Differentiating Thresholds

Chapter 4 - Father

Draco felt his body hit the soft mattress as he was thrown out of Harry's memory and back into reality. He closed his eyes trying to settle the churning of his stomach but the image of the knife piercing Potter's skin flashed behind his closed eyelids. There was so much blood, so much fucking blood. He felt the bile rise in his throat and ran as fast as he could down the hall and into the bathroom, not even bothering to turn on the light.

Kneeling on the tiled floor, Draco vomited until there was nothing left in him but dry heaves. Exhausted, he rested his cheek against the cool porcelain bowl and closed his eyes, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. No matter how much he tried, the image of Weasley standing over Harry with the knife wouldn't leave his mind.

"Malfoy, are you okay?"

Draco cracked open one eye and peered at the other man. He stood in the doorway, mostly in shadow, but even in the dark Draco could see the worry on his face.

"Oh yes, quite spiffing, Potter. I just felt the toilet needed a hug."

Harry laughed at the sarcastic reply, a hearty, full-bodied laugh that even had Draco cracking a small smile.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

Before he could protest, Potter reached over and flushed the toilet, then put an arm around Draco and helped him to his feet. He pushed a stray lock of blond hair behind Draco's ear before releasing him.

"I'll be in the living room when you're ready," he said. The blond nodded, a little thrown by the other man's kindness and watched him disappear down the hall. A few minutes later he was seated across from Potter on the couch, both of them staring silently at the orange and red flames in the fireplace before them.

"What happened to my father?" Draco's voice sounded unnaturally loud in the stillness.

"He died in Azkaban two days after the fire. He...hung himself."

Draco's heart seized in his chest. His father was gone...

The small dingy cell was barely big enough to accommodate the three of them. He watched his father rise slowly from his cot, the effort taking most of his energy. His mother ran to help him and he smiled weakly at her.

"I've missed you, Cissa." Lucius' voice was hoarse and barely above a whisper. He caressed his wife's cheek, wiping a lone tear away and then pulling her into his arms.

Draco watched his parents and felt an ache in his chest. It had been almost six months since he had last visited his father. His mother came once a month and encouraged him to accompany her, but he usually refused. As much as he loved his father, he hated coming to Azkaban. Even now, he couldn't wait to leave.

Lucius looked gaunt, unhealthy. The skin over his face was oddly pale, an almost translucent shade that made him look ghostly. Draco had to force himself not to shiver. What had happened to his father? What had this place done to him?

"Draco..."

Lucius held out his arms and Draco walked forward to embrace him. He was thankful he was facing the back wall of the cell and not his mother, for he couldn't help the look of disgust that passed over his face. A faint smell hung in the air around his father and Draco guessed it had been a few days since he had been allowed to shower. He tried to quell the anger that was rising in him at the thought. This was disgusting. The fact that his father had been reduced to such a person made him sick. Lucius finally pulled back but kept his hands on Draco's shoulders.

"How are your studies going?"

"I'm getting top marks in potions," he replied. A part of him wished his father would release him so he could step out of the aura of stench surrounding him.

"Good, good. I'm proud of you, son." His father patted him on the cheek.

"I know, father."

Lucius took one last look at him before releasing him and Draco took the opportunity to take a few steps back. The thought of what he was doing sent a thread of shame through him.

"The time has come, Lucius." His mother looked between the two men, her brow creased in worry. "Bella sent word last night. Saturday is the day."

"So soon?" Lucius seemed taken aback at the news, the concern showing openly on his face. Narcissa nodded grimly.

"Father, I don't want to take the mark."

Both his parents turned to him, pity on their faces. It was Lucius who spoke.

"We've been over this before, Draco."

"There has to be a way."

"There is no other way. Your mother and I have done everything in our power to delay it as long as possible. The Dark Lord will not wait. You know what will happen if you refuse. You have no choice." His father's voice was stern.

Of course he knew. When Voldemort wanted something, he got it. Those who chose to stand in his way only ended up dead. He had seen it plenty of times. Draco reluctantly nodded his ascent and saw his parents visibly relax.

There were three sharp knocks on the cell door signaling their time was over. He watched the tears fill his mother's eyes as she hugged Lucius tightly to her.

"I love you," she whispered close to his ear before planting a quick kiss on his father's lips and then turning toward the door. She rushed out of the cell not bothering to look back and Draco knew it was because it broke her heart every time she was forced to say goodbye.

"Take care of your mother, Draco. She's not as strong as she looks," Lucius said when he was sure Narcissa was out of earshot.

"Yes, father."

He felt like there was something else his father wanted to say to him but Lucius only nodded instead. Draco smiled weakly at him then turned to leave. He glanced back just as the guard was shutting the door to see his father seated on the cot, face buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking. He stood rooted to the spot even after the door was shut and the guard began leading his mother down the hall. Draco had never seen his father cry.

"Malfoy?"

Draco blinked realizing that that was the last time he had seen his father.

He looked down when he felt a small amount of pressure on his arm to find Potter's hand clasping his forearm. He brought his eyes up to Harry's.

"What?"

"Are you okay? Your eyes were all glazed over and your hands were shaking. I thought maybe you were having a fit."

Draco's eyes went back to Harry's hand. It was calloused, rough against the smoothness of his skin.

"I was thinking," he said.

"Oh."

Harry's hand disappeared then and Draco vaguely wondered what it was that Potter did for a living to have such rough hands.

"Where are you going when you leave here?" Harry asked suddenly.

"I haven't really thought about it," Draco answered without thinking. He was still thinking of Potter's hand for some reason. "I don't really have anywhere to go, to tell you truth. I haven't exactly had a permanent residence in quite some time."

A twinge of embarrassment ran through him as he realized what he had just said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Potter open his mouth to speak but then promptly shut it. He knew he wanted to ask him where he had been, what he had been doing these past nine years, what had really happened the night of the fire, but he didn't. Just like Draco, he sat staring straight ahead into the fire. They stayed that way for awhile until Potter got up from the couch.

"You're free to stay here for a bit, until you can get back on your feet, if you want."

"Thank you," Draco said, somewhat surprised by the offer. He figured after the fiasco with Granger earlier, Potter wouldn't want him to stay any longer than necessary. Speaking of Granger...

"Why do you and Granger call each other by your last names? You never did that before."

"I knew you would eventually ask me this," Harry said with a smirk. He perched himself on the arm of the couch. "After what you saw in the pensieve happened, we stopped talking. We both felt responsible for what had happened to Ron and we were. It was our fault, my fault that he died."

"But he tried to kill you."

"He would never have killed me," Harry insisted. Draco didn't seem so sure of that. The hatred Weasley had had on his face at the time proved otherwise. "He was angry, hurt. I was his best mate and I betrayed him. I didn't mean to and I tried to explain and Hermione tried to explain but he wouldn't hear it. You remember how his temper was. But he never would have killed me. Ron wasn't like that."

Draco begged to differ but he wouldn't tell Potter that.

"Either way, I guess we both figured that if we didn't see each other, didn't talk, it would be easier, make us forget somehow. In actuality, it made it harder. Four years went by without us speaking and then one day I get a letter from her asking me to meet for lunch. I couldn't just call her Hermione anymore. It just felt too...personal, I guess you could say. We didn't know each other anymore. We had whole new lives, were completely different people. So I called her Granger. She didn't seem to mind; I think she was relieved to tell you the truth. She referred to me as Potter as well and it didn't feel strange at all. Eventually we started using our given names again but the last names thing stuck." He shrugged. "Anymore questions?"

There were a million swirling through Draco's head but he had had enough for one night.

"Not at the moment."

"Okay then. I'm off to bed. Goodnight, Malfoy."

"Goodnight."

Draco watched Harry disappear down the hall, his mind whirling. He stretched out on the couch, mentally and physically exhausted. Within minutes had fallen asleep.

~*~

"Take care of your mother, Draco. She's not as strong as she looks."

"Yes, father," he replied as he walked out of the cell.

He turned around to watch the guard shut the door, but the man grinned wickedly at him and nodded back toward the cell. Draco moved in slow motion to the open door, his heart pounding in his chest. His father stood on the edge of the cot, a length of rope suspended magically from the ceiling with a noose at the end hanging down in front of him. He slipped the noose over his head then tightened it around his neck.

"I'm proud of you, son."

Lucius smiled then, the first real smile Draco had seen from his father since he was a child, as he stepped forward off the cot. He hung in the air for a moment as if the fates had stopped time to allow Draco one last look at his father's smiling face before there was a sickening crack. Lucius' neck snapped violently as his body flopped around involuntarily for a few seconds before going completely still. Horrified, Draco ran forward but his movements were sluggish, like he was trying to run through water.

"Father!" he called helplessly knowing there would be no answer. "Please, father!" There were tears rolling down his cheeks now but he didn't care. He needed to get to Lucius, needed to get him down.

He finally made it to Lucius and tentatively reached out to touch him. The second his fingers grasped his father's cold ones, he found himself in Malfoy Manor, his mother's hand in his grasp instead. She lay on the couch, so innocent and peaceful looking.

"Mother?"

It was only when he felt the sweat trickling down his back that he noticed there were flames all around them. His first thought was to get her out of there; he wouldn't let her burn. He easily lifted his mother into his arms and carefully made his way through the sitting room and out into the entrance hall. The front door opened magically as he approached it and he was halfway down the front steps when Potter appeared out of nowhere.

"Harry--"

But he was silenced when Potter raised his wand and a flash a green light exploded in front of his eyes.

Draco bolted upright not quite sure of where he was. He looked around the room and realized he was still in Potter's living room. I must have passed out on the couch, he thought.

The fire had already died down in the grate and Draco could see the sky beginning to lighten. He half dragged himself to his room and slid under the covers, shivering and not from the cold. The nightmare came back to him then, the sight of his mother's limp body, his father smiling right before...

Draco felt the tears come and just like in the dream, didn't hold them back. His parents were gone. It was his decision that had cost them their lives, his mistake. I killed them both. I killed them. It's my fault. It's my fault. He repeated the words like a mantra, over and over until his tears dried and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

~*~

It was mid-afternoon when Draco finally climbed out of bed. His body felt heavy but there was something different he couldn't quite put his finger on. He pushed the thought aside knowing he would end up mulling it over later anyway. As soon as he opened the door, he almost fell back in surprise. A patronus in the shape of a stag came galloping down the hall toward him.

"Malfoy," came Harry's voice from the shimmering vision when it stopped in front of him. "I had some errands to run and I didn't want to wake you to let you know I'd be out. I hope my patronus didn't frighten you." There was a short laugh and Draco rolled his eyes. "Anyway, if you get hungry, there's food in the fridge. I figure we're about the same size clothing-wise so I left you some extra clothes on the couch until we can get you some of your own. I should be back around six."

The stag patronus galloped in a circle around him before glowing brightly for a second and then disappearing. Draco stood still, feeling the magic swirl in the air around him. God, how he had missed it, missed the feel of it flowing through his veins. It began to drain away as quickly as it had come and he sighed at the loss. Magic was his life. It didn't matter that he had spent the last nine years devoid of it, it was still a part of him and he needed to find a way to get back into that world.

He made his way down the hall towards the living room to find the clothes Potter had mentioned but stopped when he approached Harry's bedroom. He stared inside, knowing he shouldn't go in but his curiosity was stronger. Telling himself he would only take a quick look around and then leave, he stepped gingerly into the room.

It looked just as it had in the darkness the night before, expect now he noticed the numerous pictures Potter had placed around the room. There was one of a dark-haired man with glasses and a woman whom Draco guessed were Potter's parents. Next to it sat one of Harry and Hermione. It must have been taken in their early years at Hogwarts because they both looked no more than thirteen. There were a few on his dresser, some of them faces Draco recognized but couldn't name. Two other photos hung side by side on the wall next to Harry's closet. One was a group shot and as Draco's eyes roamed over the various faces, he realized it was that group that Potter, Granger and Weasley had formed back in fifth year, Dumbledore's Army he recalled with a smirk. He remembered the moment he and the rest of Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad captured them and the surge of satisfaction he felt at seeing Potter squirm. The memory brought a smile to his face. The other picture was of Potter and Sirius Black. Draco vaguely recalled his mother mentioning a relation to the man, but he had only been a young boy at the time and it hadn't mattered. It still didn't matter now but he thought it a strange coincidence Harry's godfather had been part of his own family.

Draco pulled open the doors to Potter's closet. It was disorganized; some items seemed to have been thrown haphazardly in. There were various dress pants and shirts, a gorgeous and no doubt expensive brown leather jacket and about a dozen pairs of trainers. Draco bent down to take a closer look at a navy pair at the end. He went to pick up the left shoe and cursed when his elbow bumped into something hard. He looked for the object in question but there was nothing there but air. Instinctively, he reached into the corner and his hand connected with something silky. He grasped it and pulled, revealing the object underneath. An invisibility cloak came off in his hands and beneath it was Potter's old school trunk. Draco stroked the fabric, feeling a bit jealous. So that's how he got around all those years, he thought. Setting aside the cloak, he pulled the trunk out of the corner and sat down on the carpeted floor in front of it. The Hogwarts crest was emblazoned on the front and he ran his fingers delicately over the "H." Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he actually missed the place.

Draco reached for the lock and was surprised to find none there. The latch itself was bent and rusted, the end broken off. He figured Potter must have busted it open long ago and not bothered to fix it. It was like an open invitation to snoop and Draco knew he couldn't resist. Taking the lid in both hands, he threw it back and peered inside.