Harry And Draco Chronicles

Chapter 9: Narcissa’s gift

Draco crept from his bedroom, carefully checking the long hallway before proceeding down the spiraling staircase to the first floor. All was quiet in the manor, except for the faint chatter of the house-elves, who were busy preparing the rooms in the guest quarters for that morning's visitors. His heart pounded when he passed the large portraits of his ancestors - who all had the same scowling expression on their faces that his father always wore.

Luckily for him, all of them were asleep, or else they would surely question why he was sneaking around the house at one in the morning. His father had alerted everyone to keep a watchful eye on him, and report whatever suspicious activity they witnessed. Surely, nothing would please Draco’s great-great grandfather more than snitching on him and watching him get punished. The elderly man was never one of Draco's dearest friends; even as a small boy, he remembered the man's portrait glaring at him.

Draco stopped by a mirror to check his appearance, smoothing back his long hair from the left side of his face. His lips curled into the smile he planned on giving the green-eyed young man who had haunted his dreams for nearly a year.

All those months of separation had been a painful ordeal for him, especially the few weeks leading up to the ambush at King's Cross Station. He learned about the attack from the Death Eater meetings that took place in his father’s den that past summer, since it was his responsibility to serve the men their food; Lucius no longer trusted his house-elves, and would only allow his son into the room. But as Draco poured everyone's drink and made sure they had enough food, he took down mental notes on all they planned to do to Harry.

On the day of the ambush, he stayed in his bedroom, wringing his hands in anxiety as he wondered if Harry would know which curses to use and when. His father had been so arrogant as he prepared to leave with the other Death Eaters. He even instructed the house-elves to prepare the grand ballroom for the celebration that would take place later that night. But Draco knew all was well with Harry the moment his father walked back into the house that night, bloodied and bruised. Instead of music and the clicking of champagne glasses wafting through the house that evening, the only sounds Draco heard were those of his father moaning in pain from his injuries. The gash on Lucius' stomach had been caused by his own poisoned knife and could not be cured with magic. The man had to endure weeks of agony as his wounds slowly healed.

Draco crept into the ballroom and approached the fireplace he used when he last spoke to Harry. He took a deep breath and smoothed his hair back once more, when the lights flickered on. He nearly jumped back when the bright glow of the overhead chandeliers flooded his eyes.

"What are you doing up so late?" came the snarling voice from behind him.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and froze in place. He then turned around and found himself staring at his father, who was dressed in his usual black robes. His mother, who wore her bed gowns of deep green and her long hair weaved into a braid, stood beside him. Draco scratched his head; he had been certain he heard his father snoring in his bed earlier that night.

"Why are you in here?" Lucius asked again, his penetrating eyes focused on his son.

Draco tried to adopt a placid expression, but it was difficult to accomplish due to the glare his father was bestowing on him. That was the same look that always made him cringe. As a small child, whenever he would throw himself on the floor of the stores in Hogsmeade and cry about a toy or some other treat he wanted, nothing – not even his mother’s pleas – could get him to stop, except for his father’s glare.

"I couldn’t sleep," Draco answered, hoping his father could not detect anything in his voice that would give away the fear he was feeling.

Lucius stayed quiet for a moment, his eyes traveling up and down his son’s body. "Why are you dressed then?"

"I was thinking of going outside for a walk later and I didn’t want to be in my night clothes, Father." Years of telling tales had enabled Draco to think of answers on the spot - a gift he genuinely cherished. And the lie was made ever more believable since the double doors leading to the back veranda and lily gardens lay only a few feet away.

Narcissa brought her hand to her mouth and yawned. She then looked up at her husband. "You see? He’s not up to anything. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to bed."

She took one step towards the door, when Lucius grabbed her hand and pulled her back to his side. "He is up to no good,” he snapped. “Don’t believe his little story. I know exactly what he’s doing up so late." He then paused and glanced from his wife to Draco. "I know for certain he was preparing to communicate with Potter."

Draco held his breath.

Narcissa made no reaction and continued looking at the door. "Lucius, I have no time for this. Now, what business would Draco have communicating with that boy?" She turned to her husband, placing a dainty hand on his shoulder. "Darling, I think you’re just being a little paranoid. I know the Ministry’s investigation into our home life has made you a bit jumpy. But that’s no reason for you to make such accusations against your own son."

Lucius glanced down at her. He grabbed her hand, which had now trickled down to his collarbone in a lame attempt to calm him, and squeezed hard. "Woman, let me assure you that I am perfectly sane. There is nothing wrong with me. And I have good reason to be suspicious of your son." He then pushed her arm away. "He’s not the perfect child you envision him to be." He took a step towards Draco, causing the young man to instinctively bring his hands to his face.

"Lucius please," said Narcissa. "Not tonight. He’s done nothing wrong."

Lucius let out a snort and glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. "Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit him." He continued to walk around Draco, his hands placed behind his back. "Do you know why I decided your son should be home schooled instead of attending Durmstrang?"

"Because that school is far away and you know I wanted him close."

Lucius reached out his hand and grazed the back of Draco’s head, his fingers barely coming into contact with his son’s fine hair. "Yes, that too. But my main reason for keeping Draco at home was so I could keep an eye on him. Make sure he wouldn’t be owling a certain young man, like he was doing when I first pulled him out of Hogwarts." He walked back to where his wife was standing. "Do you know the real reason I pulled him out of Hogwarts?"

"That Potter kid had him bewitched," answered Narcissa. "He was trying to make a fool out of our family by seducing our son."

A smile curled onto Lucius’ lips. "That’s what Draco would like to have everyone believe. But in reality, he was enjoying being seduced by--" He winced just then. "Potter."

Narcissa pinned her arms tightly against her chest. “That’s just hearsay created by that godforsaken poltergeist whom Dumbledore can’t control. He just said those things to start trouble.”

And Peeves had indeed started a great deal of mayhem with his gossip. Everyone in Narcissa’s circle of friends had even heard about the news. Although they had all expressed their condolences to her - even offering to help her send a curse to the green-eyed boy at Hogwarts - some of the ladies had lingering doubts about Draco’s sexuality. One woman was even brazen enough to express these views at an annual Ladies of the Pureblood Luncheon on the Malfoy estate. The unfortunate woman received a tongue lashing from an irate Narcissa, and was further banned from all future functions.

Lucius turned to his wife. "It is true. He’s been sleeping with Potter for God knows how long."

Narcissa began to shake her head, as she stared up at her husband. "This is not funny," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "It’s a cruel thing to imply such things about your only child."

"I am not implying anything. Of course your son would never admit that to you. But I have all the proof I need." Lucius walked back to the dark corner of the room, near the windows. He reached his hand into the velvety fabric of the drapery and pulled out a squealing Tally. Holding her by her large ears, he dragged her to his wife and son. "Give me the bundle," he said to the house-elf.

From the pocket of her tattered and torn makeshift dress, she pulled out a large stack of letters and handed it to her master. Lucius took the letters and began to read them to everyone. Draco closed his eyes then, as his father read the letters Harry had written him over the course of two years. Some of them were silly in nature and overly romantic, but others were much more serious, as they discussed details of Voldemort’s attack.

"Now you know the truth," said Lucius to his wife. “Your son has been keeping a terrible secret from you. And it seems that he’s the one who told Potter about the attack. And all this time, I thought it was Pettigrew."

Lucius had without a doubt thought the man who was now in the Ministry of Magic’s custody had given away the precious information to Potter. He never did trust Pettigrew completely, often telling Voldemort that he questioned his loyalties.

Ever since the capture of the other Death Eaters, Lucius had been plotting Pettigrew’s demise. He had even devised a plan to sneak into Ministry headquarters to discover where they had relocated the man, who was now given a new identity.

"I never thought my own son would betray me like this,” Lucius said. “But I should have guessed." He brought his hand to his head, and began to rub his temples. "I should never have allowed you into those meetings.”

He took deep breaths to keep his emotions under control, as he continued to circle around his son. "It took a lot for me to trust you again. I thought that after our little discussion in your bedroom, you would have learned your lesson."

Draco clearly remembered the ‘discussion’ he had with his father on the day he discovered he would not be attending Durmstrang. The decision to keep him at home had caused him to leap from his bed and express his displeasure. It wasn’t so much his desire to go to that particular school that fueled his outrage, but his need to be around others his own age. Plus, his tutor’s monotonic bantering during every class session filled him with great boredom.

He reached for his face, his fingertips gliding over the intricate cobweb of bruising and bumps that lay on his normally smooth and milky white skin - the outcome of his little protest. He then closed his eyes, imagining the damage his father would cause to him that night.

Lucius continued to watch him, a pleased smirk growing on the corner of his thin lips as he detected - Draco was sure of it, as nothing escape his father’s keen eyes - his son’s fear. Walking around the beautifully appointed room, he continued to read more of the letters. He seemed to get pleasure in watching the tortured expressions on his wife’s face when he read a portion of an old letter that dealt with sexual matters.

"I long to have your hands on me," read Lucius from a correspondence Harry wrote Draco the year before, "caressing my skin and your mouth bringing me to..." He paused and walked to his wife, leaning close to her face. "Bringing me to orgasm."

Narcissa made a whimpering noise as those words flooded her ears. She brought her hand to her face, in an attempt to cover up her swelling emotions. But Lucius pulled her fingers away. He then pressed his face against the side of hers and muttered, "This is what happens to young men whose mothers coddle them too much. Your little boy isn’t so perfect now, is he? If we had raised him the way I wanted, the way I was brought up by my own family, we would not be faced with this problem."

He pulled away and walked towards Draco, as he continued to read. "’Our time spent together, holding one another has brought me complete joy. You have enriched my--"

"Stop it," Draco shouted, his eyes now growing misty. "Those letters are private."

Lucius paused, as he was taken aback by his son’s show of courage. However, his fascination with Draco’s gumption quickly waned and he continued to read once more.

Draco tried to grab the letters out of his father’s hand, but the man was too quick and moved towards the fireplace. While taking a long look at his son, he dangled the correspondences over the blazing flame. Draco held his breath for a moment, hoping and praying the man was only bluffing; but deep in his heart he knew his father never bluffed. And just as he had feared, the letters slipped from his father’s fingers and became envelopled by the flames.

Draco closed his eyes, thinking how those were the only things he had to remember Harry by. Those letters, which he read on a nightly basis as he sat on his windowsill under the magnificent glow of the moon, were what had gotten him through those lonely months he was trapped in his gilded cage.

He was then filled with rage, which had been building up for nearly a year as he endured his father’s cruel injustice on his freedom, mind and skin. "How dare you do such a thing?" Draco shouted, coming within inches of his father’s face. He knew better than to accost his father, but all logic and reasoning was abandoned at that moment. "I will never forgive you for what you’ve done."

Lucius showed little emotion as he stared back at Draco with unblinking eyes. "You’re showing a lot of courage right now. I applaud you for that. But let me remind you, like I did the last time you thought you would be brave, that I am not one of your school friends. I am your father, and I deserve and demand your obedience. Being the man of the house, I have rules and regulations by which all must abide. And if you want to remain here, you will follow my orders."

"I don’t care about your rules. Everything you have done up to this time has been unfair."

Lucius lowered his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You had no right," continued Draco, "to invade my privacy like that. And--" He stopped talking when he felt the sting of his father’s hand across his face. He tried to regain his balance, but his father’s body was soon on top of his, forcing him to the ground.

"I’ve given you everything," Lucius spouted, as his fingers encircled around Draco’s neck, holding the young man steady. "You live in one of the finest homes there is and have all that your heart desires." He squeezed down on Draco’s neck. "Haven’t I done all I could for you?"

Draco flayed his arms and legs in the air in an attempt to get away, but he could not budge from the position he was in. He felt himself growing lightheaded, as he struggled to pry those rough fingers from his skin.

"With all that you have," Lucius went on, "you still find it necessary to shame the family name." And with that he brought his fist into the air, letting it hover just above his son’s face.

Narcissa screamed as she watched the scene before her. She had witnessed varying degrees of it during that year, but had never grown used to seeing the brutality her husband always bestowed upon her son. She brought her hands to her face, shielding her eyes from the view. But it was hard to ignore the sounds Lucius' fist made when it came into contact with young flesh. She allowed herself to be overtaken by her emotions and cried out loud. The house-elf placed her hands over her ears and retreated to her hiding place behind the curtains.

Lucius ignored his wife’s wails and the high-pitched crying of the house-elf, as he raised and lowered his fist several more times.

Draco lay on the floor, feeling nothing, as the first blow had knocked him unconscious. But as he regained his senses, the voices around him seemed muffled and faint. The pressure that had once been around his neck was no longer there, and he could now breath easily. He tried to open his eyes, but was blinded by red. He then saw a figure rush to his side, crouching down on the floor next to him. What he felt next made him wince.

"It’s okay darling," said Narcissa, as she gently wiped Draco’s face with the hem of her nightgown. "Everything will be fine." But she stopped cleaning him and lowered her head as the tears streamed down her face. She was only on that floor for a short time before Lucius lifted her to her feet.

"I will have none of this fuss in my household,” he ordered. “I want you to stop crying right this minute." He brought his hand to her face, letting it float only inches from her delicate skin. He watched her move backwards, as if she expected him to strike her. However, his fingers gently curled underneath her chin. "My dear," he uttered in the softest voice he could muster, "there's no need for alarm. The young man will be all right. You don’t think I’ve been too cruel with him, do you? I only did what I had to do. He’s a man now and it’s about time he got punished like one."

His hand trickled to the nape of her neck. "Calm yourself down," he went on. However, Narcissa continued to cry, her sobs getting louder and causing the servants in the guest quarters to cease their conversations. But having been well acquainted with the proceedings of the Malfoy family, the house-elves soon continued with what they were doing.

He pressed his face against his wife's cheek and muttered, "Stop all of this nonsense right now. I will not have this sort of hysteria in my household. "

Narcissa immediately closed her eyes, fighting back all emotions that were flooding within her. She then allowed Lucius to walk her to the hall.

"I want you to go back to your quarters,” he began once more, “and get some rest. I will not have you looking a mess when my guests arrive." He then cleared his throat, as he was now granting her permission to leave. But when she made it halfway down the hall, her long silk gown billowing behind her, he called after her once more. "By the way, I expect you to be in good spirits in the morning. I will not have you holding a grudge or making any backhanded comments to me under your breath because of what has just happened. Do I make myself clear?" He began to rock on his heels as he awaited an answer from her.

"I understand," Narcissa muttered, before continuing on her way. Her steps were slow and well calculated, in an attempt to show she was not affected by the attack on her son; she did not want to arouse him anymore than he already was.

Lucius then looked back at the young man still on the floor. He approached his son, when the crying of the house-elf, who was still buried underneath the folds of the curtains, caught his attention. "You may leave now," he bellowed, causing her to stop crying. She then peaked her head from behind the curtains and looked at him, before making a mad dash for the door.

Seeing that he was alone with Draco, Lucius knelt over his son, eyeing the warm blood that flowed from the deep gashes on his face. "What will I do with you?" he muttered to himself, as he lowered his head in concentration. He then began to rub his left hand, groaning every now and then when he touched the sore muscles. "I hope I haven’t broken it again because of you."

~*~*~

Draco’s eyes darted to the figure standing before him, whom he assumed was the young house-elf he had grown fond of those months he was isolated from all others except his father's Death Eater friends. He had welcomed her company on many occasions, even allowing her to stay in his room for an extended period of time; however, she never talked to him and would just stare at his face. But he never imagined she would search his closet for that secret compartment that lay underneath his mountain of leather shoes, where he hid his most private possessions. But he was not angry with her, as she was merely curious about his private affairs and had no idea Lucius would get his hands on the letters.

But as his eyes became more focused, he shrank back in his bed when he realized the person staring down at him was his father. His heart beat rapidly, as he thought of what the man would do to him again.

Over the course of time, Draco had come to see the possibility of an altercation with his father as inevitable, since he always received a stern warning, glance or slap from the man every now and then. But it had been a long while since his father had displayed his darkest temper, as he did that night.

"It's about time you woke up," said Lucius. "I was beginning to think I would have to wake you myself."

Draco looked around him; he was only half conscious of how he got into his bed. The feeling of being lifted from the ground was oddly familiar, and he wondered if his father was the one who had done it. "No," he thought. His father would never lower himself to do something of that nature and probably got one of the servants to do the task for him. Draco lifted his hand to his face; his skin ached as his fingers glided against it. He could still feel the deep scars of that night’s wounds, which would eventually blend with the myriad of other scars his father had given him over the year.

Lucius began to pace around the length of Draco’s bed, keeping his eyes on him the entire time. He then sighed loudly. "I don’t know why I’ve indulged you for so long. I’ve known about your communications with him for a while now, even seeing the late night owl posts you’ve tried so hard to keep secret. I never did anything about it before because I thought it would run its course."

Draco immediately narrowed his eyes when he heard his father’s statement. The man had indeed done plenty to punish him whenever he suspected him of sending off letters to Harry.

"But I will not," Lucius continued, "tolerate you nor your deviant lifestyle any longer." He now stood at the foot of Draco’s bed, casting a gloomy shadow over the young man. "I’m just lucky that insufferable house-elf is so nosy. If I didn’t find her reading your correspondences with Potter in the garden, I would not have known you were the one that told him about the attack. Your actions got our Lord killed. And now I have to suffer with my injuries." He gingerly touched the side of his stomach. "You’ve grown to be such a disappointment for me. I had great hopes for you. I always imagined you leading the Death Eaters alongside me.”

He walked to Draco’s closet and opened it. "You had all of this," he said, running his hand along the numerous robes and cloaks. "You had everything you could want, but you threw it all away." He made his way back to Draco’s bed. "I’ve decided that you cannot reside in my house for any longer."

Draco moved to the other side of the bed when he saw his father’s hand trickle into his cloaks. His heart pounded, as he imagined his father pulling out a number of weapons to hurt him with; but it was mostly his father’s silver dagger that filled him with the most fear. However, his fright was all for not, as his father’s hand curled around his belt, re-adjusting it.

"I’ve decided I don’t want you here anymore,” Lucius said. “I want you out of my life and home, effective immediately. I don’t care where you go, as long as you’re not here."

Draco sat back on his bed in amazement. He had long expected his father to send him to a military academy in Leeds; Lucius often made this threat when the young man was being cheeky or smart-alecky. However, Draco never imagined he would be thrown out. He stared at his father, trying hard to read the expression in the man’s eyes. But Lucius’ stare contained the same emotion that was always present, whether he was talking to a friend or foe: surliness.

"Are you serious about this?" Draco blurted. But he knew it was a ludicrous question the moment it escape his lips; his father was not one to joke around.

Lucius did not respond and walked to the window.

Draco rested his head against the headboard and stared at his father’s back, hoping the man would turn around and say it was merely a threat. But his father continued looking out the window, eyeing the eagle owl that soared past. Draco breathed a sigh of relief that the owl was not making a delivery to him that night.

"I will give you five minutes to get out of here," said Lucius.

Draco drew in a sharp breath. Although he had thought of running away many times before – and even attempted doing so on several occasions – he still couldn’t imagine himself without his home. His family’s riches had cushioned his entire life, and he grew accustomed to the lifestyle his last name provided him.

Without saying a word, Draco got up from his bed and walked to the closet. He drew out his leather bag and began to stuff various clothing into it. He was going to reach for his shoes when his father grabbed his wrist.

"All of these things are mine," Lucius spat, pulling the bag out of Draco’s hands. "The only things you will be allowed to take with you are the clothes on your back. And don’t think for a moment, you’ll be able to stay at Primrose Estate. I’ve informed all the servants there that you are not to be let onto the property. You’re on your own."

Draco looked up in amazement at his father; the family’s second home in Brighton Beach was where he had planned on staying. Now he had nowhere else to go. He never imagined he would be sent into the real world with nothing. He assumed his father would at least give him a large allowance and one of the house-elves to help soften the blow of being out on his own.

"You now have four minutes to get out of here," Lucius announced. He pushed open the windows, allowing a rush of cold air into the room. "I would hurry if I were you. You only have a short time to make it to the gates." His eyes flittered to the large iron gates that were now being opened by his hooded security men.

Draco didn’t want to ask what would happen if he didn’t make it out of the manor within those few minutes. He took one last look at his father, before heading out of the room. As he walked down the hall, his heart raced, sending fear throughout his body. He was soon sprinting down the corridors, almost tripping down the stairs as he made his way to the front door. But as he reached out his hand to open the door, someone grabbed hold of his arm.

He turned around to find himself looking at his mother. Although her face was calm, he could still see the pain that lingered in her eyes. The expression that was on her face when she attempted to clean the blood off of him suddenly flooded his mind; that was the first time she had shown any real suffering on his behalf. After most of his beatings, she normally berated him for arousing his father’s anger.

"I have to go," he said. "He’s making me leave."

Narcissa made no reaction; it was apparent she already knew what was happening. "I want you to have this," she finally said, her voice just above a whisper. She reached into the pocket of her nightgown and pulled out a small key. "I don’t know what made me set it up for you when you were a child, but I did. I thought it would be useful to you one of these days. But I never imagined I would have to give it to you so soon."

Draco glanced down at the key, which had 142 engraved on it.

"It’s a key to your vault," she said. "You’ll find more than enough money in there to last you quite a while." Her eyes met his for a brief moment, detecting the doubts that were looming in their gray depths. "He doesn’t know about it, so don’t worry about him closing out your account." She then closed his hands around the key, before turning around and starting down the hall to her room.

Draco raced after her and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Why don’t you come with me? You and I can make a new life for ourselves."

Narcissa shook her head. "My home and life are here with him. Plus, he needs me."

An awkward silence grew between them as they stared at one another. There were many things he could have done at that moment to express the emotions he was feeling, but he remained still, as if in a stupor. He wanted so much to wrap his arms around her and whisper his gratitude, but he knew the gesture would be met with uneasiness; his family

always found it difficult to show and receive affection. Draco took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. But before he could think of something to utter, he heard his father’s voice echo through the marble halls.

"You have one more minute," Lucius called out from the third floor of the house.

Draco sprinted to the door, and made his way down the lawn. He was glad he was dressed in his normal clothes and not his pajamas, as the night air was biting. He glanced over his shoulder for a brief moment, eyeing the small figure standing in the doorway. That was the last time he would ever lay his eyes on his mother.