Of Choices and Regrets

13- The Paris Encounter

Draco stalked to his room, the harsh footsteps echoing and magnifying in the empty stone corridors. He slammed his door behind him and flopped onto his plush bed, sinking in to the comfort and protection it seemed to offer. He furrowed his brow as he remembered his mother's words. Your father made me. Lucius had offered his entire family to Lord Voldemort to better his position. Without thinking about their own desires, he had forced both Narcissa and, later, Draco to become Death Eaters to further his own cause. Lucius did not love his family; he had used them, betrayed them, and left them. Letting out a loud roar heavily laced with frustration, Draco pummeled his pillow as though it was his father's sneering face. It was Lucius's fault; everything was because of him.

After his fury had dissipated, Draco felt drained and more than a little foolish. It was not his mother he was angry at, yet he had behaved badly toward her by blowing up and leaving her in the garden. Still, Malfoys do not apologize, so he resolved to simply ignore her, which would be easy enough, as she also seemed intent on ignoring him. Dinnertime came and went, but Draco stubbornly remained in his room. The shadows lengthened and darkness slowly fell like a silent curtain enclosing him, like a thin net carefully capturing a skittish, treasured fish.

Quite suddenly, the door slowly opened and Narcissa hesitantly peered inside. Draco remained on the bed with his head facing the window, refusing to move to acknowledge his mother. He steadily watched the sunset and wished her to leave. Instead, Narcissa, convinced that Draco would not get furious, inched inside and quietly shut the door behind her.

"Draco darling?" she whispered, breaking the web of stillness that had swathed Draco's room. He did not answer. "Draco, I know you are hurting. I understand, and I wish you would talk to me, but if you do not want to, that is okay too." She was met with stony silence. Narcissa sighed heavily and obsequiously walked over to the bed. Carefully, she sat on the edge and looked out the window to see what had captured her only child's attention.

"What a beautiful sunset," she whispered. "I have always loved them. The brilliant colors, the soft light, the creeping deepness. Making things visible that were hidden by the light. Sunsets bring quiet, rest, recovery..." her voice petered out as she watched the growing darkness. When the sky's radiant tints were finally turned to a deep indigo, she spoke again.

"You should not be angry at him, not so much at least. He made some stupid mistakes, which he regrets, yet he has tried to be a good father and husband. He loves us; I know it does not seem like it, but I know in my heart that he does. I think he wanted us to be in his life, and that is why he brought us to Lord Voldemort. He found friends and passion in the Death Eaters, and he wanted us to experience it with him; he wanted us to share his joy. You were not ready, and he pushed you too much, but I think that you will come to love it as we have. Yes, we: your father and myself. I did not like it at first, but it as grown on me. And I have friends there, plus my sister. I have power, a say in things, because of the Dark Lord. It is not a bad job, not a bad place, and certainly not bad people. Your father and I learned our lesson; next time, you decide when to start. Okay? You are in charge, and we will support your decision, whenever that is. How does that sound Draco? You choose, okay?"

Draco rolled over to look at his mother. "You promise?" he asked earnestly, searching her face for deception.

Narcissa smiled and nodded as she stroked his hair. "I promise." After another second, she jumped up nimbly and held out her hand to her son. "Let's get some dinner; you must be starving!"

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Although things were not perfect, they were better than normal between Narcissa and Draco. They had a few subjects that were off limits, mainly dealing with Lucius and the Death Eaters, but their conversations were pleasant and unforced. Draco was not sure whether Narcissa steered the discussions away from these topics for her own benefit or for Draco's. In some aspects, it seemed like Narcissa viewed her son as a fragile, glass bomb: too much pushing and the glass breaks, say the wrong thing and the bomb explodes. Whichever way, life at the manor was still better than Draco could ever remember.

Much to his surprise, Narcissa decided to take him to Paris with her.

"Merlin knows you have been cooped up here too long. The fresh scenery will do you good, and who will tell on us?" Narcissa casually reasoned on day.

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It had been several years since Draco had been to France, but it was as wonderful and beautiful as ever. In their week trip, Draco had attempted to drag his mother to all the normal tourist attractions for old-times sake, but she quickly bored, and so they spent most of their time shopping.

After the fifth day, Draco grew tired of being a bag carrier, so after lunch he decided to split from Narcissa. He assured her he would stay out of trouble, and saw her off.

Deciding that exercise and fresh air would 'do him good', Draco set off on a long walk along the picturesque city streets. He let his feet take him where they would; he did not want his thoughts to disrupt the peace. Enjoying his surroundings, he was surprised to see he had been walking for over an hour. He knew that he should be getting back before his mother worried, but he did not know where he was. He had wandered out of the busy city center, far from the gawking tourists and rushing locals, and now seemed to be in a residential quarter. Slightly put off, but not alarmed, Draco turned to a likely looking local, who was lazily strolling down the other side of the serene road.

"Excuse-moi, monsieur!" Draco called. "Pardon, mais... où'est-ce que je suis?" Draco smiled lopsidedly, trying to set the man at ease, as well as getting him to pity him. The French are notoriously rude, but Draco was sure that his accent was perfect and he looked fine.

The man frowned and ambled over to Draco. He had a familiar air, but her could not place it.

Sneering, the man said, in perfect English, "What? Are you lost, Malfoy?"

It was Draco's turn to frown. How did this person know him? Why could he not remember them?

"You do not recognize me, do you? Ah, I have to have this illusion ore else people will come after me, either to kill me or to make me protect them. Can never turn my back. But who let you out of your cage, ferret?"

Ferret? What classmate was this? Only a few knew, but... no.

"Potter?" Draco's eyebrows shot upwards. The man, Harry Potter, simply smiled at him. "What are you doing in Paris?"

Harry shook his head. "I should be asking you the same thing. I think we have a lot to talk about, do you not agree?"

Draco backpedaled, raising his palms to stop Harry Potter. "I have nothing to say, and you do not have anything I am willing to hear, either. I do not know what you are playing at, but I am out. I will find my own way home." Draco turned around and began to walk away.

Harry let out a short laugh. "Oh, no you don't. You talked to me first, remember? Now, would you rather do this the easy or hard way?"