All was well.
For some, at least. For others it was hell and the predictions that the Dark Lord was set to win the war within the next year or so only cast horrible, dark, looming shadows over their lives.
But not for the Malfoys. No, all was well for them. They relished in the prospect of a world run by the Dark Lord. After all, that was exactly what they had worked so hard for all those years. It was exactly why Lucius was up day and night running around the Ministry and doing the Dark Lord’s bidding. It was what Abraxas had worked so hard for it the past, clearing the way for his son and wife to take over. It was what Narcissa had wanted ever since she was a little girl and heard the stories her grandparents told her about ‘the good old days’ …
Yes, for the Malfoys, all was well. They could take midnight strolls around the grounds of their grand manor and spend evenings doing nothing but whisper each other loving words. Or, they could, in the past, before one such night led to a healthy newborn with a good set of lungs who wasn’t afraid to use them to get what he wanted.
True, it was midnight now, and Lucius was strolling, outside, but he was also sleep-deprived and alone, having promised his wife he’d get Draco back asleep this time. That she should get some rest herself.
He regretted it already, and not even five minutes had gone by. He almost wished for the Mark to burn just so he had an excuse to put down the screaming child. Draco showed no sign of quieting down no matter how much Lucius rocked him back and forth, no matter how many sweet words he whispered in those tiny ears. Nothing worked. He was simply inconsolable.
At least the weather wasn’t too bad. He already dreaded doing this again in winter. But surely he’d be old enough to not need such treatment any more at that age? Lucius had no siblings and no experience at all with children, so he made a mental note to ask Narcissa in the morning.
And so Lucius carried young Draco in his arms, pacing up and down the gardens for a whole hour, hoping the fresh air would calm him. But it didn’t, so Lucius went back inside, sinking into a rocking chair and hoping the movement would put the boy to sleep. Another hour passed before Draco finally quieted. Lucius lay him in his cot and used his wand to show him fun images, but the child showed no interest in them, and only screamed harder when Lucius turned his back to get just a second of rest.
It drove him mad. His watch told him it was four o’clock. If he wanted to sleep at all before he was required at the Ministry for that deal …
He carried his son out of the nursery again and brought him to the pantry down the hall. Balancing his son, his wand, and the correct vial, he made his way to one of the guest bedrooms they had. He lay down his inconsolable son and got in bed with him.
It was now or never. He dried away the boy’s tears and got him to be a little quieter for a few seconds. Long enough for him to open the vial and hold it to his tiny lips. He tilted his head a little and tried to force it down his throat –
He spluttered and the deep purple liquid got everywhere. It stained Draco’s skin, it drenched the bed-sheets, it even coloured his hair. But by some miracle, he swallowed some, and it calmed him down almost instantly.
Lucius watched the rise and fall of his small chest for some time, waiting to be sure Draco was safe and sound asleep before he downed the remainder of the potion himself.
All was well.
And all remained well, or at least, in some ways it did. The Malfoys still had each other and came away unscathed from the chaos that followed the Dark Lord’s defeat, and that was more than many could say. Even Narcissa had to deal with the knowledge her sister was locked away in Azkaban, tormented by the Dementors, whilst she sipped her expensive wine, slept in her luxurious manor, and watched her baby boy grow old.
A baby. That’s what got the Dark Lord. A child no older than Draco.
A child who was robbed of its parents in a way that was devastating to think about. A child that would grow up to be an immensely powerful wizard, that much was obvious – and the Malfoys were far from the only ones holding out for this new rising power – but who had to feel very small and very alone as well. Where was this child now? Did it thrash around in its sleep, struck by nightmares? Did it scream and cry hysterically, hoping for its parents, when its parents never came?
In any case, Draco did. He thrashed around in his sleep, struck by nightmares. He screamed and cried hysterically, hoping for his parents, but his parents never came.
Unlike the child who defeated the Dark Lord, however, he could wake up from this nightmare, and he did. He snuggled up with his stuffed dragon and tried to calm down, but he was afraid of the dark, and light was nowhere to be found. The room was scary now the purple walls were black and the colour was drained from his toys.
The soft howling of the wind reminded him of werewolves and had him shaking in fear. He couldn’t take it any more and climbed out of bed, padding out of the door and into the cold hallway. He stumbled in the dark, tears still streaming down his face as he reached his destination.
Both Lucius and Narcissa were fast asleep when Draco entered the room. They were caught up in nightmares of their own. Nightmares involving not werewolves but Dementors, yet the fear of the dark was just as strong.
Lucius awoke to a soft tug on his arm, then a harsher tug on his hair, followed by a muffled sob. He opened his eyes, saw his son and the state he was in, and shot upright. He cast a glance at Narcissa but she was still asleep. Best to let her sleep. She rarely found her rest these days.
‘What’s the matter?’ he whispered, trying not to wake her.
‘Ba-bad werewolf in – in my bed!’
Panic set in first and sent him to his feet, but calmness took its place when he looked outside and saw the crescent Moon. Whatever it had been that upset Draco, it wasn’t a werewolf, and that was one massive relief.
He didn’t say as much, though. He simply grabbed his wand from his nightstand and lifted Draco up in the air. ‘Shall we go fight the big, bad werewolf?’ he whispered in the boy’s ear.
Draco nodded and clung to Lucius as they made their way to his bedroom. Lucius lit his wand and pushed open the door to reveal … nothing.
Just as he’d expected.
There were no monsters, no werewolves … There was nothing to be afraid of.
Had he been Abraxas, then this had been the end of it. He’d have sent the shaking Draco to bed, even if it meant the boy had to cry himself to sleep. He remembered very well how he’d felt after a nightmare when he had been young, and he knew how it felt to be on his own through it.
He did not want to be that kind of father. He did not want his son to remember him that way, to go through these hard moments on his own. This was a fear and a pain he could avoid, one he could protect him from, and he was going to make sure he did that the best he could.
So he said, ‘The werewolf must’ve gone away when it heard us coming. Do you see it anywhere?’
Draco pulled away from his shoulder and Lucius took him on a tour around the room, making sure to let him inspect every nook until his tears dried and his smile returned.
‘You’re the best, Daddy!’ he squealed in delight.
‘You’ll be just as great as Daddy one day,’ Lucius murmured in his ear, earning him another squeal.
‘I’ll be the greatestest!’ he shouted out, and Lucius did not correct his grammar, nor tell him to be quiet.
‘You will be,’ he agreed, putting Draco down on his bed. ‘You’ll be the greatest if you sleep well and work hard. If you do that, you can do anything.’
Draco’s face fell, and he fidgeted with his hands. ‘But I don’ wanna sleep …’
Lucius sighed and sat down on the bed beside him. ‘Is it the werewolf you’re afraid of? Do you think it’s going to come back and eat you?’
Draco nodded. ‘Will you stay here with me?’
‘I’ll stay here until you’re asleep –’
‘No, no! Forever, please!’
‘All right, all right, I’ll stay. Forever. What do you say about that? I’ll keep the nasty monsters at bay.’
A small smile formed on Draco’s lips as he nodded again. He crawled under the covers and closed his eyes, and Lucius stared out of the window. The wind howled against the dark blue sky. His eyelids felt heavy, and morning was only a few hours away, but he couldn’t let himself rest just yet; he did not want to be known as the father who left. the father who didn’t keep his promises. The father who failed.
He turned his attention back to Draco, who stared at him with big grey eyes that had been a stunning blue not so long ago, when the world had been a scarier place and real monsters had walked the earth. One with red eyes and a skin so white it did not look human any more. A monster he had served.
He was, for the first time since the Dark Lord’s defeat, glad he was gone. Glad Draco would never have to meet him and live in the knowledge he was there, the knowledge he could end a life – end the world – with a flick of his wand.
He leant forwards and planted a kiss on Draco’s nose, causing him to giggle. ‘Close your eyes and get some sleep,’ he said, hoping they both could get some rest before dawn.
Draco closed his eyes in obedience and for a moment it seemed he would really fall asleep; his breathing turned rhythmic and slow, and he turned in his bed to find a more comfortable position – then sat upright, with wide eyes that clearly spelt fear.
‘I’m here, Daddy’s here,’ Lucius said, stroking his son’s blond hair in an attempt to soothe him. ‘It’s all right. You can go back to sleep now. Daddy’s here to keep you safe.’
Draco nestled himself against him as he closed his eyes again, and Lucius kept an arm around him protectively. And it went on like this. The slightest noise, even the rustling of the trees, startled the boy and sent him upright, wide-eyed and alert. The longer it lasted, the greater his distress.
After half an hour of this back-and-forth, Draco was crying again, and nothing Lucius said or did could calm him. He was, therefore, forced to take drastic measures. Drastic measures he hadn’t taken since that one night when Draco had been newly born and sleep deprivation had destroyed his ability to think. He had sworn to himself never to use it on his son again, but …
‘Come here,’ he whispered, lifting his son out of bed and going for the door. ‘I know something that’ll help you sleep, all right?’
He took him down to the pantry and got out a clear vial holding a deep purple potion. It was the last of the stock. He needed it so often these days, and Narcissa … she did not think it was wise to take them as often, but he still kept one on hand for her at all times. He’d have to ask Severus if he could brew them some more.
He took Draco to the kitchen and had him sit down on one of the chairs. He poured the potion into a cup, down to the last drip, and handed it to his son with a stern ‘Not a word to Mummy’.
And Draco drank it all.
He watched as his young son finally drifted off to sleep, a gnawing guilt creeping in. It was the easiest solution, yes, but easy wasn’t always right.
And yet, for now, all was well.
But if all would remain well … Well, that was the question, wasn’t it? Draco was ageing fast and would soon be of school-age, and that meant life had never been as hectic for the Malfoys as it was now, with all that still needed to be bought and arranged. The young boy was to be educated at Durmstrang, as there truly was no finer institute of magic anywhere – not for Draco, at least; Lucius had been colleagues with Igor, the school taught the Dark Arts rather than simple defence against it, and, most importantly, it did not accept Mudbloods into the school.
The latter was a fact that Draco was all too keen on repeating to anyone he saw – so, Vinny and Greg, mostly, for they were his best friends and would listen to anything he said even if he had already said it several times before. Vinny and Greg, however, would be educated at Hogwarts, and no amount of nagging from Draco could change this.
Thus started Draco’s uncertainty. From the moment he learnt that his best friends would be educated here in Britain, and that he had to go off to some cold, icy place all by himself, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad would happen to him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this would be the end of his happy life. It plagued him day and night and actually stopped him from sleeping at all. He couldn’t help it. His mind simply kept thinking of all the things that could go wrong.
It was one such sleepless night, and Draco saw and heard the clock strike midnight. And it stroke one. And then two o’clock, and three … and he couldn’t take it any more. He tried not to cry, he tried not to get his parents – after all, when he was at Durmstrang, he would be miles and miles and miles away from them – and he tried not to panic too much over still not knowing a word in that strange language they’d speak there, in the strange climate, with all the strange people …
He stumbled out into the cold hallway and made his way to the bathroom to freshen up. He stumbled towards the sink and drank some water out of his favourite cup. It had been a gift from his grandmother, before she passed last year.
Tears ran down his face as he continued to sip from the cup. He’d already lost his Grandma. What if he lost more people? His grandfather? His friends? His parents? And what if he lost them whilst stranded all the way in – in whatever country Durmstrang was in! Even that he did not know. It was hopeless.
He sank to the floor, silently crying to himself, pitying himself, feeling all alone.
And as he did so, Lucius stirred from his sleep across the hall in a completely unrelated case. He’d simply had a bit too much to drink last night, and he was paying for it now. That happened more often these days. He put it down to the stress of sending Draco so far away.
He made his way over to the bathroom without even properly waking up. He only snapped awake when he found the door ajar, and though it was dark, he could easily make out the shape of his son sitting on the cold floor, clutching a cup with both hands.
There was nothing more sobering to a father than that.
‘Are you all right? You’re not ill, are you? Hurt? Injured?’
He threw himself to the floor beside him and looked him over as quickly as he could but found nothing except for a lot of tears. He pulled Draco close, closing his eyes to keep the nausea at bay.
His boy needed him.
He held Draco until his tears had all dried up, and he could no longer feel his chest heaving, his lungs gasping for air.
‘Now, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?’ Lucius prompted, pulling away from the embrace to look him in the eye.
‘Can’t sleep.’
Lucius stroked his hair. ‘Why not?’
Draco shrugged and looked away, then changed his mind. ‘I don’t want to go to school. It’s … it’s so far away, and it’s scary, and … and they don’t even speak the same language!’
‘You’ll learn the language quickly enough. Have you been paying attention in class? Or, if you want, we could practise together instead. Or I could get Igor over, and he can help you. You know Igor, don’t you?’
‘But that’s not what I want! I want to stay at home … with you … with Mum … I don’t want to leave …’
Tears sprang hack to his eyes, and he buried his face in Lucius’ nightshirt to hide them.
‘I thought you were excited about going,’ Lucius mumbled, rubbing soft circles on his son’s back. ‘Is this why you’re having trouble sleeping?’
He could feel his head moving up and down. The soft hum only confirmed it.
He sighed. ‘How about you sleep with us tonight? How about that? Just the three of us.’
Draco pulled away slightly. ‘Together?’
‘Together,’ Lucius affirmed, wiping away some of his tears.
He steered him away from the bathroom and towards the master bedroom, where Narcissa still lay sound asleep. He tiptoes around the bed to his side, motioning for Draco to follow him. Draco did, but he stopped at the nightstand and looked at the flask atop it.
‘What’s that?’ Draco whispered.
Lucius sat down on the bed and patted the space next to him, but Draco didn’t move.
He sighed. ‘It’s a potion for dreamless sleep.’
‘What does it do?’
Lucius hesitated. ‘It helps you sleep,’ he said. ‘It helps you not have any bad dreams.’
Draco seemed to consider this for a moment. ‘Why do you have it?’
‘Because I have trouble sleeping as well sometimes.’
Draco looked at him in disbelief, his ten-year-old-brains trying to process this piece of information. Lucius had to suppress a smile. It was likely the first time Draco ever thought about Lucius as being able to experience any of the bad things he experienced.
Just as it should be. It would do Draco no good to know Lucius needed it as often as he did. It would only do him harm to know he relied on such tools to be able to rest at all.
‘How does it taste?’
Draco was eyeing the potion with a greed Lucius could place all too well, and therefore, he handed the flask to his son. ‘Try it,’ he said, because it was truly harmless, and there was no way to explain the taste of the potion otherwise. To try it would have been his next question either way.
Draco took it and looked at the purple liquid swirling around inside, then took a sip, and another … the potion worked his magic and it wasn’t long before he threatened to drop the flask in his fit of extreme drowsiness. Lucius quickly took it from him and put it back on the table, caught Draco before he fell over, and tucked him in beside Narcissa. He was already sound asleep, and he slept late into the morning.
This gave Lucius enough time to discuss the matter of education with his wife. At breakfast with Draco she proceeded to proclaim loudly that she could not bear the thought of sending her boy so far away, and how that meant there simply was no other option but to send him to Hogwarts instead.
And Draco smiled, unable to hide his joy.
Yes, all was well.
The decision to send Draco to Hogwarts was the best decision they had made in ages. Instead of Igor, he’d have Severus to look after him and Lucius wasted no time to sign up for the board of governors. The first of September was approaching.
All was well.
But Hogwarts was still a long way away, even if it was closer than Durmstrang. The Malfoys had never been separated before, and certainly not for months at a time. And so young Draco was plagued by homesickness – though he tried not to show it, of course, because homesickness was for little children – and aside from frequent letters are care packages, there was nothing Narcissa and Lucius could do.
Even the holidays did not make up for it. Nothing did. They felt shattered. To separate the Malfoys was to pull apart one living being and to force its limbs to live on their own. It was cruel. Criminal, even. But although they discussed home education, it never was a true option; Hogwarts provided Draco with far more than they could ever offer him.
And it did settle into a rhythm. They did find a way around it. It was never ideal, no …
But all was well enough.
Until it wasn’t. Until the world shattered in a way they had never thought possible any more. Until something burnt that was never supposed to burn any more. Until Lucius was called to a graveyard and forced to beg and praise and serve the same monster he had served before – but could not bring up the same conviction and devotion he had felt the first time around. Something in him had changed. And Lucius was out day and night again, barely getting any sleep, barely allowing himself rest. Because his son was out there, and he was not going to let anything happen to him, not if he could help it.
And Draco awoke from nightmare after nightmare, bathing in cold sweat in his dormitory at Hogwarts, and later at home, all alone. Cedric Diggory’s dead body haunted him in his dreams, but he told no-one. His friends wouldn’t understand, with how pleased they were about Cedric’s death and the Dark Lord’s return. Teachers could not be trusted. And his parents, well, they had enough to deal with without him adding to their troubles …
All was not well.
Lucius had failed and was all alone now, in Azkaban, slipping away from himself.
Draco was punished and was all alone now, with an impossible task ahead of him.
Narcissa had to watch and was all alone now, desperate to do something to fix things.
The Dark Lord was cruel. He tore down families, and he tore down the Malfoys. They were not strong enough.
All was not well.
Draco was at Hogwarts finding solace in a see-through girl, a shadow of the past, a ghost that understood him like no other. She talked him through the nights, she helped him at his worst, when even sleep evaded him and there was nothing that brought him rest any more. He spent time coming up with a plan. He was numb. He wished for tears to flow from his eyes, he wished for emotion, he wished for anything that could show him he was still alive, but it would not come, so he focused on repairing the Vanishing Cabinet and ignored the bags around his eyes. It was the only thing he could do.
Lucius was in Azkaban, losing his hope, losing his love, losing his life. He felt more and more like a failure each day he was stuck on the island instead of out and about, able to keep his son safe, able to keep his wife safe. He was the head of the family. He was a Malfoy, and he was nothing.
Narcissa was at home, sick with worry, sick with fear, sick with a building, burning hatred for the one who had caused this all to happen. Not her husband. Not even her sister. Lord Voldemort.
All was not well.
Draco was numb, yet he could feel. The earth beneath his feet burnt, and he was the one who set it on fire. The blue sky darkened and turned grey from the smoke. The adrenaline rushing through his body kept him going – he was alive. He survived. He wasn’t dead. Draco felt dead, but he wasn’t.
Dumbledore was. Dumbledore wasn’t alive. Dumbledore didn’t survive. Dumbledore, like so many others, was dead. And he should have cheered and cried in happiness, but he didn’t. Because Draco could feel, yet he was numb.
Because all was not well.
Draco didn’t sleep. Narcissa didn’t sleep. Lucius didn’t sleep. None slept, yet the house was silent.
They all willed themselves asleep, buried deep into their covers, but it wouldn’t work. Willpower wasn’t enough. Even when it was, and they briefly caught their sleep, nightmares would put an end to it.
Because even though they lived, even though they survived another day, even though they were not yet dead, it couldn’t last long. The Dark Lord was a scary man, and they were on his to-kill list. Something had to change, and fast.
Perhaps then all would be well again.
And change, it did. Eventually. After many, many hard months, the Dark Lord was gone. Again. For good, this time.
But the Malfoys stayed the same. Broken. Alone. They couldn’t remember the last time they had properly slept, and they looked the part. They couldn’t remember the last time they had smiled, and they looked the part. They couldn’t remember the last time they had felt anything but fear, and they looked the part.
Draco sat in his bedroom at night, not sleeping. Never sleeping, because his sleep had been stolen from him a long time ago. He just sat and stared at his lit wand, and that was all he did. That was all he could do. The colours in his bedroom no longer held any meaning. The sounds he heard blurred in the background. He barely existed.
Narcissa was in the sitting room with four bottles of Ogden’s Old, frozen in place, her mind too intoxicated to think of anything, her body too tired to do anything but lie.
Lucius wasn’t there. He never took to alcohol. When sleep wouldn’t come, he went for the pantry instead. Or, he used to. Lately, he hadn’t had a pantry to go to. He hadn’t had a house that was his own. And in terms of potions … there wasn’t much left, and with Severus dead, there was no knowing when or if they could acquire more.
But this, today – tonight – was just too unbearable not to drown out with a good night’s sleep.
When he made for the bedroom again, his eye fell on Draco’s door. It was obviously light inside, so after brief hesitation, Lucius knocked.
‘Enter.’
Draco’s voice was far too mature, but he shoved that thought aside as quickly as it came. He opened the door and stepped inside, closing it behind him. He blinked against the bright light.
When his eyes adjusted and found the source of it, he took a step back.
The boy sitting on the bed was not the same boy he had comforted so many times at night, when times had been simpler and werewolves or school trouble had been all there was to worry about. There were no tears on his pained face; he had lived through too much for there to be any. Draco didn’t even look at him. He stared past him, at the wall, as if Lucius was invisible. There was no trace of emotion on his face, no glint in his eyes. He was empty.
He knew that feeling all too well.
Lucius approached him and sat down next to him, and still he sat unmoving. He put an arm around his stiff, thinned body and brushed his hand through his greasy hair. He pulled him closer, laying Draco’s head down to rest on his shoulder. He listened to the sound of his breathing, which grew increasingly ragged the longer they sat there. He rubbed circles on his back in an attempt to comfort him because he had no words to do so. He could not promise him that this was all, that it would be fine, that it’d work out. He could not comfort his son, his child, his baby. He couldn’t chase his demons away.
He had failed as a father to him. He had failed as a human being. All he could do was offer him the last of the only thing that could bring him any rest at all. He pulled the half-empty flask from the pocket of his robes and pressed it into Draco’s hands.
Draco recognised it instantly. He drank the precious purple liquid down to the last drop. It was the last of their stock, but Lucius did nothing to stop him – he had already done too much.
Draco fell asleep almost instantly, the potion only adding to the exhaustion he must have already felt. Lucius lay his head down on the pillow beside him and watched the steady rise and fall of his chest as the air found its way to his lungs and back out again. He was reminded so suddenly of when Draco had been but a baby, he had to force himself to look away, for it was too much to think of such simple times.
He locked eyes with Narcissa.
She had somehow found her way upstairs to Draco’s room. Now she stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do, especially now she had been seen. Lucius knew that feeling all too well. He had been just the same moments ago, staring at her body sprawled out on the sofa in the sitting room, stinking of alcohol and puke.
Her once immaculate hair now hung loose, wild, and there were dark circles beneath her eyes. She looked worse every day, but to Lucius, she was everything. He needed her to know that, but his throat was too tight to speak, to say that yes, she still belonged with him. She still belonged with Draco. They still belonged together, even though there had been too many nights of separation for it to still come naturally.
He beckoned her closer with his hand.
Narcissa moved slowly. She lowered herself onto the bed, next to Draco, next to Lucius. For a moment, he was certain she wanted to say something … Perhaps he wanted to say something.
Lucius’ hand found hers, the best substitute for words he had, and they linked fingers. Hers were bony, and her touch was light. Fragile. She rested her head against his shoulder and slid her arm gently around him, reaching for their son. Lucius, too, had grown thin. He was but a shell of his former self. She could easily get to Draco.
Right now, that was a blessing.
The three of them lay still, breathing in unison, and Lucius felt something creep up on him he hadn’t felt in years: peace. The aftermath of the storm still raged outside, and there was no telling what would happen with them.
The world was broken, but here, in this bedroom, for this moment –
All was well.