Dragon's Tears

Fade to Black

The return trip home was no fun. Potter's cronies had hexed Crabbe, Goyle and I on the train, and by the time I'd stumbled out to the platform, it was quite late. Mother was not pleased. I had felt my father's anger many times, but this was the first time that mother had done more than scold me lightly. Now the entire trip home was spent with her glaring at me. But that was only the beginning.

Once we entered the manor, I could tell something was wrong. There were boxes in every room, and all the portraits had been taken down from the walls. Mother told me to follow her, and we walked to father's study at the back of the house. I held my tongue as we walked, but I was horribly curious. What was going on? Had mother finally had enough and kicked him out? Or perhaps she was leaving him? Goyle's parents had separated in our second year, but pureblood marriages rarely ended in divorce. True, father was in Azkaban, but would mother really be strong enough to stand up to him? Her previous attempts had never lasted long.

We entered father's office, and Mother motioned me to a chair as she closed the door behind me. Father's desk was scattered with papers. Mother sat down behind it. She looked at me for a moment, and I was sure she was finally going to begin to scold me. But when she spoke, I was horrified.

"Draco, we are no longer the owners of Malfoy Manor." I was speechless, but mother continued. "As of next week, we have to be completely out of here."

"But...why?" This was unbelievable. More than ten generations of Malfoys had been born in this house. What had she done? How could mother let it go?

"It seems your father had been putting on a front for several years now. We have nothing left. We are destitute."

"How did this happen? When did you learn this? Why didn't you tell me?"

Mother's face was cold when she spoke again. "I got the notice a few days after Lucius was arrested. Your father has been borrowing from everyone. There's nothing left, Draco."

I was stunned. "Everything's gone?" All the portraits, the furniture I'd grown up around, that generations of Malfoys had used...all gone. Because of him.

"We are allowed to take a few things, but no furniture, and the portraits will be put into storage. I'd advise you to pack quickly. There will be a car arriving to take us home soon."

"Home?" where could she possibly mean?

There was a sour look on her face. "My father's house. Now, go and pack, Draco. Time's running short."

I left the room with my head spinning. How could I possibly pack my entire life? How could I live anywhere but here? I mean, sure, I lived at Hogwarts nine months out of the year, but even so, this was where I was born, where I had had said my first word, taken my first step...cast my first spell! Who would I be if I no longer lived here? How could I still be Draco Malfoy?

I went through the motions of packing. There were several house-elves helping, but even so, it took a long time before I was certain there was nothing left that I was willing to leave behind, aside from the furniture. The bed was the hardest to leave behind. I'd slept in it for as long as I could remember. It was the first place I went to each year when I came home from Hogwarts. How would I be able to sleep in another bed? Even at Hogwarts, I only tossed and turned. Sleep was something that only happened in that bed. I swore to myself that someday it would be mine again.

Then I found myself in the hall, surrounded by far too few belongings, watching as the luggage was moved into the car that waited to whisk me and my mother away from the house that had belonged to uncounted generations of Malfoys, but would now probably be sold to the lowest bidder.

The ride to Grandfather Black's house was just as silent as the one to Malfoy Manor had been. I had no wish to talk about anything, and simply sat there, lost in thought. What did this mean to my life? Was I still Draco Malfoy? I felt as though everything in my life had come crashing down. How could he do this to me?

We arrived at grandfather's, and though I had met him once or twice before, he was still much of a stranger to me. Father had insisted that I not be 'coddled' by grandparents, so neither of my grandfathers had been welcome at the Manor. I was rather startled by what I saw. The man was obviously in his last years. He made Dumbledore look like he was my age.

He greeted mother warmly, kissing her cheek, then turned to me. "Ah, Draco, my boy. How you've grown. You look just like your father did at your age."

I grunted noncommittally.

He turned back to my mother. "I realize it's not as lush as you're used to now, Narcissa, dear, but there is a suite on the second floor all set up for you and Draco to share."

"Thank you, father. I'm sure it will be fine."

The summer passed slowly, with little to do but wander the halls of Grandfather's house--far smaller than Malfoy Manor, certainly. Occasionally, I would spend all day in my room, until mother insisted that I get out and get some air.

Father disappeared from my life. There were no letters, and I had no way to contact him. All my letters, sent first to Azkaban, then later simply addressed to "Lucius Malfoy" were all returned when I tried to send them. I was furious with him. How dare he desert us in this way? He hadn't treated me like his son in years. I was just an annoyance to be discarded when he was bored with me. Well, that was fine. I didn't need him anyway. I'd take on a new name, one that let him know just how I felt. Let him keep the Malfoy name. It meant nothing now, anyway, thanks to his antics.

And so I legally changed my name to Black. I was startled at just how easy it was. Grandfather was horribly pleased. The last male heir of the Black family had died just a few months before, after all. This would mean a new beginning for the line.

The new school year soon began, and though Crabbe and Goyle were unfazed, most of the rest of the Slytherins, Pansy especially, were horrified by the name change. But the best reaction was yet to come. It was not until our first Potions class that Potter heard of my name change. He was livid. And his reaction caused Snape to take two hundred points from Gryffindor. It was delightful. For the rest of the year, any time someone would call me by my new name, I would sit back and watch Potter's reaction. His face would go red, and his fists would clench, and those eyes would shoot sparks in my direction. I loved it. It was better than taking points from Gryffindor the year before. I'd taken his godfather's name. It was brilliant. Why hadn't I tried it before?

Unfortunately, the pleasure my name change provided did not last long. One evening in late October, I was out on the pitch practicing for the first match of the season. Potter had been re-instated, and I wanted to make sure I was at my best. He hadn't been on a broom for a year. I was sure to win this time. I was closing on the snitch when I saw something moving from the corner of my eye. I turned to see a young woman walking down the Hogwarts lawn towards Hogsmeade. She seemed somehow familiar to me, so I abandoned the snitch, and followed her on my broom. When I got close enough to recognize her, I was horrified. It was that woman. Was her child still staying with Snape? I began to wonder, and soon I found myself constantly walking by Snape's rooms, in the vain hope that I might hear something. Some snatch of a baby's cry...But what would I do if I did? Who would I tell? Why did I want to know? It haunted me, but I could not let go. Who was that child? Was she truly my father's daughter?

Though I did not see her again, I could not stop myself from thinking about her. I knew that my father had escaped from Azkaban, but at the time, I thought he had returned to his master. Now I wondered. Could he be with that woman, still? And if so, was that their child? Had he chosen that girl over me? But then why had that woman been at the school? Perhaps he wasn't with her? Or, perhaps he didn't know about the girl...Snape had suggested something of that sort, hadn't he? Perhaps she was worried that Lucius would hurt the baby? Worse, kill her?

The rest of the school year was spent in a funk. I still got a charge when Potter was angry about my name, but alone...Alone, other things occupied my mind. Anger. Pain. And Shame. Shame that this man, who was related to me by blood, was more interested in a little fling, than living up to the good name he had originally given me. I was pleased, at least, that I could cut him by making sure that he would be the last of the Malfoy line. It ended with him. My children would be Blacks. As would theirs. He would not win.

The school year ended, and a new one began with no further letters or any kind of contact from my father. Fine. If he wanted it that way, I would make sure to forget him, too. I could live without him.

But I couldn't. Though I wanted to hate him, in the end, the anger ate me alive. I had to find a way to get even with him. My final year passed in a blur. Voldemort was defeated, and Potter became the hero everyone knew he was. Damn him. My NEWTS went well, and then I said good-bye to my friends, good-bye to school, and returned to my grandfather's house.

There still was no real need for me to work, as grandfather intended to leave me everything, except for a small allowance for my mother to live on. So I began to plan. Unfortunately, I was sidetracked. My grandfather became quite ill, and I spent much of my time sitting by his side. He died in January, and my plans were put off again as I dealt with the lawyers. Now I was a Black in fact as well as name.

Time passed quickly as I dealt with legalities, and it was a while before I was able to go back to my plans. Another summer had passed before I had time to return to them. I hired a detective in August, and he went to work. Unfortunately, the woman was hard to track down. It seemed she lived in the Muggle world, and was that much harder to trace. Another year passed before I had an address.

Now I had the means to do to him what I wanted. But it wasn't enough. I had to go see him, first. I had to know. I had to hear from his mouth that he no longer wanted me. And a few more months passed before I got up the courage to go see him.

The girl would be older I knew, and I had had confirmation from the detective that my father was indeed with that woman. But harsh reality hit me when I found myself outside their window one week, shortly before Christmas. Now I knew. He didn't want me. He couldn't care less what my name was any more. He had his perfect family. And I did not belong in it.

They were gathered around a tree. But it wasn't just Father, that woman and the girl. There was a new girl, looking quite like her mother as she toddled around the woman's ankles while Father held up the older girl so she could place the star on the top of the tree. And worse, that woman was pregnant again. And this time, it would probably be a son. One he could truly be proud of. His truly perfect son. Not like me, the one he had discarded...

I ran from the house, as fast as I could, and when I collapsed to my knees, I began to heave. I sobbed into the night, coughing up mucus and little else, the cold wind biting at my cheeks.

I knew now. There was no hope. He didn't want me, or need me. But I wasn't about to let him forget me. He would remember. And I would make sure of it. He would live to rue the day he discarded my mother and me. He would pay.