Chapter 5: Aftermath

"Hi, my name is …"

"Draco Malfoy, I know." She didn't say in the derisive manner most people who recognised him used. It sounded more like curiosity, with a tinge of amusement.

"I'm sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. Should I know you?" he replied.

"Probably not, but you do know my sister, Daphne. "

"Daphne … what, Daphne Greengrass? You are Daphne Greengrass' little sister?"

"Yes, but I was in Ravenclaw. Caused a bit of an outrage in the family. First child not in Slytherin for over three hundred years! I had to take a lot of teasing, to say the least, but that's history."

"How's that?"

"Well, they couldn't go on and criticise me after the war, could they? I kind of saved the family honour, because I stayed at Hogwarts when Riddle attacked. And now I'm here, trying to save some lives. So, how about you?"

Draco hesitated. This was new to him. He had grown accustomed to dividing people in two categories: those who knew him and those who didn't. The first group usually despised and feared him, the latter was indifferent. As he tried to keep a low profile, strangers were seldom interested in him. But this girl was different. She knew him but talked to him like an old acquaintance. Like a distantly related cousin — which she probably was, he thought — whom you only met once or twice at one of those obnoxious family functions.

"I … try to make amends. You know, I did a lot of bad things during the war. All of my family did. Only I try to do better in the future. I seldom see my parents. Mother understands, but she has to keep up the facade. I don't speak to my father right now." His face hardened when he remembered the last occasion he had talked to Lucius.

#

„That went rather well, I'd say."

The smug look on Limax's face was swiped away quickly, when he looked over to Lucius Malfoy. He was fuming.

„I still can't believe we had to refer to that Potter boy to keep us from Azkaban! The nerve of these people. It is a black day for wizardkind indeed, when one of the oldest magical families in this country has to rely on blood traitors to avoid prison. Shame!"

„Lower your voice, Mr. Malfoy." the attorney urged, a trace of panic in his voice. „It is extremely inadvisable to refer to Mr. Potter as ‚Blood Traitor' in the current political climate."

„I don't care about the political climate, this is plainly wrong! Didn't you register the amount of gold they are fining me? We will have to cut down our expenses significantly in the future, just to keep the manor. And how we are going to maintain the grounds without house elves, I can't even begin to fathom! ‚Forbidden to keep house elves' – Unthinkable!"

Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. After all that had happened, after the experiences of the last months, had his father already forgotten how it felt to fear for your life? To be threatened by the very people you considered your peers, your friends? Did he honestly still believe in that blood purity insanity?

Images flashed through his mind:

Dumbledore, looking at him through his half mooned spectacles on the balcony of the astronomy tower.

Crabbe, running from the Fiendfyre he had conjured without knowing how to handle it.

Rowle, screaming on the floor in front of him, suffering the Cruciatus curse he'd been forced to cast on him.

Voldemort's snake, devouring Professor Burbage on the table in his home, the home his father was trying to defend.

A sudden clarity came over his mind: he would not return to the manor. He couldn't. All the nightmares, the nausea, the panic attacks he'd had with increasing frequency, they were tied to the manor. Right now, the very thought of setting foot into that place repulsed him. It was no longer his home, no longer the place he remembered from his childhood. It had turned into a monument to everything that was wrong in the world: hatred, arrogance, racism – and death. Not the normal, peaceful death everyone had to meet one day. There was no peace in the way Crabbe had died, no mourning, no loving family.

„… and it's all Potter's fault, I tell you! That snotty little …"

„SHUT UP!"

There was a shocked silence after Draco's outburst. Limax used the opportunity to scuttle away, leaving the Malfoys behind.

„What did you just say?" Lucius stared at his son.

„I told you to shut up. I can't stand it any more. All that nonsense – I mean, look at you! Here you are, you narrowly escaped a lifetime sentence to Azkaban, because someone who had every reason to hate you stood up for you. Harry could've lied. Merlin, it wouldn't even have been a real lie. There was nothing, NOTHING selfless in what mother did. Neither was there remorse on your side. There wasn't any the first time Voldemort died, there isn't any now! Just listen to yourself, complaining about house elves, seeking fault at everyone else. Don't you see what you've done – what we have done?"

„What we have done? What are you talking about? Didn't you hear the Wizengamot? We're free to go. With some annoyances, as I just said, but free nonetheless."

„But guilty. And even if we were cleared of the charges, we'd still be as guilty. People died in our house. Bellatrix tortured a young woman right under our eyes, and we did nothing to prevent it."

„Are you talking about that mudblood Granger girl?"

„DON'T CALL HER THAT! She has more courage than our entire family combined! She stood up for her beliefs. You owe her your life, yet you still despise her for her bloodline? What good is this noble heritage if the result is a missing backbone?"

„That's it young man! You will not talk to me or your mother in this tone. We'll discuss your behaviour at home, let's go. This place makes me sick."

With these words, Lucius Malfoy turned around and started walked towards the fire grates. After a couple of steps, he turned looked back at Draco, who still stood at the stairways.

„What are you waiting for, hurry up. I told you I can't stand this place."

„I'm not coming." Draco said quietly.

„If I tell you to go, you will go. Move!"

„I won't set foot in your precious manor again. Ever."

"Draco, what are you talking about?" Narcissa chimed in. But she knew. Draco could see it in the barely contained look of dread on her face. He could hear it in the slight tremor in her voice. She knew he'd stand his ground this time. And she feared it. In some way, he pitied her. After all, he was free to go. She, on the other hand, had nothing. Except for her golden cage, tied forever to this stubborn, unteachable, broken man. She would never be able to walk out on him like he could. Like he would. He had a world to win.

"Im leaving home. I won't return with you today, nor any other day. I'm sorry, mother, but this is how I feel."

"Now look here, you ungrateful little …" Lucius spat, but Draco cut him short.

"Ungrateful? What in the world should I be grateful for, father? For ruining our name? For teaching me lies about nobility and purity of blood? For standing aside, while this monster you liked to call your Lord humiliated and tortured me? What exactly is it I should thank you for?"

Lucius stood stunned. Then his face contorted with fury. "I gave you a home. I gave you food and clothing. I gave you everything you have, and I can take it from you in the wink of an eye!"

"Then go ahead and take it. I don't want it anymore. It is tainted with blood and tears and death. I would gladly trade every thing I own if I could bring back only one of the people we murdered. I can't do that. But I will try, oh, how I will try to make amends."

With these words, he had turned and left them behind. He could still hear the small sobs his mother made when he turned the corner and saw a familiar figure stride towards the exit.

#

"Well, that's as good a reason to go into Healing than any other I've heard."

The girls voice snapped Draco out of his memories.

"Is it, now? Why, thank you." A faint trace of his old smirk crept across his face as he returned his attention to his Potions partner. He did not fail to notice that she had already started to cut the Mandrake root into tidy little slices. Quickly, he reached for his own knife, leaving his past behind him, intent on the future that had just started to unfold.