Malfoy's Worst Memory

Epilogue
1.

Draco sat for a long time in the hospital tea room, leafing through the books and marking relevant pages so he could find them again later on. At first a few other witches and wizards sat around the place, though no one spoke. It was as if the late hour placed a curfew on conversation, leaving only the occasional chink of crockery to fill the warm, spice-scented silence. After an hour or so, though, he looked up from his studies and found himself alone. He only then realised how tired he was, and how ill-prepared for the mission he’d set himself. With a deep breath he reminded himself that he was the representative of his name now, and must embody all that name stood for. Thinking like a man and deciding what to do, however, had been far easier when everything was miles away. Now he only had to go down a corridor and a few stairs, his heart thudded against his ribs and a lump filled his throat. He missed the warmth of his bed at Hogwarts and the darkness of the dorm, as well as the familiar sounds, even Goyle’s snoring and Crabbe’s occasional mews for his mother.

After a while, though, he decided to try again to get into the ward. It had to be nearly morning by now and they would have to eventually let him in. Perhaps if he tried throwing a hysterical fit… He gathered up his books and walked through the empty hallways and stairwells. The silence started to bear down on him and made his nerves jangle. They seemed to have dimmed most of the lighting in the place as well, making it full of grey places and corners full of shadow. At night, in the quiet, he could almost hear Death stalking around the place, looking for those who were too weak to carry on. He quickly shoved that thought out of his mind. Ghosts then, his imagination suggested; the sorry wraiths of those who had waned away to nothing in these wards over the years, still shuffling around, looking for something to ease their pain.

Finally he reached the third floor and saw his first living soul in ages. A healer stood by a desk further down the corridor, just outside the door to his father’s ward. From the way she stood with her head bowed, Draco reasoned there must be someone else there too, sitting at the desk but hidden from his view by the healer’s body. He took a deep breath, rehearsed his speech once more in his head, and strode towards them.

‘Excuse me,’ he began.

The healer turned and gave him a rather weary look, but forced a smile. ‘Ah, you again.’

Draco glanced away. He hadn’t counted on meeting the same one who’d been on duty when he arrived. His idea of throwing a fit would have to be re-scripted a little.

‘Well, you’re lucky, I suppose,’ the healer sighed. ‘Your dad woke up a little while ago. I did tell him you’d been by.’

‘So I can go in?’

‘If you’re quiet. And I mean quiet, my lad. There’s other patients still asleep and it’s a good hour till we bring breakfast round.’

He was poised, ready to ask how Lucius was, when the healer moved off, taking a scroll with her on some errand down the hall. Draco stood for a moment in the middle of the corridor, feeling once again like the only being in existence, before he finally turned and contemplated the ward entrance.

The place was dark. Only the glow of a few candles cast a gleam to fight off the shadows. All Draco saw at first were rows of white shrouded bodies, shuffling and twitching in the dark. The occasional cough and the rustling of fabric seemed as loud as a thunderclap against the relative quiet. His heartbeat quickened even more when he could not find his father amongst the heaps of blanket, but then he saw a brighter pool of light flickering behind a half-drawn curtain near the end of the long ward, and heard a sharp swish of turning pages. Creeping like a catburglar, Draco approached the light and the sound.

His father sat propped up against a stack of over-starched pillows, reading an old copy of the Daily Prophet in the light from a solitary candle that hung suspended above his bedside table. (Presumably a magical candle would have less chance of toppling over). Perhaps it was the greyness all around the room, but Draco shuddered a little when he saw how pale his father looked, how withdrawn he was about the face, with his blond hair lank about his shoulders and deep shadows under his eyes. It did not look like Lucius at all and his stomach churned with the ‘wrongness’ of it all. His father should not look so weak and sad, or at the very least, he should not be there to witness it. Draco thought about turning and sneaking out again before his father saw him, but then Lucius looked up and both of them stared, faces full of embarrassment, until Draco finally put his books down on the table and pulled a chair over to sit down.

‘They said it was all right to come and sit with you,’ he said, keeping his voice a low whisper. He wondered about taking his father’s hand. It was his first instinct, but then he thought it might be too personal a gesture, so he knitted his fingers and set his hands down on the mattress beside Lucius instead. ‘Are you feeling better?’

Lucius stared at him a moment longer then closed his eyes and sank back against the pillows. ‘Go home, Draco.’

Draco sagged, but forced himself not to run out the door. ‘I was going to get you a present but there’s nothing open. Is there anything you need though?’

‘To be left alone,’ sighed Lucius.

‘I haven’t sent an owl to Mother yet,’ Draco went on. ‘I didn’t know if you’d want me to fetch her just yet. I think it could be a good idea. The healers said I could stay as long as I wanted though.’ He lifted the newspaper, glanced at the front page, then slipped it into the shelf beneath the bedside table. ‘I’ll bring you today’s copy when it comes out. It might have something about the Muggle garage.’

Lucius shot him a dark look, furious at first but quickly slipping into something that might almost have been apprehensive.

‘If they say anything out of turn I’ll send an owl to the Minister,’ said Draco. ‘They’ll probably know better than to print any of Weasley’s lies, though. Don’t worry. If he tries to tell everyone we had something to do with that garage, I’ll deal with him too. I’ll take care of everything till you’re better. If it’s going to be a while, I’ll write to Dumbledore and tell him I shan’t be back when I expected.’

‘You are a child, your place is in school. Whatever must be taken care of, I will deal with it,’ Lucius replied. ‘Go back to Hogwarts. You don’t want to fall behind.’

‘I won’t. I was doing my homework while I was waiting upstairs.’ He nodded towards the books. Lucius gave them a disinterested glance at first, then frowned.

‘Why have you taken books from the study?’

‘I need them for a project. I didn’t think you’d mind.’

‘You went in there?’

Draco tried to smile but only managed a half-sneer. ‘I cleared away the mess. Don’t worry about it.’

‘That’s all you touched?’

‘That and the books,’ Draco lied. ‘I didn’t want to disturb anything personal of yours.’

He watched his father’s reaction and for a while thought Lucius could see right through him into his soul, and could see the lie there, squirming under his gaze, but then Lucius gave a little nod as if he was satisfied and leaned back again. He closed his eyes and grimaced, clutching at the sheets.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Draco. ‘Father, what’s wrong?’

Lucius shook his head and inhaled sharply. ‘Just the antidote working its way through. Some ghastly little healer said it might be rough for a while. Nothing for you to concern yourself with.’

Draco frowned and prized his father’s fingers off the sheet, then let Lucius grip his hand instead, though his bones soon ached from the pressure. He sighed, relieved, when his father’s pain finally subsided and he relaxed a little.

‘Can’t they give you something to stop it?’ Draco asked.

Lucius shook his head. ‘Merlin knows where the money I donate to this place goes, certainly not into research. You’re sure you left the study as you found it?’

‘All I did was tidy away the bottles,’ said Draco, lowering his gaze momentarily. ‘And I borrowed some of the books. I’ll put them back tonight. I only wanted to look up some family history. I’m supposed to write an essay on a witch or wizard who’s had an impact on the development of modern magic. I was thinking of doing this one, Caius Malfoy.’ He leafed through until he found the right page and then laid the book on Lucius’ lap. ‘He travelled around Europe collecting spells and charms to ward off evil, and it says here that about half of what we’ll learn in Defence Against the Dark Arts is based on his research, and on this book he wrote back in the 1500s. It says he even had to cross through Muggle areas when they were having wars, just to find the answers he wanted. There’s a picture of him here.’ He slid a few more pages over and then pointed at the grainy black and white illustration. ‘I think that’s drawn from the portrait hanging on the east wing upstairs hall, isn’t it?’

‘I think so, yes,’ sighed Lucius without really looking.

‘I found it by accident, to be honest. Just caught my eye, the fact that he looks so much like you, or you look so much like him. Though to be honest, it’s strange looking through some of these books. Our family’s always looked so alike, judging from this lot. I mean, look at this one…Livius Malfoy. He even has the same hair. I thought about doing him as well, because he invented a potion for cleaning off magical stains, even ones enchanted to come back once the victim thinks they’re gone. Apparently someone got him with some sort of ‘embarrassing trouser stain’ hex once at Hogwarts and he never forgot it. But I thought Caius Malfoy and his vampires and things would give me more to work with.’

He toyed with the book, flicking past a few carefully chosen pages but doing his utmost to make it appear accidental and casual. He saw his father frown pensively and hoped it was the pictures.

‘Unless you know someone else in your family?’ he asked. ‘Someone better?’

Lucius sat up a little and thumbed through the book. ‘No,’ he answered quietly. ‘No, that sounds a good enough choice. In fact, I seem to recall there being a copy of Caius’ book somewhere in the upstairs library. I used it in fourth year, if I remember rightly, for an essay on trolls or something.’

‘Can you show me when you get home?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘I just want to see the look on that mudblood Granger’s face when mine gets marked higher than hers for a change, and it might show her that no matter how many teachers she cons into liking her know-it-all answers and papers, its families like ours that’ve made magic what it is today, and it’s in our blood. I actually thought, if it’d be all right with you, that I’d maybe put something in the essay just about the fact that this ancestor looks like you, so you can see the same blood still coming through even centuries on.’

‘All right, Draco, I think that is quite enough,’ said Lucius.

‘Father?’

‘You know exactly what I mean. And if you ever lie to my face like that again, you will be very sorry, do you understand?’

Draco skulked back in his chair. ‘Yes, Father. Sorry, Father.’

A dry, buzzing silence fell over the ward again. Draco stared at his hands then his shoes.

‘It is true though,’ he whispered, taking a chance. ‘Father, there’s no way you can believe what that old Muggle said.’

‘It is none of your concern.’

‘But it is, Father. I’m sorry but it is.’ Draco bit his lip, more taken aback by his own nerve than the foul look Lucius shot him. ‘He didn’t just insult you, Father, he tried to say I was…I don’t know why he’d say it. There’s no way Grandfather would have married someone who might betray the blood like that. So there’s no way Grandmother would have gone near that old creature. He’s just got a grudge against the family, can’t think of any other way to get at us other than lying.’

‘I know,’ Lucius breathed. ‘You don’t think I’ve thought it through myself? I’ve had enough time, stuck in here. All this fuss. I had had a little too much to drink, that’s all. Shouldn’t have left that stuff of your grandfather’s lying around where I could pick it up, not that I could’ve known your relatives would drive me to drink myself to the point where I could no longer read labels.’

‘So it was just an accident, then?’

‘Of course,’ his father snapped. ‘What else would it be? You think I’d let the word of some mangy old Muggle affect me in any way?’

‘No, of course not, Father.’

Lucius stared at the ceiling above his bed for a long time and Draco found himself watching the lines on his father’s forehead, wishing that little crease of doubt would vanish entirely. He collected up the books in silence and set them to one side.

‘Are you sure there’s nothing you need from the house?’ he asked.

‘A change of clothes perhaps. I don’t know.’ From the sigh in Lucius’ voice, Draco reasoned he didn’t care either. Lucius frowned thoughtfully for a moment then glanced over. ‘Don’t disturb your mother with this, Draco. There’s no need to worry her unduly. Let her enjoy her holiday and by the time she comes home, everything should be back in order.’

‘I just thought maybe it would be good to have someone here.’

‘I do not need anyone here,’ said Lucius. ‘I have quite enough people fussing over me as it is, without your mother knowing…’ He gathered up the sheets and clutched them over his chest, but after only an instant he bethought himself and smoothed the cotton down. Outside, the corridor seemed suddenly noisy, full of clanks and clatters as the healers prepared the wake the wards up for breakfast. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the first streaks of daylight turning the sky from black to a deep but hazy blue, as if someone had shone a light through a velvet curtain. He opened his mouth to ask the question pressing for attention in his mind, but faltered twice before he found enough courage to voice it.

‘Father, why would you even think something like that anyway?’

Lucius shook his head. ‘I’ve told you…’

‘Father, please, I just want to know. I’m old enough to know. What happened with you and Grandfather? Was it because of him? Is that why you weren’t sure about the Muggle’s story?’

‘Will you keep your voice down?’

Draco sighed. ‘There’s no one here awake enough to listen. Besides, from what I’ve seen in here, everyone’s so wrapped up in how sick they are, they don’t even know there’s anyone else there. I just…I kept thinking about it last night. If I could be…’

‘You are not,’ said Lucius. ‘Whatever you might have seen or heard in that pensieve, you are a Malfoy. If there is anything murky in the past then that is where it has to stay. It’s all just rumour and speculation. By all official records you are pureblooded, untainted wizard and nothing can change that. I shan’t have my son doubt his provenance…’

‘And you think your father would want you to?’ Draco retorted.

‘How dare you speak to me like this!’

‘I’m sorry.’ Draco lowered his gaze but he kept an eye on his father all the same, watching him slyly through his fringe.

‘My father wanted far more of me than I ever gave him,’ Lucius admitted finally. ‘He had fairly controversial views on certain issues…’

‘Like the money?’

Lucius nodded. ‘Like the money. He had a thing about waste and extravagance. I’m not certain where it came from. But despite that, he truly believed that the Malfoys had an example to set to other wizard families. He believed in the prestige of the name and thought I wasn’t exactly up to it. In hindsight, perhaps he was afraid I might turn out to be too much like him.’ Lucius paused. At first Draco worried his father might be in pain again, but when he glanced up, he saw Lucius frowning deep in thought.

‘Despite his name and despite his ideas as to good wizarding conduct,’ Lucius went on, ‘many people saw him as something of a joke. If I am to believe the reports I’ve heard, then my mother’s family and the Blacks were the guiltiest parties in that respect. They saw him as a mistake, laughed at his ideas to preserve the family fortune and ridiculed him because he never managed to rise very far through the Ministry ranks. He was a bureaucrat of some sort in the Department of International Magical Co-operation. He had all the right connections, only whenever they let him in charge of anything important, they then had to follow him around cleaning up the mess. He just hadn’t the right mindset for leadership. Not his fault. But they looked on him as some sort of joke because of it. I can understand it being true about my mother. That she left him, I mean, not the nonsense about Muggles. But from what I’ve pieced together from other relatives, she grew tired of trying to push him on and make him be the man he wanted to be. I suppose it could be true that she left him. He always told me she’d died, but then how would he look at his son and say she had gone because he was too much of a failure?’

Draco clutched one of the books to his chest and then reached over to take his father’s hand again. After another bout of antidote-induced spasms, the pair of them relaxed and Lucius breathed deeply for a while, but Draco kept a hold of him.

‘At the time,’ Lucius continued, ‘I thought my father was lashing out because he had no one else to take out his frustrations on. Imagine living like the Weasleys, not allowed any of the latest books or brooms or holidays, but unlike them, you knew you had the money just sitting in a vault at Gringotts? I hated him when I was young, and I was convinced he hated me. I could never understand it, because no matter what I did, no matter what I achieved, he never seemed to change. If I failed an exam I was shouted at to do better, if I passed I was shouted at not to rest on my laurels. I could never understand what it was about me that he despised. I was a Malfoy. I was his only son and heir to the name. Yet he treated me as if I was some cumbersome house elf that kept dropping the crockery; something he had to endure and couldn’t get rid of, but would gladly curse into the Next World if he ever had the chance.’

‘So,’ said Draco, ‘thinking that he might have suspected…’

‘It made sense at the time,’ his father replied. ‘But then how much sense can anything make after that amount of alcohol. It’s my own fault, and for once you are not to follow my example, understand? Just what the old bastard said about my father knowing what I was…I thought finally I understood why he treated me like that.’

‘Still, just because Grandfather might’ve thought that, doesn’t make it true.’

‘No. It doesn’t. The Muggle may well have told your grandfather the same lies for all we know. But I thought about it for a while this morning before you came in, just wondering if it could be true, if my mother really did leave us and what would make her do that. Perhaps your Grandfather only wanted to make sure I never resembled him, or made the mistakes he did. He must’ve known…at least in the beginning…that he couldn’t achieve what he wanted and perhaps he wanted to push me because he never wanted me to know that frustration.’

‘Well, it worked though,’ said Draco. ‘I mean, you can do whatever you want. You’re one of the greatest wizards…’

Lucius scowled at him. ‘You and I have tasks appointed us by our blood, and parts to play in the destiny of all witches and wizards on account of who we are. This world may be about to change, Draco, and it will be up to us to see to it that things change for the better. Situations like your Grandfather’s…Muggles weaselling their way into our lives as if they have some entitlement…it will be up to us to make sure they never happen again. I think you understand me.’

Draco nodded. ‘I do.’ And, he thought, no Muggle or Muggle-born will ever cause this family so much hardship again.

‘Perhaps your Grandfather knew more than they credited him with,’ Lucius went on. ‘Perhaps he knew what was to come and simply wanted to make sure we would be strong enough to face it.’

Draco smiled nervously. ‘Sounds like you did a lot of thinking this morning.’

‘Well, what am I supposed to do in here? Listen to the Symphony for Snoring Old People in A Flat minor?’

One of the other patients grunted as if to protest this insult. Draco laughed quietly to himself.

‘So long as you are all right, Father,’ he whispered. Lucius shrugged and ignored him.

‘I was thinking too,’ Draco tried again. Lucius glanced up and raised an eyebrow to warn him off speaking out of turn again, but he carried on unfazed. ‘It’s a little like what you were saying earlier about making sure the Muggles don’t get too close or think they can get too close.’

‘Oh?’

‘Just, when you get out of here,’ said Draco. ‘I had a thought about something we could do.’


2.

An owl hooted coolly across the night, but nothing else stirred. All along the road to the village, another thick blanket of mist drifted between the bushes and turned the trees into spectral shapes that leapt suddenly out of the dark. Wands held high and gleaming from Lumos charms, Draco and his father moved soundlessly through the countryside. Draco grinned with excitement and his smile widened whenever he saw his father’s expression. Over the last few days he had watched the weariness dissipate from his father’s features, to be replaced by a sort of wicked pleasure, as if the thought of their mission was also working through his veins with the last of the antidote. He had not actually said this was a good idea, but Draco knew his father was proud. He could see the satisfaction there in the way Lucius’ eyes sparkled and wondered once or twice if his Grandfather had ever looked that way. If Lucius was right, and old Abraxas only worried that his son might be an embarrassment to the name, then surely he had to have been pleased when he saw how Lucius turned out.

They passed the standing stones and entered the outskirts of Avebury, where a blustery wind whipped around the trees and whistled as it flailed around the buildings. A few of the houses had lights on, but the two wizards moved so quickly and so quietly that even if someone had looked out, they would only have seen two streaks of light dart across the green.

When they reached the old cottage, Draco nudged his father and they extinguished their lights in unison. It took a moment for Draco’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, but then he soon picked out the white plaster of the house as it reflected the moonlight, and spotted the black slab that was the garage door. Lucius went over and opened it, ducked inside, and a moment later the growl of an engine shattered the silence. Draco went to the drive and waited until his father had reversed the Silver Wraith down to the gate before he got into the passenger seat. Lucius studied the controls with a deep frown of concentration, struggling to remember what each button did, then let out a little ‘ah’ as he found the button that would keep them invisible so far as the Muggles were concerned.

‘You’re sure you don’t want this?’ Lucius asked.

Draco smiled. ‘Let’s go.’

They drove through the sleeping village to the Muggle garage. The wrecked cars were still in the field and tree, but there were no Ministry officials hanging about. Draco’s heart thudded. They parked on the road and got out, then retreated onto the verge and leaned against the wire fence. They exchanged glances and Draco sighed to steady his nerves.

‘No more Muggles,’ he whispered to himself.

They cast their charm together, laughing as soon as they had said it, and watched the Rolls Royce levitate off the road and soar up into the night air. It twirled above the garage roof, glinting in the moonlight.

‘Now let it go!’ Draco called out. They lowered their wands and let the car fall. With a deafening crash it broke through the flimsy roof and clattered down into the building. The noise continued for a long while after the dust had settled, but Draco couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed at the outcome. He frowned and looked at the grubby old place. No one would even notice the damage, most likely. There was an odd rushing sound inside though, something he couldn’t quite place, and a strange smell of burning suddenly floated across the chilly air.

‘Ah well,’ sighed Lucius. ‘That’s that then.’

‘I suppose,’ said Draco. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected, but this was not it.

‘The car’s gone,’ Lucius told him. ‘The last trace of Muggle influence on this family. What more do you want?’

They turned to leave, when suddenly a bang louder than anything Draco had ever heard boomed out from the garage. The blast threw them both to the ground and Draco landed on his face in the grass. He glanced over his shoulder and saw glittering flames billowing out from the blackened remains of the building, burning debris bouncing down into the fields, where they started smaller fires. The stench of chemicals and soot made Draco choke but he laughed anyway. Beside him, his father flipped his cloak back from his face and glowered out at the explosion.

‘Something like that!’ Draco laughed.

Lucius swept his hair back from his face and shook his head. Then very slowly, a smile spread over his soot-streaked features and he began to laugh darkly. Long after the sirens of some Muggle vehicle forced them to leave the fire and return to the house, Lucius kept on smiling to himself and let out the occasional chuckle.

‘So,’ Lucius sighed as they reached the gates to the house, ‘have you got everything ready for tomorrow? I sent an owl ahead to remind Dumbledore you were coming back. I sent one to McGonagall too, just to suggest she keeps an eye out for those early editions of the Prophet, and that she deals severely with anyone who mentions it.’

‘I’ll deal with it,’ said Draco. ‘Anyone tries to say anything to me, they’ll get a swift hex in the back.’

‘Good boy. Just be sure if you’re caught to make a fuss and be as upset as you possibly can be. It doesn’t pay to show weakness in front of your peers, but it can work wonders in front of teachers, especially McGonagall.’

‘Yes, Father.’

Lucius leaned against the gate post and glanced towards the house. ‘I think it best that we never mention this again. Any of it.’

‘Of course, Father.’

Lucius considered him a while as if checking for any hint of a lie, then he nodded and, pulling himself up straight, offered his hand. Draco accepted and tried not to smile too much.

‘You’ve done well,’ said Lucius, then they walked in silence back to the house.





‘It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,’ said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. ‘Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s mad. Most wizards these days are half-blood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out.’
- Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Chapter seven.