Sleeping With Ghosts

Prologue - This is all I Need

This is my December

This is my snow covered home

This is my December

This is me alone

This is my December

These are my snow covered trees

This is me pretending

This is all I need

~~Linkin Park - My December~~

December 2003

Draco pulled his long black winter coat tighter around himself, adjusting the collar. He tried not to notice that all of the Muggles-he was surrounded by them -were casting furtive glances in his direction. If he looked at them, the women would blush and shift their gazes to the floor; the men were less discreet. They stared at him darkly as they chewed their tobacco, making it quite plain they didn't welcome outsiders. Draco realized how conspicuous he appeared standing in the little diner with its wood floor and tables, animal heads decorating the walls. Everything about him set him apart from the local townies. He was tall and thin, and there was a man in the back corner who looked like he'd be quite capable of snapping him in two. His hair was pale blond, his skin even paler. His clothes - an expensive neatly tailored suit and long overcoat - probably cost more than some of these people made in a year.

Draco glanced at his watch. Where was the bloody cab? They had said on the phone they would be there in fifteen minutes, and that was over half an hour ago. He approached the woman behind the diner's counter, who began nervously adjusting her apron and trying to flatten her fly away hair. Draco groaned inwardly and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Might I use your phone again?"

The woman nodded, pushing the ancient, black device across the counter. Draco had to remove his leather gloves to dial the number on the rotary device.

"Yellow Cab," said a tiny female voice on the other end.

"Yes, I called for a cab to pick me up at..." Draco paused to clear his throat. "...Chuckwagon Diner half an hour ago. They said they would be here in fifteen minutes, and well, it's been twice that long."

"Yes, sir." The woman sounded quite annoyed. "We have dispatched a cab to that area, but it's snowing quite heavily and the roads are getting to be quite dangerous and we're running a bit behind."

"A bit behind?"

"Sir, just wait at your location and the cab will be there shortly."

"Yes, well, thank you." Draco hung up the phone with rather more force than was necessary, causing the diner's patrons to turn to him with questioning gazes. "Thank you for nothing." Draco winked at one of the women closest to him, and she immediately turned her gaze back to the meal in front of her, a blush creeping into her cheeks. The overgrown brute that was with her stood up suddenly, glaring at Draco, but a calming hand on his shoulder from one of his friends convinced him not to push the matter. Shaking his head in disgust, Draco turned and walked outside.

"This is why I cannot stand Muggles," he muttered to himself. He pulled a cigarette from his inside jacket pocket and lit it, inhaling deeply. He looked around at his surroundings. He'd lived outside of this town for almost his whole life but he'd never spent much time here. His father didn't permit him to play with the neighborhood children, wouldn't allow him to mix with such rabble. As a child it had bothered him, having only the nannies to keep him company. But now that he'd spent some time in the townspeople's company, he had to admit that his father might have had the right idea.

A yellow cab came to a halt in front of him and the driver honked the horn.

"Yes, I'm right here. You don't have to lay on the bloody horn." Draco climbed into the cab and slammed the door behind him, brushing snow from his jacket.

The driver, an older man, far too cheerful for his situation, smiled at him in the rearview mirror. "Cold out there, isn't it?"

"Yes. Indeed." Draco didn't return the man's smile.

"Where you headed to?"

"553 Mirari Lane."

The man nodded and pulled the cab away from the curb. "So, can you believe all this snow?"

Draco glanced in the mirror at the man, who was watching him. He didn't respond, just turned to look out the window in an effort to avoid further small talk. Pure white, undisturbed snow covered the road before them. No one had traveled this road in quite a while, at least not since it had started to snow. The cab traveled at a maddeningly slow pace, fishtailing with each turn. As they continued along the road, the cab's tires started to whine as they spun in the snow.

"I'm not sure how much further I can make it," the driver said. "But your destination is just around the bend here."

"I know where it is," Draco snapped irritably. "But I'm not paying you so that I can walk."

The man eyed him in the mirror once more and nodded his head, giving the car a little more gas.

"That's strange," the driver said suddenly. Draco looked out the windshield. Two clear, perfect tire tracks now lead the way up the road. Draco understood why the man thought it was strange; the tracks seemed to appear out of nowhere, suddenly starting as if the vehicle that had made them had just landed there out of the sky. Draco smiled, but didn't say anything. They followed the tracks to the iron gates of Malfoy Manor, emblazoned with the Malfoy crest, where an antique black Cadillac sat. If the driver found this strange, he didn't comment on it. Draco licked his dry lips, but made no move to get out of the car. Instead, he sat staring at what was once his home. It had been years since he'd last seen it, but the details remained the same. The garden was meticulously cared for, and small candles lit each of the windows. Draco was reminded of his school years, when he returned home for the holidays. But this time his mother wasn't standing in the doorway, waiting to welcome him home. And she never would be again.

"553 Mirari Lane," the driver said, shaking his head. "It's a shame. They really ought to tear the place down."

"What?" Draco said distractedly. Then he remembered that the cab driver couldn't see the stately manor that lay before him. To his eyes it appeared to be nothing but a burnt out ruin. "Oh, right. Of course."

"You own this place?"

"I inherited it," Draco replied.

The man looked at him with a curious expression. "That's a strange inheritance."

"Yes, indeed. How much do I owe you?"

"Seven pounds."

Draco removed a ten pound note from his wallet and handed it to the man. He got out of the cab without waiting for change, and the car backed onto the road as soon as he'd slammed the door. Heart pounding in his chest, he stared up at the house, his eyes immediately drawn to the window of his old room. Cursing himself for foolish sentimentality, he approached the iron gates.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Miranda Flagerneu," Draco said as he turned to face the woman who was stepping out of the Cadillac. Dressed in a business suit she shifted her briefcase to her left hand, extending her right. Draco shook her hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Thank you for coming out here," she said, smiling brightly. "I can't tell you how good it is to see you."

"The pleasure is mine."

"There have been a lot of rumors about you," she said briskly. "They said you were dead."

Draco smiled. "They were wrong."

Miranda laughed, but it sounded forced. "Yes, well, you've been missing for quite some time. No one knew what happened to you."

"I had my reasons for lying low. But they've been recently ... taken care of. Shall we step inside?"

"Of course." Miranda pulled out a ring of antique keys and unlocked the gate, which swung open with a load creak. Slow, careful steps lead Draco into the courtyard. Silence permeated the air, weighing in on him. The fountain no longer ran, the remnants of whatever water had been left was now frozen. The trees and bushes were carefully preened, but the flowers had all withered and died.

Miranda unlocked the front door and they stepped into the foyer. Despite the actual warmth the house seemed cold and uninviting. A full length mirror reflected their image back at them. Draco swallowed heavily, forcing his feet to remain planted on the floor as the desire to leave and never return welled within him. A grand staircase leading upstairs sprawled before them, disappearing into the shadows above. A timid house elf he only vaguely recognized appeared. Draco removed his coat, then offered to take Miranda's and handed them to the house elf, who disappeared as fast as it had appeared.

"I can't tell you what a relief this is," Miranda gushed. "When your father passed away, we were unable to find any living heirs. I never thought I'd live to see the end of the Malfoy line. Such a noble family."

"Yes, what a tragedy that would be," Draco replied, careful to hide the sarcasm from his voice.

Miranda smiled brightly. "Let's do this in the dining room."

Draco nodded, leading the way to a room at the rear of the house. A crystal chandelier lit the room as soon as they entered, casting its faint light around the large room. An oak dinning table, large enough to seat at least thirty, sat in the middle of the room, ornate chairs pulled up to the place settings still on the table, as if prepared for a lavish party.

"Your mother used to throw the most wonderful parties."

Draco nodded, speaking quietly. "I remember."

It was true. The Malfoys always threw the most elaborate parties for society's elite. But, oh, how his mother had loathed them. Loathed playing the game, climbing the social ladder; rubbing the right elbows and greasing the right gears. She was the unwilling aristocratic wife, and she played her role exquisitely when it was required. But after the guests had gone home Draco would always find her, secluded in her private room, loosing herself in one of the Muggle novels she kept hidden from his father.

He looked to the portrait of his mother on the opposite wall, and then quickly looked away. She remained silent, voicing no opinions. She was beautiful, surreal, like a Greek statue come to life. Would his mother be proud of him? Proud of what he'd become? She had, after all, sacrificed so much so that he could live.

"I think you'll be pleased with the condition of the manor," Miranda said, breaking his reverie. "It's been empty since..."

"My parents passed away," Draco finished for her.

"Yes, so almost two years now. But the house elves are bound to the house, so they've continued to work. Some things may be in disrepair, but I believe the general condition of the manor is good."

"That's fine," Draco said, taking a seat at the table, pushing the china setting and crystal glass out of the way.

"Your father named you his soul heir. I have the paperwork here." She laid a manila envelope on the table. "All I really need is for you to sign a few forms. And-" She hesitated. "I'm sure you understand, what with the many methods of-well, it's really just a formality; we just have to be sure. I mean, no one's seen or heard from you in years. And you were officially pronounced a casualty of the war. So..."

"It's perfectly alright. I understand."

Miranda smiled. She opened her briefcase and produced a small crystal bottle filled with a light blue liquid. "This will reverse any effects of the Polyjuice Potion. If you're not using the potion, nothing will happen."

Draco accepted the bottle. "I hope it tastes better than Polyjuice." Miranda laughed but once more it sounded hollow and forced. Pulling the stopper from the bottle, Draco quickly drank the its contents. He set the empty vial on the table and looked at Miranda, who stared at him for several moments before smiling brightly.

"Alright. You're not someone masquerading as Draco Malfoy. Now I just need you to sign a few forms." She pulled out a large stack of parchments and indicated on each where Draco was to sign.

It took nearly an hour for him to read through all the paperwork and sign in all the right places. When they were finally finished Miranda began packing the paperwork back into her briefcase. She laid a ring of heavy iron keys on the table.

"Here are the keys. Any keys you previously had will no longer work."

"And you will remove the barrier?"

"Yes, as soon as I return to the office. You'll be able to Apparate to and from freely."

"Thank you."

"It's my pleasure. And might I add that our offices hope to serve the Malfoy family for generations to come."

Draco forced a smile. "Yes, of course."

Miranda held out her hand. "Well, that's everything. Have a good evening."

"Thank you," Draco replied as he shook her hand. Miranda continued standing there as if she was expecting something more. Draco shifted uncomfortably.

"You know your way out?"

Miranda looked surprised at the obvious dismissal, but quickly masked it with another bright smile. "Y-yes. Of course. Good night, Mr. Malfoy." She gathered her things and disappeared from the room. Draco waited for the sound of the front door opening and closing before slumping down in his chair. Absentmindedly, he tapped his pen on the table as he stared at the designs woven into the intricate table cloth. Finally, his frustration growing, he turned to face his mother's portrait.

"What? You're not going to say anything?"

The Narcissa Malfoy painted in the portrait closed her eyes, her features clearly showing the sadness she felt, and she turned her face away from her son.

"Well, that's good. I don't need any lectures about how I live my life." He stood abruptly and left the room.

The house elf that had been dusting one of the tables in the hallway jumped at his sudden appearance. It was going to take some time for them to get used to having someone else in the house.

"Er..." Draco motioned toward the elf as he tried to recall her name.

The elf bowed. "Sadie, sir."

"Right. Sadie. Bring me today's paper. Bring it to me in the library."

The elf nodded and quickly disappeared. Draco followed the familiar path to his father's library. Torches flamed to life as he stepped across the threshold. The walls were lined with books from the floor to the ceiling; old, leather-bound books, covered in a layer of dust. And behind those books, more books. Those kinds of books you didn't want laying around to be seen by casual company.

His father's desk was in the corner, the chair pulled slightly to the side, as if someone had just gotten up from it. A wave of memories threatened to wash over him... memories of the last time he was in this room... pointing his wand at his father, his father's eyes alight with an insane fury, and then pain. So much pain....

Draco quickly forced his thoughts away from the memories. It does not do to dwell in the past. Draco sat in his father's chair, leaning against the desk as he quietly scanned the titles that lined the walls. Sadie reappeared with the paper and Draco took it from her.

"Is that all you will be needing, master?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, Sadie." He hesitated. "And thank you."

Sadie's eyes bulged even further; she seemed too shocked to say anything.

"That will be all, Sadie."

Sadie nodded and with a crack she was gone. Draco carefully unfolded the paper and rolled his eyes at what he saw.

"Potter," he murmured to himself. "Bloody well can't escape the little pilchard."

A large headline proclaiming "Inauguration Tomorrow!" was splashed across the front page.

"So, Potter won the election. There's a bloody surprise."

But what if he, Draco Malfoy, was to turn up at this inauguration? The return of the sole Malfoy heir, and back from the dead no less. Draco smirked at the thought. That would give those jackals at the Daily Prophet something to write about. Especially if Potter suffered a heart attack from the shock. Draco smiled wickedly at that particular image.

But could the arrangements be made on such short notice? He was going to have to contact Miranda again. If nothing else, tomorrow's event would be interesting.