Sacrifice

Chapter 2 - Absolution

Ah! changed and cold, how changed and very cold!

With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes:

Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise;

This was the promise of the days of old!

Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould,

Grown rigid in the sham of lifelong lies:

We hoped for better things as years would rise,

But it is over as tale once told.

All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore,

All lost the present and the future time,

All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before:

So lost till death shut-to the opened door,

So lost from chime to everlasting chime,

So cold and lost for ever evermore.

"Talk to Dumbledore."

That had been Harry's advice, when they met later that day. Well, that was almost always Harry's advice. His never-ending trust in the Headmaster had irritated Draco in the beginning of their relationship, but after a while he had come to share Harry's respect for the old wizard. And, of course, without Dumbledore, there was no saying where he himself would be now. Or what Lucius might have done to him. He shuddered at the memory. He would never forget what Dumbledore had done for him that day.

And that was why he was sitting in the Headmaster's office right now, showing him the letter and telling him everything, even though his instincts were screaming at him not to trust a teacher to understand.

"You are aware that it could be a trap?" Dumbledore studied him carefully through his half moon glasses.

"Yes, we thought about that." Draco jumped a little at his own words. Had he said we? Just like an old married couple, he thought. There's no I, only we. The idea should have terrified him, but strangely enough, it didn't.

But he wasn't allowed to dwell on thoughts about Harry for very long. Dumbledore made Draco tell him everything he and Harry had discussed, and then he started asking for details. Draco felt a little uncomfortable under the Headmaster's piercing gaze. Those eyes seemed to see too much, and although he had no intention of lying, there were things he didn't want to share. And some of Dumbledore's questions about his family were quite personal.

"I tried to ask the Slytherins about it yesterday," he said, wanting to change the subject. Tried was really the word for it. It had been frustrating, asking for information without seeming to. For all his talks about how the students needed to trust each other, he knew that there were some who wouldn't hesitate to send owls to their Death Eater parents, informing them that Draco Malfoy was asking about his family. The only result his subtle prodding had yielded, had come from a terrified second year. "One of them told me that Lucius has been missing for a few months."

Dumbledore nodded. "I've heard that rumour too."

"Do you think it's true, Sir?"

"I don't know where he is, Draco. But I am fairly certain that he hasn't been at Malfoy Manor for quite some time."

"How do you know?"

"Draco." Dumbledore's voice was tired. "Don't ask me that."

Draco got up from the chair and started pacing. He didn't even try to hide the anger in his movements. Dumbledore had too many secrets.

"I'll graduate in less than two months."

Dumbledore's main reason for not telling them everything was that he wanted them to enjoy their time at Hogwarts, and not have to worry about the fight against Voldemort more than necessary.

"You should spend those two months studying and having fun with your friends."

"And you can't believe I won't help you fight Voldemort as soon as you let me," Draco went on as if Dumbledore hadn't spoken. "We'll be you most loyal supporters, Harry and I."

"I know that."

"And you can't think..."

"Draco!" The hard edge in the Headmaster's voice made him stop pacing. "Will you trust me when I say that if I knew anything that would help, I would tell you?"

Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Then he nodded.

"What should I do?"

"I can't decide for you. You know your parents better than I do. And you're old enough to weigh the risks, and make that decision on your own."

"And if I weren't?" Draco suddenly wished he was a child again, without responsibilities or obligations. "What would you advise me to do then."

"Then I would tell you to stay here, where I can protect you." Dumbledore looked sad and old. "I'm sorry I can't give you better advice."

Draco shrugged. He hadn't really expected more.

"But I can give you this." Dumbledore held up a golden quill. "If you decide to go to your mother, I'll turn it into a Portkey. If things go wrong you can use it to get back."

"Thank you, Sir."

***

In the end, there was only one decision he could make. If his mother was sick, he had to know it. And if she was dying, he had to see her one last time.

***

As Draco walked the path up to Malfoy Manor he reflected, as he had done so often before, how beautiful it was. Especially like this, shrouded in the soft greens of spring.

Everything was exactly like he remembered it. The peaceful feeling that settled over him as he entered through the gate. The fountains that lined the way to the front entrance. The marble flowers that lined the porch, so skilfully carved that they seemed alive.

He had missed it.

This realisation startled him. He hadn't exactly thought that the sight of the Manor would disgust him. But after everything that had happened, it shouldn't feel so much like... home.

He checked his bag once again. The box with the Portkey was still there. As if it could have flown away on its own. He went up to the door, but before he could touch it, it sprang open. A house elf was staring wide-eyed at him from inside.

"Master Draco!" she squealed. "Is it really you? It is! You is really here! Tolla is so happy."

Draco pushed past the house elf, and hurried up the stairs. Tolla followed him, babbling incessantly.

"Tolla didn't think Master would come." She apparently meant this in a disrespectful way, because she gasped and paused briefly to hit her head against the wall, before continuing. "Madam is asking all the time. 'Where is my son?' she is saying. 'Why hasn't he come?' And Tolla don't know answer. Madam is very sad."

Draco reached the door to his mother's bedroom and knocked softly. There was no answer, but he opened it anyway.

Thick velvet curtains covered the windows, leaving the room in almost complete darkness. The only light came from the hallway behind him, but he could still see the figure in the large bed. It couldn't be his mother. Narcissa had always been slender, but the person curled up on the bed was tiny. Almost like a child.

He entered the room and pulled open the drapes in one of the windows. His mother - It can't be her! - twisted beneath the silk sheets, trying to get away from the light.

"Go away, Grimble," she whimpered. "I told you to leave me alone."

Grimble had been the Malfoy family's Healer for as long as Draco could remember.

"It's me, Mother."

She had not moved much since he entered the room, but the complete stillness that came over her when she heard his voice, made it seem like she had been dancing before. For a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the world was frozen.

Then she slowly turned around. It took a while for her eyes to find him, but when they did, the look in them was so open - so hungry - that it made him squirm. It seemed like she was trying to fit a year's worth of not seeing him into one short moment. Then she shook her head. It looked like even that slight movement was painful.

"No." She closed her eyes. "I'm dreaming again."

"You're not dreaming." Draco had no idea what to do. Should he stay where he was or go closer? Should he hug her? Now, where did that come from? Malfoys don't hug.

"Maybe this time when I wake up, the disappointment will finally kill me."

He went to the bed and touched her shoulder. "No, Mother. I'm really here."

She opened her eyes. They were weary and clouded, and there was no expression in them. Listlessly, she raised a hand and prodded his arm. The contact was so light he almost couldn't feel it. But she clearly could, and the brief touch seemed to convince her that he was really there. Weak, fragile emotions started appearing in her eyes, and soon tears were streaming down her face.

This was becoming awkward. He had never seen his mother cry before. But then he had never seen her with her hair tangled and dirty like this, either. Or without make-up. She cried calmly, making no sound, and when the tears gradually subsided, she didn't wipe them away.

"You've grown up," she whispered. "Grown handsome." She covered her face with her hands in a movement that seemed too sudden, too decisive. "Don't look at me! I look awful."

"No, you don't," he lied. "You're beautiful."

She removed her hands and smiled at him. It was a childish smile. Like a little girl who had just received a compliment from her first crush.

Draco pulled a chair next to the bed and sat down.

"What's wrong with you, Mother?"

"I'm dying."

"But why?"

She looked irritated at the question. "Grimble... He has all these words... explanations... and they mean nothing. It doesn't matter what it's called... I can feel it killing me..."

"Is it...Mother could it be..." Why is it so hard to say? "...Dark magic?"

She laughed. A short bitter laugh.

"Dark magic? No, this has nothing to do with magic. Of any kind."

"Then there must be something we can do."

"Draco..."

"There must be some spell. Or a potion."

"Draco, no!" Her voice sounded tired, but it had regained some of the firmness he remembered. "My body is turning on itself. There's nothing anyone can do anymore."

"Mother, I..." What do you say in a situation like this?

"I've missed you," she said. There were tears in her eyes again, but this time she blinked them away, focusing intently on him. "And now that you're here it's too late. For me anyway."

"What's too late?"

"I wanted to see you reunited with your father."

Panic struck Draco. "He's not here, is he?" He grabbed his bag frantically. The Portkey was still there.

Narcissa didn't seem to notice. "No, but I wish he were. I could make everything alright." She smiled, lost in a daydream. "He would have to listen, now that you're here. I would tell him that it's just a rebellious phase you're going through. All children want to rebel sometimes. I would remind him of that. And you could say you're sorry, and he would forgive you..."

"I'm not sorry. Not about anything!" He was horrified at what she was saying, but she just kept on smiling.

"Of course not. You're a Malfoy, after all. So proud. Did I tell you how proud I was when I married your father? Becoming a Malfoy... I couldn't believe I was so lucky. And then when you were born... everything was so perfect. You were the most beautiful baby and everyone could see it and you were mine." She reached out, maybe to take his hand, but he pulled back. "And now you've been gone for so long. But you will make it alright with your father, won't you? Promise me. I know he'll forgive you."

"No, Mother, you got it wrong." He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. "I'm the one who won't forgive him."

"But you have to! The family..."

"I don't care about the family!"

There was a shocked silence after his outburst. Then he continued in a quieter, but no less furious voice: "You talk about pride. I was proud of being a Malfoy, too. But that was before I understood what it really means. Do you want to know what I realised? That being a Malfoy is being cold. So cold. You're freezing to death, and you don't even know it. You have all the money and power anyone could wish for, but it's never enough. Nothing you can buy can protect you from the cold. No clothes, no heating spells, no fires. Nothing. Because it comes from within. It's always there, inside you, tearing apart everything that makes you human."

A strange sound came from the bed, and he realised Narcissa was crying again. But this time it was different. She was sobbing loudly and violent shivers were shaking her body.

"Please, Mother, don't cry," he begged. She looked so fragile that he was afraid the next shiver might just break her apart.

"Are you cold?" she asked when the sobs had stopped enough for her to speak. "I don't want you to be cold."

Maybe she understands. She must have felt it, too. "No, I'm not cold anymore," he whispered. "I found a way to get warm. The only way..." I found love.

For a moment he thought he could see affection in her eyes, but it disappeared before he could be sure.

"What happened to you?" she asked, and there was a trace of disapproval in her voice. "You're different."

Draco hesitated. How much could he tell her? How much did she know already? Undoubtedly, Lucius had told her some perverted version of what happened between them. As for the rest of it, the whole wizarding world seemed to know everything that went on in Harry's life, and for more than a year now, that had included Draco.

"I'm tiring you out. Maybe you should rest." It was a cowardly attempt to change the subject, but he was suddenly afraid of where the discussion was going.

"I don't want to rest. I want to know what's going on with you." She was pouting. "People are saying things about you. Terrible things. Lies. Everyone is lying to me nowadays. Even your father won't tell me the truth. And he gets mad when I ask him. He never even mentions your name. That's how much he misses you."

What kind of fairy tale world are you living in, Mother?

"Oh, he doesn't miss me." His voice was hard and bitter. "Believe me, he doesn't."

"But of course he misses you."

"He. Almost. Killed. Me." He pronounced every word very clearly, trying to force the truth into her. She looked a little shocked. Maybe she hadn't known that.

"Well..." For a second she seemed uncertain, then she slipped back into her comfortable little world of denial again. "But if he believed all those things people are saying, you can't really blame him, can you?"

Draco stared at her, incredulous. Did she actually know what she was saying, or was she just babbling? But he hadn't thought she would change just because she was dying, had he? Well, he admitted to himself, maybe I did. He really was a fool. What had he thought he would accomplish here? I could be with Harry now. We could be sitting outside, enjoying the sunshine, drinking pumpkin juice, talking about nothing...

Narcissa's voice pulled him back to where he was. "Oh Draco, they're saying such awful things." She turned her face away. Apparently she couldn't even look at him while repeating what people were saying about him. "They're saying that you... That you're..."

"That I'm gay?"

She recoiled, but nodded. She looked mortified.

"Lies! All lies!" she whimpered.

"It's true."

"No, no, it's not true. Of course, it isn't true. It can't be true. Why would you say things like that?"

"Fine," he snapped. He stood up so abruptly that the chair toppled over. "You just go on believing whatever you want to believe."

He turned around and started walking away. Her stubborn refusal to see anything but what she wanted to see irritated him. In some twisted way, he almost preferred Lucius' reaction.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to Hogwarts. Where I'm allowed to be who I am. Where people care about me."

"I care," she said defiantly.

Draco stopped, but didn't turn to look at her. "Do you? Can you accept the fact that I'm gay?"

"But you're not."

"Stop it, Mother." He was tired. He wanted to leave. It had been a mistake to come. But still he found himself trying to explain. "I'm in love with someone. Every time I look at him, I feel warm. My heart feels too large for my chest, and the rest of the world seems muted and hazy, because nothing else matters as much as he does. And when he touches me, it's like coming home. And when we kiss..."

He heard a strangled noise behind him, and turned around. Narcissa was sitting up now. She was clutching the sheet around her, and there was a thoroughly disgusted look on her face.

At that moment, Draco hated her. What right did she think she had to judge him? She, who was...

"Are you a Death Eater?" he asked.

The question seemed to take her by surprise.

"Of course I am," she answered.

He nodded slowly. "There's no group of people I hate more than Death Eaters. As soon as I graduate, I'm going to do my best to see every single one of them in Azkaban."

She was making hoarse sounds in her throat, but Draco ignored her and continued, "And that expression on your face tells me pretty clearly that you don't think much better of me. So where does that leave us?"

For a long time, they just stared at each other. When it became obvious that she didn't have an answer, Draco forced his lips into a bitter smile.

"I thought so," he said.

He almost made it to the door before she called out to him.

"Please. Don't go!"

A few more steps and he'd be outside. He could use the Portkey. He'd be back at Hogwarts in less than a minute. Back in Harry's arms. But still he hesitated.

"Don't leave me," she begged. "I'm so scared and I don't want to be alone."

Damn you, Harry. Why did you have to teach me to care about other people's feelings? He tried not to, but couldn't help glancing at Narcissa. She really looked terrified. And she is my mother, after all. He sighed.

"I'll stay with you."

He convinced her to lie down again. Then he righted the chair and sat next to the bed until she fell asleep.

When he was sure that she was sleeping soundly, he left her and went to his own room. It looked exactly like it had when he left it - the expensive furniture; his old books and toys, neatly tucked away in the shelves; even the heating spell in the rug - everything was the same. And yet, it felt different. Or maybe it was he, who was different.

Draco sat down at his desk and dug out parchment, ink and a quill from the drawer. He needed to write to Harry, tell him everything. That would make him feel better.

A house elf - maybe Tolla, maybe another one - brought him a tray of food. He told her to send an owl to his room. Otherwise, he ignored her and the other house elves, who came in to fuss over him. He didn't touch the food until the letter was finished and safely on its way to Hogwarts. Only then could he relax.

***

The next three days, Draco spent with his mother. She became weaker by the hour, and on the second day she could no longer sit up in bed. She talked a lot, but mostly it was just mindless ramblings. She didn't mention their earlier discussion, and Draco was happy to keep it that way. She probably wouldn't survive another fight.

Most of the time he just sat there, watching her sleep. The house elves told him she slept much more peacefully when he was present, and he didn't mind. He actually liked her better when she was asleep. When she woke up, she always wanted to talk, but after a while the things she said usually stopped making sense.

He only left her at night, when he needed to catch a few hours sleep.

On the fourth morning, when he came to her room, she was dead.

The house elves were beside themselves, wailing and crying. But Draco couldn't make himself feel anything but numbness.

My mother is dead.

She hadn't been a very nice person. She had never really loved him, and their last few days together hadn't solved anything. And she had been a Death Eater. She had probably done all sorts of unspeakable things.

But she was my mother.

Yes, Narcissa was his mother, and now that she was gone, that was all that mattered.

So why can't I mourn her?

Draco pushed all thoughts aside, and buried her on the highest of the hills behind the Manor. It had been her favourite place. The funeral was quick and quiet. Just him and the house elves and a few words of farewell. Maybe she would have wanted some grand spectacle. Maybe there were people who would be horrified to learn that Narcissa Malfoy had been buried in such a simple manner. But none of those people had been there for her when she was sick and lonely, so Draco felt that they didn't have the right to an opinion.

He just wanted to get back to Hogwarts.

He gave the house elves a few orders before leaving. And he walked through Malfoy Manor one last time. He was pretty sure he would never come back here again. He grabbed his bag and started looking for the Portkey. Only... He had an annoying feeling that he had forgotten something. Irritated, he tried to shake the feeling. It couldn't be anything important. Right now, he just wanted to get back to Harry.

Harry... Of course! He dropped the bag by the front door and ran up the stairs to his room. And there, safely hidden behind the books on a shelf, he found what he was looking for: his Gemimal. Gemimals were toy animals, carved from precious stones and enchanted to reflect the feelings of the people in the room. They had a limited consciousness, and if you were really persistent, you could teach them a few words.

"Stupid shit-head," the Gemimal told Draco in a friendly voice, as he picked it up. When he was younger, he had thought it was immensely funny to teach it dirty words.

He held it in his hand for a while to admire it. It was shaped like an eagle, and colourful patterns were swirling inside it. There was a slow spiral of deep blue, interlaced with flashes of yellow. A pearly grey mist drifted through the lower parts of the toy, and golden sparks flitted just beneath the surface. Draco had no idea what it meant. It was almost impossible to interpret the patterns and colours of a Gemimal. Emotions were fleeting things, changing from one moment to the next, and every single one was unique. In the same manner, every pattern that appeared within the Gemimal was unique.

Most children in the wizarding world had some sort of Gemimal, although few were as beautiful as Draco's. The cheaper ones had no patterns, and only a few different colours. But Harry, having been raised among Muggles, had never had a Gemimal, hadn't even known what they were until Draco explained it to him. There was so much Harry had never had the chance to experience.

Well, I can't do anything about his lousy childhood, but everyone should have a Gemimal. At least I can give him that.

The patterns within the eagle changed the moment he thought of Harry. Warm reds and greens floated around purposefully, constantly changing hues, speed and direction. Bursts of purest white exploded like fireworks. And beyond it all, deep inside the bird, was a pulsing gold, beating in time with his heart. Draco had never seen it act like this before. But then I've never felt like this before, either. He smiled and wondered what the Gemimal would look like when he and Harry were in the same room. The colours grew brighter at the mere thought. He put the toy in his pocket. He would soon find out.

Still smiling, he left the room and started walking down the stairs.

He could feel someone looking at him a moment before he saw the man leaning casually against the front door. Draco stopped. He felt his whole world falling apart. His body seemed to have forgotten how to move. His mind was screaming. One treacherous word escaped from his lips:

"Father."