Guilty Until Proven Innocent

Chapter Seven: Malfoy, A History

It was raining in the south of Switzerland. No, it was raining kneezles and werewolves, that's what it was doing. Maybe if she was lucky enough, Layla would see Remus falling out of the sky any time now. She rolled her eyes at herself and tore her eyes away from the window. It was a rather large window with the curtains drawn back; the thunderstorm raging outside was loud and very evident. But now was not the time to be mesmerized by raindrops.

Layla had more pressing matters at hand. She was at the Malfoy Manor in Switzerland to check up on Draco Malfoy. Everything here belonged to him now, as both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were both dead. Anything in the estate that belonged to an aunt, uncle, cousin, friend, sister, or brother--stated by either of their wills--had already been taken.

Right now, a little house elf named Ella was leading her to Draco Malfoy's room. Apparently, he didn't leave his bedroom very often since he was still in shock after everything that had happened. This bit of news hadn't shocked her in the slightest like it had the others--mainly Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, and even Harry--they hadn't seen Draco right after he'd killed Malfoy, his own father. Because of their reaction to this bit of news, Layla had thought it best that she be the one to check up on Draco, although she, herself, had been wary about it.

But, there was no chance for second thoughts now, Layla mused. She looked around the halls and saw a few portraits hanging up. She saw portraits of old Malfoys, of dead Malfoys, and of a few living Malfoys. She saw pictures of Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy, all of whom looked calm and in control of everything in the world.

Layla's eyes had lingered on one portrait of Narcissa--just Narcissa. Layla remembered being quite jealous of Narcissa's natural beauty. She had been only two years ahead of Layla and one year below Remus and them, but Narcissa was the epitome of beauty, it seemed. All of the boys appeared to be smitten with her. She remembered how she had once been so angry with Dolohov in their fifth year--when she'd started liking him--because he had practically been drooling over Narcissa; she hadn't talked to him nicely for a week.

Layla smiled faintly. Now that she looked back on that memory, she found it funny. Dolohov had been on his knees by the fifth day, begging her to speak with him and asking her why she was so mad at him. Now that she thought about it, Regulus had been oddly cheerful throughout her four days of silence with Dolohov.

~*~

"Layla, please, tell me what I did wrong!" Antonin cried out. Layla smirked at him and simply looked the other way. The only way she was ever going to talk to him again was if he humiliated himself; and he was getting ready to do just that. He'd never appreciated her as much as Regulus did; he skimmed over her plenty of times, which hurt her. He was usually busy gawking at Narcissa Black, too.

"He'll come around," Regulus had once told her.

Of course he'll come around. Antonin the Great can't stand to be snubbed, and especially if the snubbing is done by a girl, Layla thought as she listened to Antonin's begging. He can't stand it if some girl doesn't find him attractive enough to talk to him. How far is he stuck up his own arse anyways? And he's one of my great friends because...? How can I like him so much!? Will it go away or is this crush an early symptom of insanity?

"I beg of you, Layla; I need your help," Antonin said. Ooh, wrong choice of words. Layla whipped her head around and glared at him heatedly. He was on his knees now with his hands together in front of him, but she could care less. He shrunk a little.

"Oh, so all I am to you is a book that you can open and read to find answers that will help you out in your classes? All I am to you is someone that will re-write your stupid Transfiguration essays that you should have done two nights prior? All I am to you is a bookworm know-it-all that you can consult when you can not, do not, and never will understand something!?" Layla was red in the face and full of fury. Antonin looked ready to piss in his pants on the spot. "Well, let me tell you something, Antonin Dolohov; I am not any of that load of crap, and I will not be treated like any of that! If you want me to speak to you, pull your head out of your arse and realize that not all girls will instantly adore you and that I will not be ignored until you start slipping in your studies!"

Antonin, eyes wide, was now cowering under her towering figure. Truthfully, she wasn't that tall, but as he was on his knees and getting lower to the ground by the second and she was standing over him, she was now a towering figure to him. She looked ready to kill. Everyone was gawking at them. They'd never once before gotten into a fight and she was one of the quietest Slytherins of all. No one had heard her raise her voice a tiny bit, much less scream. From going from quiet to full out screaming, it was quite the shocker. Regulus, however, sat on the couch, calmly reading a book and ignoring the scene totally.

"I don't know why I became friends with you in the first place!" Layla exclaimed exasperatedly. She threw her hands up in disgust. "You only played friendly with me to bump your grades up. Antonin Dolohov, I hate you!" She stormed into the fifth year Slytherin girls' dormitory. There was a moment of silence. She popped her head back out. "And I hope you fail your O.W.L.s miserably because I'm not going to help you!"

And with that, Layla had slammed the door shut, leaving everyone stunned and Antonin about to cry on the spot. She had thrown herself onto her bed and did what teenage girls did best: Cry her eyes out onto her pillow over some stupid boy that was too thick to appreciate her at all.

~*~

Ah, how Layla missed those days. She shook her head at herself and resisted the urge to give a snort. After that reality check and two more days, Antonin had written her a two page letter of apology and then had apologized to her face-to-face. The only reason she hadn't smacked him in the last two days of that week was because Regulus had calmed her down. Besides, Antonin couldn't really gawk at Narcissa anymore because she'd become engaged that week to one Lucius Malfoy, who wasn't at Hogwarts anymore. Layla knew that it had been more of an arranged marriage than anything else.

Layla shuddered at the thought of being pushed into an arranged marriage. It had only been a week after she had broken up with Antonin that her own family had been pushing her with the idea of marriage. She'd just broken up with a long-term boyfriend a week ago and there they were, saying, "Oh, doesn't he look handsome?"

'No, mother, I do not want to marry Severus Snape and I don't think he wishes to marry me,' Layla thought dryly.

Yes, sadly enough, her parents had brought up that idea. Severus was a pureblood and with all the hype about blood and money, he'd been the perfect suitor for her. But, alas, according to a once seventeen year-old Layla Milan, Severus Snape was not her strapping Prince Charming. It had saddened her parents far more than she had originally thought it would.

Layla grinned at the memory of her parents' first try at setting her and Severus up together as soon as she had gotten out of Hogwarts. There had been some type of formal ball (to this day, she still didn't know why the ball had been held in the first place) and she had been forced to go. She remembered wearing this pretty green dress with a robe over it. High heels were just not her thing and it had been a pain to wear them.

Formal balls and dances were the reason why Layla disliked classical music with a passion.

~*~

"Why am I dancing with you again?" Layla demanded, sounding grumpy.

"Because your mother and father told you to," Severus merely answered, also sounding grumpy. It was an awkward thing to do - dancing was - especially with someone you barely knew.

Layla knew Severus from Hogwarts, but he'd been three years ahead of her. She knew that he'd not been popular with the people in and out of Slytherin. She'd seen James Potter and Sirius Black pick on him before--she'd even stopped them from harassing him once--but that had been three years ago. She hadn't seen him since then and now, all of a sudden, she was forced to dance with him. It hardly seemed fair to Layla; and she didn't like it.

"Then why are you dancing with me?" Layla questioned. "It's not like you like me or anything."

"Because if I didn't, my father would..." Severus trailed off and spun around. She knew that he detested dancing just as much as she did, if not even more. Coming from a pureblood family, cold and distant as usual, every child, girl and boy, was taught how to dance; it was tradition--and a very stupid tradition, according to Layla. She hated these bloody ball things. Her parents never ceased into throwing her into the arms of some pureblood wizard.

"Ah, I see," Layla sighed. She idly wondered what it would be like if they didn't have parents.

"And besides, my father likes you," Severus added.

"Great, I feel flattered," Layla said sarcastically.

"I knew you would be," Severus replied, just as sarcastically. She grinned at him lightly, but that was it. In all actuality, she really did feel uncomfortable. Her older sister, whom found Layla's outfit for the ball tonight, had forced her into an old fashioned green dress that had a corset, which were very uncomfortable and tight. She could barely breathe as it was now. If the maids had pulled on those strings any harder, her head would've popped off. And high heels were killer (literally), especially when dancing.

But it wasn't just that. Layla didn't like being thrown into a random bloke's arms at random just because he was a rich pureblood. Dancing was a very intimate thing, honestly, with all of the close stances and she just didn't like it. She could tell that Severus was uneasy, too. She could tell not only from the strained thoughts he was having, but from the way he had his hands on her hips. That was what really made her squirm and tighten her muscles.

As if luck would have it, Layla staggered in her high heels--blast those dratted things--and she squealed as she knocked into Severus, dragging him down a little because her hands were on his shoulders. His hand slipped and she went rigid, blushing furiously. She slowly pulled herself upright. He was pink in the face, too.

"Sorry," they both said in unison. They were silent, just staring at each other and blushing even worse. It was all quite embarrassing, but they just kept dancing for the sake of their humanity.

13

Layla grinned at the memory. At the time, she'd been feeling way too sorry for herself to feel any pity towards Severus. She was a terrible dancer in high heels. She'd tripped quite a few times, but she vividly remembered that trip.

She shook her head. Obviously, Layla had gotten out of that mess when she brought Antonin home to meet her parents. A month later when that relationship was over, she'd been flooded with letters from her parents, talking about how Severus Snape was still "single" and how a man named Walden McNair thought she was beautiful. Layla snorted as she could clearly remember what her response had been to that.

"Walden McNair...? Hey, wasn't he that thirtysomething bloke at Narcissa's wedding that kept leering at me from the other side of the room during the reception? That was him? Ew, no, I'm not even going to think about him! He's old! I'm not marrying some man that's nearly twice my age!"

Ah, fond memories Narcissa's wedding had been. Actually, the wedding had been beautiful and very wonderful. It had been the perfect fairytale-style wedding. Narcissa even looked to be in love and happy with the at times cold, aristocrat Lucius Malfoy. Before Narcissa had graduated, she and Layla had formed a respect for one another that had later on turned into a friendship. During the rest of the Layla's years at Hogwarts, they'd kept in touch via owl and had gotten closer. It had been nice to actually have a "girl friend".

"We is at Young Master Malfoy's bedroom, Miss Milan," Ella, the house elf, squeaked, bringing Layla out of her reverie immediately. She gawked at the house elf and then at the large, dark mahogany doors in front of her. She'd almost forgotten why she was here in the first place: to help and talk to Draco.

"Thank you," Layla said quietly. Ella nodded her head and scurried off. Layla took a deep breath and knocked on the door. She waited. There was no answer. She furrowed her brow and knocked again. She waited. Still, there was no answer. She knocked on the door one more time and said, "Draco, may I come in? It's Layla."

"Yes, come in." That had been Draco's voice; it startled her. The voice was slow and filled with exhaustion. Apparently, he was tired or had just been awoken by her banging on the door.

She tried not to think about it as she walked inside the bedroom and shut the door silently. She walked over to the bed and conjured a chair to sit in. When she looked in the bed, she saw that Draco was hiding underneath the covers. Layla sighed; Draco was not taking this well. She pulled back the covers and a wave of sorrow and pity came over her.

Draco looked pitiful, to tell the truth. His eyes were red and puffy; his cheeks were tearstained; and his hair was sticking up everywhere. He looked as if he hadn't gotten out of bed for a week with his oily hair and dirty face. This was not going to be good enough for Layla.

"You haven't gotten out of bed for a week for anything! You need to eat! You need to move! You need a bath!" Layla cried out. He sniffed and rolled onto his side.

"Leave me alone," Draco muttered.

"No," Layla simply replied. He turned around to glare at her. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of bed. He yelped and shouted at her, but she paid him no mind. Her bluntness was once again getting in the way of her gentleness. Her mind tried to reason with her, saying that Draco was in deep pain and needed to heal, but then, her other side explained that he was not going to heal if he lay in bed moping all of the time.

"Let go of me!" Draco ordered furiously.

"No," Layla replied more forcefully this time. She dragged him to the master bathroom and wrenched the door open; it slammed against the wall with a bang. He continued to kick and scream as she dragged him inside and started up bathwater with her wand. She jerked him so that he would face her, and she glared at him right back.

"Are you mad?" Draco demanded.

"Perhaps," Layla began, "but I could ask you the same thing. You're not going to get any better if you lie in bed, crying over things that cannot be changed! You're just going to get worse and I will not stand by and watch the last of the Malfoys crumble. This is something that you are going to have to face on directly. Your mother--Narcissa--would kill me personally if she saw me let you live on like this. It's not rain out there, Draco; it's your mother's tears falling from heaven because she can't do a damn thing to save you!"

Draco just stood there, gaping at her in silence. His glare was gone, but she doubted hers had faded yet. She just stood there, hands tightly on his shoulders, bent down a little, looking him directly in the eyes. He wasn't speaking; he wasn't even thinking. The bathwater was the only noise in the room, and then...

She's right.

Layla snorted derisively. "Of course I'm right."

"I-I'm sorry," Draco mumbled. He bowed his head and his shoulders dropped. It was a sign of shame. He was ashamed of himself. Layla knew that he should be, but now was not the time to lay the brutal truth on him. Instead, her softer side overcame her and she pulled him into a warm hug. She rolled her eyes at herself. He was probably wondering if she had split personalities or something because of her quick changes. However, instead, he began to cry.

"It's all right," Layla soothed.

"I miss mum! I want her to come back!" Draco sobbed, rubbing his wet face into her robe.

"I know, I miss Narcissa, too," Layla said truthfully, and then, she added in her mind, I want her to come back, too. But she's not coming back because she's dead. No one can raise the dead. Not even bloody Merlin could. I really need to make up a spell that could raise the dead or something.

"Damn father and his stupid ideals! They ruined my life!" Draco cursed viciously. He jerked away from her quickly and spun around. Layla stood up straight and sighed, looking at him calmly. Draco slammed his fists on the counter and glared at his pathetic reflection in the large mirror. "Damn bloody Voldemort and his stupid conquest to take over the world! I lost all of my family to that conquest! And damn bloody Potter and his stupid nobleness--and his horrible stealth skills--and his faulty plan--and all of his bloody friends!"

Layla raised her eyebrows at this. Draco swore again and tossed a bottle of potion across the room; it smashed into a wall and seeped to the floor. She looked at Draco, who was fuming with rage. He seemed to have forgotten about her. He was gripping the edge of the counter--his knuckles were white--and facing the mirror, but his eyes were closed.

Curse my obstinate attitude. Had I not wanted a drink so badly, I would have never have seen my father kill my own mother. Had I not been so full of fury and vengeance, I wouldn't have followed Potter and his friends to that old abandoned house. Had I not been so blind with grief and madness, I would never have killed my own father and wouldn't be feeling so guilty right now. If Potter would have just left everything alone and let the adults handle it, none of this would have happened.

"Your father didn't deserve to live," Layla said softly. Draco whipped around and stared at her. He had forgotten that she was standing there. He just stared at her, not knowing what to say. She wiped at her eyes; she could feel the tears stinging them--blast her softer side. "Listen; don't beat yourself up about doing him in, Draco. He deserved every bit of it. I'm eternally grateful to you; you saved my life--and your own. There was no other way."

"Maybe I could've stunned him and he could've gone to Azkaban and gotten his soul sucked out and--and--" Draco was rambling now in a manic way. She shook her head; and he went silent.

"No, Azkaban has no Dementors anymore," Layla told him. "They've all gone to Voldemort."

Draco bit his lip and bowed his head. "I just feel so...guilty," he finally said.

"And you think I don't?" Layla demanded sharply. Draco looked up at her, but there was no emotion in his eyes. She could hear his melancholic thoughts sifted through his mind. "Everyday of my life since sixteen years ago, I have felt nothing but guilt. I feel blame for many people--and that includes you, Draco. I know how it feels; trust me."

"Of course," Draco muttered, looking away from her. It was another sign of shame. She walked up to him and put a hand on his shoulder. It was difficult for her because she had forgotten what to do--she'd forgotten how to comfort people--but it was all coming back to her now. She forced him to look her in the eyes.

"You're going to make it; you're going to live through this, hear me?" Layla told him softly. He nodded his head. "Now, I want you to take a bath and get dressed in some nice day clothes. I will be in the dining room, waiting for you with a good meal for you to eat. We will talk and then I will leave. If you don't want to stay by yourself, you may stay at Order headquarters. Do you understand me?"

Draco nodded his head without saying a word. Layla stood up straight and took her hand off of his shoulder. She gave him a soft look and then smiled faintly. He returned a feeble one, but she could tell he was just trying to please her. She didn't say anything to him. Instead, she walked out of the bathroom and closed the door. She headed for the kitchen to tell the house elves to whip something up.

~*~

The house elves had placed food on the large dining room table. Layla had thanked them all and then sat down at the table, waiting for Draco. She had dozed off just for a few minutes with her head in her arms when she'd heard the soft pitter-patter of feet. She looked up to see Draco walking into the room and sitting in his usual seat. He began to eat in silence.

"I guess I don't have to ask you how you've been," Layla prompted sadly. He looked up at her with an unrecognizable emotion in his eyes and then began eating again. She squirmed in her seat and frowned at him.

She shouldn't sit in that seat. That's not her seat. That's mum's seat and only mum's seat.

Layla jolted out of the seat so quickly that it startled Draco. He gaped at her, food in his mouth, and she sighed. "I'm sorry," she explained. "I didn't know it was Narcissa's seat..."

Draco swallowed his food and opened his mouth to say something, but he immediately closed his mouth again. He blinked and looked back down at his food. He began eating again. Layla walked over to a different seat--not Malfoy's, of course--and slipped into it silently. She looked at the food in front of her.

"Go ahead and eat something," Draco grumbled after taking a large gulp of his drink. "I'm not going to be able to eat all of this."

"I'm not hungry," Layla replied in an oddly detached voice. She wasn't looking at him, but at something behind him. Draco stared at her. He set his goblet down and then set his fork down onto his plate. He turned around to see that she was staring at another portrait of Narcissa. He turned his head back to her.

"You were friends with my mother?" Draco asked in a calm voice. Layla could tell that he was trying not to choke up; she could hear him struggle to keep his voice steady.

"Sort of," Layla answered.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'sort of'?" he asked. "It's a simple question. Were you or weren't you friends with my mother?"

"I was..." Layla couldn't seem to take her eyes off of the portrait of Narcissa Malfoy. It was a younger version of the woman--it was a picture of her in her wedding gown. The Narcissa in the picture was much different; and Layla liked it for it reminded her of the Narcissa that she used to know very well. The Picture-Narcissa was beaming with joy and waving at Layla, who felt as if she wanted to wave right back.

"We didn't get along at Hogwarts until the end of her seventh year," Layla explained quietly. "And then, we grew closer--a lot closer. I'd never had any girl friends at school. I always hung out with boys because I got along with them better. Narcissa was very beautiful and a lovely person, really.

"After...my friends were killed in the First War, she had offered me a room here. I didn't have a home; I didn't have any money. I was doomed and your father didn't really want me here. But it was the perfect opportunity to 'spy' on a supposed Death Eater for my own accord. Oh, what a fun job that was, but I had a roof over me and food to eat for free. I babysat you a lot."

"You baby-sat me!" Draco managed to choke out. Layla grinned at him with an amused look on her face when she saw him turn pink in the face from embarrassment.

"Oh, yes, you were a right pain in the arse," Layla said calmly. She took a sip of her drink and stifled a laugh when she saw Draco open and close his mouth like a fish out of water. "The only time you'd fall asleep was if I sang to you, which I do quite horribly."

"I was...that bad?" Draco asked, flabbergasted. She smirked at him. "Mother said I was one of the best children in the world; she said I was an angel and barely ever cried."

Layla snorted. "Well, did you mum ever lie to you," she declared coolly. "Fara a Jacque, fara a Jacque..." Draco turned even redder in the face, which pleased her even more so. "You were one of the worst children I'd dealt with by the time I was seventeen, but I was very grateful to have you to take my mind off of horrible things."

"Y-You're welcome," Draco muttered embarrassedly.

"Your mother loved you very much," Layla sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Your father, I do believe, didn't know how to act around you. I remember reading a book in the library when he burst into the room and started ranting and raving how I shouldn't be in here. He held said that I could read the books on one condition."

"And what was it?" Draco asked rather eagerly. Layla smiled at him, still very amused. This was taking his mind off of the drastic problems in his life.

Well, tell anyone about the humiliating disasters in my life and one would surely forget about the problems in their own life, Layla thought, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

"Your father dropped you in my lap and nearly gave me a heart attack." Layla harrumphed and pushed her bangs out of her eyes. Draco raised his eyebrows, but he was grinning faintly. "I hadn't been expecting it. He told me that in order to earn my keep, I was to watch over you. He made it clear that I not hurt you and then he said he'd kill me personally if I let you get hurt in any way. Every time he turned around and walked away, I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him, that great, stupid prat."

Draco guffawed. Layla knew that he had never seen or even heard of someone showing any disrespect towards his father. She smiled.

"I don't know how many times we butted heads. Your mother had to separate us plenty of times because he always got so furious with me. He tried using an Unforgivable on me a few times because I annoyed him so much." Layla smiled fondly at the memory. "In every one of our arguments, however, I was right, which irked him so much. He wasn't used to be wrong and being stood up to. He needed a reality check. Narcissa was grateful that I did it."

Draco stopped laughing and sobered up immediately. He could see the wistful smile on her face; she was wishing that Narcissa was still here--she was wishing a lot of people were still her. She suddenly stood up and stretched. Draco stood up, too, and she looked over at him.

"I have to get going," Layla said, though she sounded as if she didn't want to. He didn't want her to go either; she could hear it in his mind. "I've got some very important business, but I really wanted to make sure that you were going to make it. You are, aren't you?"

Draco hesitated and then nodded his head. She smiled faintly and started for the front door when she was nearly tackled by the young wizard. He buried his face in her soft robes; she was sadly reminded that when he was a young toddler, Draco would bury his face in Narcissa's robes when he was scared or upset. He was much older now, but that didn't change the effect it had on her. He took a step back, looking sheepish, and she smiled at him. She ruffled his blond hair a bit with her hands and then walked away after they said goodbye. Layla Apparated to the Burrow.