the parchment.

“How does your father occupy his time, then?” Draco wondered if this was an official question or merely curiosity.

“He plots your demise,” he drawled before he could stop himself. Potter stared at him and he rolled his eyes. “He spends his time with my mother, mostly at our country estate. He torments the house-elves I’m sure. Reads, perhaps.” Draco tilted his head in annoyance. “He’s not consorting with his former comrades, if that’s what you mean. They’re all either dead or in prison. Doesn’t make for good reunion parties if you’re the only one who shows up.”

Potter made a note of it and sighed. He pulled his glasses off his face and began to clean them on his robes. Draco watched, partially mesmerized by the mundane movement, partially surprised.

“You realize there are cleaning spells for that, don’t you?” Draco said suddenly. Potter snapped out of his thoughts and his fingers stopped rubbing his lenses. He looked down, as though he only just realized what he was doing, and replaced his glasses.

“It’s an old habit,” he murmured. “Has your father taken any interest, recently, in the Dark Arts?”

“No,” Draco answered, relaxing back into the chair. He was tired and the shadows began to move. The world spun again but this time around both of them. Draco watched Potter and wondered if he felt it too. He must have. He paused at the same moment and then shook his head for no reason.

“Has he paid any visits to Knockturn Alley or other wizarding locations known for their affiliation with Dark Magic?” Potter went on as though nothing had happened but Draco continued to watch him.

“No,” he said, though his voice was much quieter than it had been before. His eyes were trained on Potter’s profile. His glasses slid down his nose very slightly. He was sweating.

“Has he left the country at all?” Potter asked, his voice more breathy than before. He tried to keep his tone steady but it faltered very slightly. Draco was so focused he forgot about the movement.

“No.” The answers came without his having to think. He needed to ask Potter, needed to tell him about the book and the passage. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not now.

“Finally, has he made any attempts to contact any of the victims of his crimes?” Potter asked. Draco actually paused at this one. He thought about it and, though he really couldn’t be sure, he answered.

“No.” Draco sat up and stared into the fire now. He couldn’t look at Potter any longer. “I doubt he would want to.”

“Of course not,” Potter muttered to himself. Draco shot him a glare but he wasn’t looking. “Well that’s all then. Your father’s file will be reviewed by the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and, with any luck, be closed and sealed by Monday.”

Draco snorted at the last comment and Potter got to his feet. Draco was angry and frustrated. He didn’t know why he said it but he did.

“Heard from your sons yet, Potter?” The question was laced with venom. Potter froze and turned to him, glaring. His mouth was a thin line and he looked, suddenly, older than he was.

“No,” he answered sharply. “Why?”

Draco smiled at him and shrugged.

“I heard from mine today,” he breathed. He licked his lips and leaned his head back. “He asked me a question about you. Wanted to know if you could ever love a Slytherin. What should I tell him?”

Potter studied him for a moment, surely wondering what he was playing at. He shifted his weight and crossed his arms.

“Of course I could,” he answered quietly. “If I ever found a living one worth loving.”

Draco’s smirk returned and nodded his head in reply. He fingered the clasp on his robes for a moment, his eyes never leaving Potter.

“Perhaps sooner than you think,” Draco whispered. Potter stared at him a moment longer before disappearing with a faint crack. Draco stared at the now empty space. He licked his lips. “The Golden Boy loving a Slytherin,” he mused to himself. “This must be the Apocalypse.”

+++++

Harry Apparated in his living room. He was hot and sweating. His robes suddenly felt far too tight, too constricting on him. He threw them off and fell back onto the couch. He was panting hard suddenly, feeling as though he hadn’t breathed at all whilst at Malfoy’s.

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He groaned to himself, trying to figure out why that man always disconcerted him so. Why did Malfoy still rile him up? Why is it that Harry couldn’t quite feel like he was on stable ground around him? The world would move and shake like it never did when he was away. It was unbearable, overwhelming.

“It’s ok,” Harry muttered to himself, dropping his hands and leaning back into the couch. He steadied his breathing and tried to ignore the heat of his body. “I don’t have to see him again. Not in person. That was it. His father’s case is closed now.”

Unless Malfoy suddenly decided to try to take up Voldemort’s mantle as most powerful Dark Wizard of all time –which Harry would never put past him –he would never have to see the bloody git again. He could go the rest of his life without meeting him. He could try, anyway.

He would have thought that nineteen years, saving Malfoy’s life and growing into parents might have changed things between them. He was apparently wrong.

It seemed that they were destined to get under each other’s skin.

“But it’s alright. I never have to see him again.”

-----
A/N: So I changed my mind about this chapter too. I don't... not like it anymore, lol. XD I hope you enjoyed it. I'm trying to establish a feel for the way their lives turned out before the action really starts... and the action kind of starts in next chapter I believe. Or so.

Please do review, it helps me decide whether or not to continue a story. :)

Thrnbrooke: I'm glad you like the chapters! Draco's 'light-headedness' will be explained in detail later, but as for the chapter... I just didn't quite know if I liked how it flowed. I was also worried about the Oliver/Draco-ness of it. :) But moving on, hehe.