Mother Knows Best

A/N: Well, I had hoped to get more than just one review on the last chapter. But I guess I'm not going to. Was it not up to par? Was it just not engaging? Let me know if there's something I can do to make sure you guys enjoy what I'm writing. While writing it is partly for me, posting it here is for you. Let me know what you think, positive or negative. Thanks. :)


Title: Mother Knows Best – The Patriarch
Author: Deviant
Fandom: Harry Potter – Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17, always.
Disclaimer: There's no way I could ever own the legend that is Harry Potter. I am but a humble fan, seeking to amuse myself by toying with the genius creations of JK Rowling.
Warnings: Some foreshadowing, but that’s mainly it.
Summary: After graduation and after the war, Harry and Draco meet by chance at St. Mungo’s while Draco is visiting his mother. A relationship ensues but secrets abound. How can Draco know what to do while his mother’s a mute? After all, mother knows best.


Mother Knows Best
The Patriarch


Two and a half weeks later, April 1

Draco groaned and turned to his side, putting a hand on his stomach. “Merlin,” he muttered before he tumbled out of bed, making a dash for the bathroom. He made it just inside the door of the bathroom when he threw up, falling on his hands and knees as his stomach clenched tightly, as if a stick had been thrust into his stomach and twisted, catching all the flesh and pulling it into a whirl of strained and angry flesh.

The previous night’s meal with Harry was soon staring up at him as he continued with dry heaves.

He felt Harry’s presence behind him and whispered, his throat sore, “Second time this week, Harry. Do you think I should stop visiting mum until it passes?”

“It’s probably just food poisoning or a touch of the flu, my love,” Harry said as he wetted a rag for Draco’s head. “Was it the scallops we had last night? Was it maybe that we had sex right after eating again? Maybe just a germ from the hospital?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Draco sighed. “I just feel like shit. Can I go back to sleep for a while?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “I have something I wanted to tell you whenever you’re feeling a little better later, okay?”

“All right, Potter,” Draco said as he crawled back into the thick blankets, burrowing deep into them. “Maybe you can tell me while you give me a back massage.”

Draco chuckled and Harry watched him fall asleep. He stroked a few strands of hair away from Draco’s face and sighed.


[-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-]


A few hours later, Draco was lying on his stomach with his lover massaging his back for him.

“What did you want to tell me earlier?” Draco asked with a groan as Harry rubbed a particularly sore spot on his lower back.

“Oh, well,” Harry started nervously. “I, well . . . what do you know about the Patriarchal Manor? Why did its name interest you so much?”

“Honestly, Potter,” Draco sneered. “Every pureblood has heard of it. It’s the first house of magic. The place where our world was born. It is owned by the most powerful magic-doing vampire of the time and can switch hands only to the next heir through either a decline of power, death of the current owner, or a friendly passing down of the house. It was said that if someone unworthy were to take power, the manor would crumble around their feet, leaving them with nothing but ruins, as well as a curse on their family to never find a place to be at peace. It was also said to be very grand and beautiful. The home could be easily recognized by its massive windows that, though you can see outside, and light can come in, the sunlight that enters the windows does not harm vampires.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a bit in shock. He wasn’t expecting such a lengthy answer. “Do you know what happened to the manor?”

“As far as the story goes, it was passed down a long line of vampires, the two most recent being a man named Jacques A’jamais and then to a man referred to in books as James A’jamais. As far as I can guess,” Draco said slowly, “it has disappeared into history.”

“Draco?” Harry said, moving off Draco to stand by the window. “Draco, I am the Patriarch now.”

Draco stared at him for a few moments before he smiled weakly and said, “Ha ha, Potter, very funny. It’s April Fool’s, I know. Were all those questions just to get to that punchline? It would have been funnier if you had put cellophane on the toilet or something.”

“Draco,” Harry said gently as he walked back towards the bed. “Draco, I’m not kidding. I’ve kept it from you for months now, but I had to tell you the truth. I’m a vampire, Draco. And I have the Patriarch’s blood in me. I got my inheritance at the beginning of this year.”

“Impossible!” Draco shouted. “Don’t lie to me! Vampires reach their inheritance at 20, not approaching 18.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Harry agreed, “they reach it at 20 unless they suffer a huge magical drain and the coma induced by the drain afterwards. Then, their inheritance comes early, most likely to restore the lost power so the vampire bloodline is not lost.”

“You didn’t endure any huge dr-. . .” Draco started. But he gasped and with realization in his eyes, he whispered, “The Platform.”

Harry nodded and Draco stood up. “I need to pee,” he said and ran to the bathroom, locking the door behind him. Harry waited patiently for many minutes, but when Draco came out, he was dressed and manicured. “I’m going to go see mum,” he said quickly. He snatched up a newsboy hat and grabbed one of his lighter spring cloaks. “I’ll be back.”

Harry took a step towards Draco, but Draco gasped sharply and ran out of the bedroom, and in a minute, Harry heard the front door opening, and Draco was gone.


[-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-]


Draco wandered through St. Mungo’s with a cloud in his mind. He could hardly focus on his destination and was grateful when a kindly old witch asked him what floor he was headed to. He snapped out of his stupor just long enough to tell her, “The asylum,” and she pressed the button for him, nodding knowingly.

He didn’t even notice as she crossed herself to protect from his seemingly insane aura.

He managed to get to Narcissa’s room with little grief, though once he was there, he wondered what he should do. He couldn’t tell his mother he’d shacked up with the lone survivor of the greatest bloodline of all time. Even if she was the crazy one, she’d dub him barmy!

He collapsed into the chair near the window and stared out, watching the magically synthesized weather that was displayed on the windows. It was storming outside and he sighed as lightning clashed angrily.

He felt his stomach clench angrily again, wondering when his sickness would depart, but he suppressed it, knowing that if he were to vomit at the hospital, they’d either place him in his own room or tell him to get out, and right now, he just needed to be with his mother.

“Good morning, mum,” he said wearily without looking at her. “It’s been months since you’ve gone ‘round the bend. When do you think you’re coming back? In a year? Two years? Ten years? I hope it’s soon, mum, I’m going crazy now, too, without you.”

After an hour of watching the rain, Draco heard the door open and looked over, expecting to see a nurse or Harry. He sighed with relief with it was his godfather coming in with a bouquet of roses.

“Good afternoon, Draco,” Severus said heavily as he watched Narcissa play with her stuffed toys. “Are you free tonight?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Draco said. “Harry’s told me some . . . well, nothing. What do you have in mind for tonight?”

Severus arranged the flowers prettily next to Narcissa’s bed and looked around the room that had been decorated like her bedroom at the Malfoy Manor.

“Well, I was imagining you could help me pick out a ring from the jeweler’s, as I plan on proposing to your mother as soon as she’s lucid again,” Severus said with a forced laugh. “Hell, maybe even before she’s lucid. She is so beautiful, and to have her mind locked away in itself . . .”

He sighed and Draco looked at him. The Potions master wasn’t exactly young but Draco didn’t remember ever seeing him looking as old as he looked now. There were dark bags under his eyes and wrinkles in his forehead that hadn’t been there before, even while Voldemort was at his height and Severus was playing double-sided sneak.

“Anything else?” Draco asked, hoping to keep the conversation going.

“Yes, well, I want to change the décor in here, as well,” the man went on to explain. “Perhaps if we give her something she loves, she will return to us. She always told me she loved the Greek coast. The sunlight, the colors, and the fresh smells on the air, she said they were almost as beautiful to her as her son was.”

Draco nodded.

“We shall decorate it tomorrow?” he asked.

“Oh, over the course of next week, certainly,” Severus said as he held onto one of Narcissa’s hands. “And how are you feeling? You’re looking rather pale.”

“Oh, I’ve been sick once or twice,” he said nonchalantly, but seeing Severus’s eyes widen in concern for Narcissa catching something, he added, “but it’s not contagious, not at all. Harry would have it, if it were, as would you and mother. I hope it’s cancer. Maybe the world will just open up and consume me.”

“Draco Lucian Malfoy!”

“Sorry, godfather, it’s just . . .” Draco started before shutting his mouth. “It’s just nothing.”

“Draco . . .” Severus said with a stern warning in his voice.

“But godfather, it’s nothing!” Draco tried to assure him.

Snape was having none of it, though, and he gave Draco his practiced look that just screamed If-you-don’t-tell-me-what’s-wrong-so-help-me-God-I-shall-pull-every-thought-of-yours-out-and-pensieve-all-of-it-for-my-own-amusement!

“All right, all right, godfather,” Draco submitted. “It’s . . . it’s Harry.”

“Go on,” Severus said, tasting something unpleasant in his mouth already. Something was wrong with their sex life, he was certain of it.

“It’s, well . . . it’s . . . he lives in the Patriarchal Manor, godfather,” Draco suddenly spat out. “He is the Patriarch!”

Severus paled substantially, especially for one already so pale. “You’re . . . you’re fooling, Draco. Ha ha, good April Fool’s joke, my boy. Good joke. Much better than when you put those fish in all my shorts drawer.”

“Godfather,” Draco said softly. He looked into Snape’s eyes and said, “I’m not fooling, godfather. Harry is the Patriarch.”


[-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-]


That night, April 1

Draco had changed into his pajamas and crawled into his childhood bed at Malfoy Manor, hoping a good, deep sleep was coming for him. He lay there for a few minutes before he heard Severus screaming down the hall.

He could make out a few of the words: Cissa, why, fool, Patriarch, sane, love, damn

Draco choked back tears as he heard glass vases thrown against the wall. The house elves repaired the vases every morning while Severus was in the shower, so the Potions master continued to destroy them. A few minutes of silence passed before he heard Severus’s muffled sobs crawling through the air and into his ears.

Maybe he would take his godfather to Harry’s to get him away from all this mess . . . wait. He couldn’t go to Harry’s manor anymore. The Patriarch was dangerous.

He whispered into the dark of his room for one of the house elves, and when the crack signifying the appearance of one sounded through the air, he asked for a candle, a rosary, and a sleeping potion.

He had the house elf place the candle on his bedside table, and holding the rosary in his hand, said thank you softly, and downed the sleeping potion in a heavy gulp.

In his dreams, Draco was being chased by a nameless, faceless thing that wanted his blood. He kept screaming, but no one could hear him. There was a corridor that stretched forever in both directions, both ends of it swallowed in darkness. Faces of his friends swam past him but they couldn’t see him. Lucius appeared right in front of him and laughed the same high-pitched laugh Voldemort had when he had just succeeded in something extra vile. He could feel the white-hot pain of a Crucio and knew his father was torturing him again, maybe for his first words being mama, maybe for breaking another plate when he was five, maybe for kissing a boy when he was eight, maybe for talking back to him when he was nine. Then there was a flash of green light and then darkness.

The dreams kept cycling through his mind and he was unable to escape, the sleeping potion keeping him firmly in its grasp.

To an outsider, Draco might appear possessed as he thrashed in his bed, the sheets tangling around him while they soaked up his cold sweat. He screamed in his sleep several times, but in the manor, there was no one who would heed his screams.


[-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-]


Since sundown, Harry paced the floor of his bedroom. He could feel Draco’s dreams and couldn’t sleep because of them. He wondered to himself why Draco didn’t just wake up. He tried to meditate to let himself into Draco’s mind, but they were too far apart and Draco’s dreams were too violent. The sun rose without notice and Harry still didn’t sit down, never stopping his pacing along the wall of windows that let in the faintest breeze.


[-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-]


Severus woke Draco with his hair up in a towel. “Water’s warm, if you want to clean yourself of all this sweat,” he said from the doorway, not acknowledging that he, too, had night terrors. He turned around and walked downstairs for breakfast, his favorite meal of the day. Every breakfast meant he survived another night.

Draco nodded and an hour later, after his shower, found himself in the Malfoy library, pouring over novels that mentioned the Patriarch.

He finally found a good entry from one of his ancestors.

It is December in the year of our Lord, 1632. The Patriarchal Manor has changed hands and I am alive to witness it. Our Lord Jacques has passed, as has his beloved, Maria. They leave the manor to their only heir, James A’jamais.

The vampires have no last names once they become Patriarch. They acquire the French words for “forever” and that is the end of the decision. James was once known as a Potter, his father’s last name, so the legends go. It is no hard task to guess what James’s father had been apprenticed as.

The Patriarchs are a very powerful clan. The bloodline is passed through one vampire at a time, and if that vampire should ever be killed without producing an heir, it would be the end of the line.

James has no mate and no heir and I have heard rumors of a coup. I will warn him and earn a place of honor. I, Thibault Malfoi, will give my life in servitude to him. He is our creator.

A long time ago, a vampire who had lived for a very long time came upon a thing called magic and created a stick to capture and manipulate the magic. The Patriarch, the original Patriarch, gifted us with magic to help create peace and love in the world.

His Bloodline was passed to his first son but none of his other children. No one is sure how or why. But his son acquired all the same skills, talents, wisdom, and power the Father had. He became a Patriarch, also.

However, the balance was disrupted when there became two Patriarchs fighting for the Patriarch’s power. A great war developed. The Father was destroyed in battle but his son lived.

He, too, had a son, into whom he passed the Blood. The son grew for 20 years and then changed into one of Them. The third became the Patriarch and killed his father for betraying the Father. He built a beautiful house in honor of his grandfather, The Father.

He named it Patriarchal Manor.

It is a safe haven for mortals and immortals, peasants and kings, magic-doers and non-magic-doers. It is a paradise.

The Third Heir, his name is Constantin, also creates a ring. It has four stones on it, an emerald, a ruby, a sapphire, and a diamond. He marks it with a crown on one side and a three sided star on the other. The legend has it that he pours his soul into this ring and without it, he is powerless, but no one ever had proof if it was true or not.

Many years pass and the manor changes hands, but no one is sure how or why. The Third Patriarch has disappeared and the Fourth has come into power. He called himself Louis and we all fancied that he liked boys.

There was no problem with his sexual tastes, though, as he created an heir with his life-mate and the Blood was passed to his Son. Louis passes the Manor to his son, the Fifth Heir, and retires to a distant land with his life-mate.

The Fifth Heir’s name was Jacques and he was the man who died in this December of our Lord, 1632.

The Son who has acquired it is named James A’jamais. He is a strong featured man, with gentle eyes and untamable hair. He is a man who very much loves peace and I feel we shall live in happiness all our years.

James was told he was born to mortals and changed, but if he was, he would not now be the Patriarch. The Manor would reject Him. He is the Patriarch and we shall follow him.

He has already shown his great strength. He is over 300 years old and is still featured like a 22 year old mortal. Many vampires, as they age, do acquire lines around their faces, but James is like a new marble statue found in a temple in Greece.

We all have given him many prayers that he shall find his Mate and create an Heir for himself. He spent 300 years as Jacques’s son, as his Heir, without becoming Patriarch, and some of us thought we would have a buildup of Patriarchs without a kingdom.

As one story goes, one Patriarch who birthed an Heir raised his Heir until he was old enough to be the Patriarch and abandoned the kingdom to develop another in Italy. He is said to be the power behind the Roman Empire.

Patriarchs are capable of much more than a magic-doer or vampire could imagine. They can heal from wounds without taking more than a few seconds. They can avoid killing spells or knives without struggle, unless they are protecting their Heirs. Many Patriarchs have died protecting their Heirs. They can generate magic when it seems none can be found again.

Patriarchs are the source of magic.

If we are to lose James before he produces an Heir, we shall lose our magic forever.

There is nothing we can do to hurry or tempt fate. We are in our Father’s hands. We grovel at his front steps and manicure his garden, hoping he finds favor in us. He is truly a god in this magical world.

He is ours, but mostly, we are His.


Draco set the journal down on the table and shook a bit from all he had learned. He decided to keep Thibault Malfoi’s journal out and searched for others.

He rifled through the books, hoping to find any other information about the Patriarch blood line that he could find.

After a hurried 30 minutes, he found another journal, smaller, with only a few entries. He scanned over them and one caught his eyes.

I am a Patriarch’s mate.

The vampire found me. He is a tall man. I am a chubby woman with plain features. I do not know what he sees in me.

He calls me beautiful.

He speaks a beautiful language to me often and calls me his little bird. His piccolo uccello. He gifted me with the power to turn into a small golden bird. He calls me an Animagus, and he says he hopes to teach others the Magic of the transformation.

I love him, but I do not know him.

We have known each other forever.

We have never met.

My Patriarch and I shall live together for an eternity.

I was pure, but he took me, and now I am with his Heir. That is how we know. He was surprised to find I was his mate. He said I was very plain and he never would have guessed it, but that he was glad.

He said my eyes were very beautiful. That they were like the sun and the moon melted together and poured into two small basins, gifted to me by the gods.

He knew, without me telling him, that I had always dreamt of a queen’s wedding.

He married me in a place he has called Italy and taught me his “Italian” with his Magic.

He has begun a new kingdom in Italy. He calls the place Roma, I call it the City of Seven Hills. We met a Seer who told us that many years from now, we shall still live and prosper, and we shall have a son named Sirius. It will be in an age none of us can even imagine, both wonderful and terrible. She says to watch for a year when things are at peace but tension is under the surface.

My Patriarch left his Heir in England, however. The Seer, though, says that we will have a miracle, and another son with a weaker Blood shall be born. He shall be weaker than the True Patriarchs, but he shall be a Lord under my Patriarch, a second strain.

My Patriarch.

He knows me better than anyone. He can hear my heart, he can feel my mind, he can see my soul. We are in love.

The Patriarchs are capable only of great things. Terrible, yes, but great.

He is my Patriarch and I am his mate. This is how we shall be forever.


There was no name on the journal, the entries signed only with black smudges shaped like dogs, or perhaps hearts.

Draco thought about the things the woman had written. How her Patriarch felt her mind and saw her soul. He thought about how she said her Patriarch heard her heart.

He shut the journals and laid them on the table. He needed some time to think.


[-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-]


Draco and Severus walked into the jeweler’s shop with hopeful looks in their eyes. Earlier that afternoon, they had finished their three day project, and finished redoing Narcissa’s room in light blues and whites, even hunting down an enchanted jar of Greek sea air that they opened and set in the corner.

Now, the two of them planned on finding a perfect white gold ring for Narcissa.

“Good morrow, sirs,” the jeweler said as he took his glasses off and wiped his hands on his apron. “How can I help you?”

“I want a white gold ring,” Snape started, eyeing the different pre-made jewelry lying around. “And I want it to have one diamond in it. A small one, but not too small, but I want it to lie in the band, not raised above it. And I want something engraved inside the band.”

The jeweler had been nodding away, jotting everything down on a small notepad. “What’s the engraving to say, sir?”

“To new beginnings.”

“Ah, very beautiful, sir,” the man said as he slipped his notepad back into his apron pocket. “Is this for a special lady? Does it need to be gift wrapped or done by a certain date? Do you want any enchantments on it?”

Snape thought for a moment and said, “Yes, how much . . . no, never mind the cost. I want it to cast a shielding charm on the wearer whenever it feels her body temperature change drastically, or if you can specify it more, when she is in danger.”

“Ah, very lovely, sir, very lovely, indeed,” the jeweler said. “When does it need to be done?”

“When can it be done? I’d like if it could be completed by the end of this week, if at all possible,” Severus said as he stared at a simple silver chain with a small silver heart hanging from it, a small diamond nestled in the heart, as well. It was one of the few items in a case.

“Oh, yes, that’s very good,” the man said. “Are you admiring a necklace?”

“Ah, yes,” Severus said as he straightened. “This one here, that’s 1200 galleons. Does it have any enchantments on it?”

The jeweler lifted the necklace from its case and sighed heavily. “This necklace is, even though it doesn’t appear it, heavily laden with protection spells.”

“Protection against what?” Draco asked, mesmerized by the colors captured in the diamond.

“Well, many, many years ago, a very special man had this necklace made by his husband, Louis A’jamais. He had it spelled to protect their daughter against insanity and death during childbirth. When she died, God rest her soul, the diamond was thought to be lost. The daughter had actually passed it on to her cousin’s new daughter and it somehow came to a very old estate named Greely. When the last Greely died, his will left it to the jewelry shop. It’s rumored that there is a curse on the necklace, but it’s unlikely. There is no dark magic, only magic that is very complex and misunderstood.”

The two men were captured in the story and didn’t notice as one Harry Potter entered behind them.

“The spells that surround this stone will adversely affect anyone who is not, in some way, related to one of the founders of magic. Needless to say, no one has yet offered to buy it.”

“I shall buy it.”

All three men turned around to see Harry Potter standing there with a sack of galleons in one hand.

“I shall give it to Narcissa,” he explained as he dropped a bag of 1200 galleons onto the counter. “Could you please gift wrap it?”

“You monster!” Severus said softly. “You listen to that tale and then you buy it for Narcissa, knowing it will kill her?”

“It will not kill her, Professor,” Harry assured him. “Please, place the necklace in a box. I desire it.”

Draco placed his hand on Snape’s shoulder to calm him and whispered something in his ear.

“You’d better have a damn good explanation, godson,” Severus growled. “How much will my ring cost when finished and when shall it be done?” he barked at the jeweler.

The jeweler placed a lid on the broad, flat box the necklace was spread out in and nodded. “It will be just short of 30 galleons, sir, and I will owl you about it, if you please.”

“Yes, all right,” Snape said and he snatched up his receipt and left the jewelry shop as the jeweler walked into the back to place the note near his workstation and put Harry’s galleons in his safe.

Draco looked at Harry and hardly breathed. “Can you feel my mind?”

“Can you feel me there?” Harry asked back, just as quietly.

Draco stared at him a moment longer before he fled the shop, leaving a satisfied Patriarch in his wake.