Title: Coming Home Author:silveredaccents Type: Fiction Length: 2871 Main character or Pairing: Draco Malfoy Rating: PG 13 Canon compliancy: canon compliant up through last chapter [i.e. AU to epilogue] Disclaimer:All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended. All plot ideas are my own. Warnings: impending character death Summary: Draco gets notified that Narcissa has taken deathly ill. Cards Drawn: Strength Reversed. Male Page of Wands Reversed. Six of Coins Author Notes: You might want to thank your beta-readers here, and put any other insights into your story.
23 June 2002 Mr Draco Malfoy It is with deep regret and utmost urgency that I inform you of your mother's admittance to St Mungo's Hospital-
Draco stopped reading. Taking several quick uneven breaths, he attempted to calm enough to ensure he didn't splice himself apparating. The letter had taken well beyond a week to get to him. There was no telling where she might be now.
"Tibby!" he called from the entryway, having barged into the house without ceremony. If he were honest with himself, he'd have admitted he wanted the letter to be some cruel joke. He would have preferred that. Hence his return home instead of directly to the hospital.
Screaming for the house elf wasn't strictly necessary. Nor, actually, was it to call for the creature at all. She was already popping into existence and cowering before him.
"What happened?" he demanded, his voice going deadly soft, as his father's had done occasionally.
The wretched creature wrung her hands before her. "Mistress collapsed, Master Draco. She had got very sick and told Tibby to take care of her. Mistress called upon the mediwitches and they took her to St Mungo's, Master Draco."
He grippd the cane tightly, his knuckles now paler than the stone tiles upon which he stood. "And why was I not informed?" He swallowed forcibly the desire to hex the life out of the miserable thing before him. It would not serve his purposes. Not yet.
Still, he indulged himself with tapping the cane on the tile smartly. The can itself had been his father's, though he had his own wand fitted into the handle two years ago, shortly after his father died, and just before he'd left Wiltshire and his mother behind.
"Mistress ordered Tibby not to call for Master Draco," she whined.
"You lie," he hissed under his breath. Draco paled, almost leaning on the cane. His mother had denied him? That the mediwitch had written to him against her express request bothered him more than he dare consider fully. First, his mother hadn't wanted to contact him at all. Secondly, she'd gotten bad enough for the mediwitch to ignore her desire and contact him as executer of her will. All thoughts of rushing to St Mungo's looking for her fled as he tried to comprehend this denial, or find a way to disprove it.
Tibby shook her head spastically. "No, Master Draco! Tibby doesn't lie! Mistress gave strict orders not to contact the young master for any reason!"
He took a step towards her, fury icing his blood as his mind prepared itself for completing an action he'd never managed before.
"Draco." The soft alto reverberated through the room, carried no doubt more will than by volume. Draco stopped, cane midair and poised to strike.
He looked up to see his mother standing on the landing. She was in a dressing gown of powder blue and leaning on the railing ever so subtly. Her normal alabaster face lacked the vitality he'd grown to associate with her; now, her complexion was chalky and very nearly sallow.
"Mum," he half-whispered reverently, lowering the cane and striding to her. He took in her stance, assigning it more frailty than he'd believed even a moment ago.
He had only crested two stairs when she raised her hand, causing him to pause. "I can walk myself, Draco. I do not need to be coddled and carried."
Draco flushed a strange uneven blotch at the rebuke. Manners forgotten, he stared at her as she turned her back to him and headed up the stairs slowly. As he followed silently, he noted her bare feet, blue and white living marble. She'd obviously gotten up simply to stop him from any hasty action. Her mission accomplished, she was intending to rest again.
Narcissa didn't pause in the private sitting room, but went directly to the master bedroom itself. Draco, however, stopped at the doorway. He'd not been in this chamber since he was a child, and even then, only rarely.
"Do come in, Draco. I have no desire to raise my voice enough to converse with you from there."
Had his concern for his mother's health not been as great, he'd have retorted with scathing commentary of his own about how he was not a child and did not wish to be treated as one. As it was, he felt equal parts anger, shame and worry, so he stepped inside quietly and sat down in the dark olive velvet armchair located conveniently near the head of the bed. That it had been placed there for his benefit was not a foolish whim with which he cared to delude himself. Obviously, she had no such issues contacting others.
He remained silent as he watched her settle against the pillows. For her part, Narcissa seemed to ignore her son, shifting and positioning herself until she was content. As she sighed and Draco readied himself to address her, Tibby popped into the room whining and groveling.
"Does Mistress need anything? Her potion? The Healers?"
"No, Tibby. Thank you."
Draco glared at the elf until it disappeared, leaving only his mother and him in the room.
"Mum, why didn't you tell me?" he asked finally, unable to meet her blue eyes. He couldn't face the judgment he knew by rights was there. How could it not be? She'd obviously been hurt far more by his leaving than he'd gathered.
"Where did you go, Draco? Was it far enough to run from your demons?" Her words fell softly, but that did nothing to dull the blow. Indeed, he knew he could have been much harsher on him. Narcissa Malfoy was not known for mercy.
"I went to Scotland." he stopped himself before he could say more. Discretion might not include lying to his mother outright, though surely she'd have appreciated it more if he'd said France or Russia or anywhere continental really.
"Was it enough? Do you hate me that much? Did you hate him that much?" She paused a half-breath, "Or is it yourself you hate?"
He held his silence, head bowed slightly, eyes on her hand. It wasn't that she surprised him. No. He knew she would understand him. She who helped raise him, helped form his views and opinions. She would see how it had to go. How he hated himself and everything that had to do with the person who had led his family to this. Minutes passed, or at least what felt to be minutes. He looked up to find her gazing at him with a mixure of expectation and pity.
"Why didn't you write? Why didn't you ask for me?"
"How could I ask you to come back here when you hate me, our home, and everything our name stands for? I could not stop you from hating yourself, but I could keep from pushing the rest on you."
Mercy? He'd expected anger, petulance, spite, but never mercy.
"You're my mother. I could never hate you."
"You hated your father."
The simple accusation took the breath out of him. He'd hated what his father had done, but as angry as he was, he hadn't actually hated the man. No matter the horrible words used.
"I never hated him either," he defended quietly. "I hated what I felt he had brought us to. I hated a great many things he did, but," he took a deep breath and sounding nothing like the whiny child he'd once been, he continued, "In the end, I never hated either of you."
She nodded, her eyes closed part way in testament to her exhaustion. Draco watched her sadly. Her breathing seemed even enough; her weight light, but not overly frail now that she was lying down.
Tibby entered, breaking the silent routine that was only just establishing itself. "Mistress, the mediwitch is here."
"Mediwitch?" Draco asked, his throat tightening as if to prevent his heart from escaping through it.
"Tell her to come up, Tibby," Narcissa answered, waiting until after the elf disappeared to address her son. "Yes, Healer Abbott checks on me daily. It's nothing to worry about."
"If there's nothing to worry about, then there's no reason for them to send anyone anymore. I'm here."
"Draco, don't be a child," she chided, raising his hackles as the phrase called up years worth of memories of his father turning the same phrase, controlling him with it. Despite his rising fury, the simple words made his anger impotent and he remained seated while they heard steps coming. A witch appeared, following Tibby into the room.
Healer Abbott, Hannah, his memory offered in a counter productive attempt at utility, could only be described as average. Her complexion was fair, but while she wasn't ugly, she was hardly memorable, save the what appeared to be easy smile she had as she entered the room. Hannah Abbott was comfortable in Malfoy Manor.
"Mrs Malfoy, you seem to be doing well. Company I see. I hope I'm not interrupting." The last word was choked out forcibly, syllable by syllable as her eyes fell on Draco. Just to be ornery and not out of any sense of manners, he told himself, he stood up as she entered.
"Draco," she nodded curtly, then proceeded to ignore him, even so much as barely nodding as he returned the marginal greeting.
"Yes, I'm doing better. As you can see, my son arrived home today." Her voice hid the tension of his homecoming well, setting the tone for the encounter with ease. Not that he expected anything else from her. He'd not seen her unable to manipulate a situation in his entire life.
Though Draco wondered bitterly if Hannah knew of the letter he'd been sent. Or rose, if she'd held conversations with his mother regarding his absence.
The mere fact Hannay was capable of ignoring him irritated his already raw nerves. He stared at her, criticizing every detail he felt didn't measure up to the honour of his mother's presence. The two women seemed content to ignore his stares, a novel experience in regards to his mother and one he found distinctly uncomfortable.
After a lengthy few minutes, Draco opened his mouth, preparing some form of as yet undetermined noise to remind them of his presence when Hannah stepped back. It was by the merest of seconds he managed to close his gaping mouth before she could witness his lack of composure.
"Mr Malfoy, may I see you outside?" she whispered softly.
A glance at his mother showed her fast asleep. He turned a harsh glare back at Hannah who had the audacity to roll her eyes at him.
"She's sleeping."
Draco bristled more at the commentary of the obvious, but he held his tongue, waiting for the proper moment to inform her of her offense. Hannah led him downstairs, stopping in the foyer. She seemed to hold herself more stiffly, as if to stress her authority over him in this matter.
"You shouldn't stress her out. It only shortens her time."
Draco felt his stomach fall to his toes, and got an unreasonable urge to wretch until it came up and out his mouth. Shortens her time. The world swirled in his mind, resounding off the walls of his soul. Narcissa Malfoy was dying.
Draco managed not to fall over, or sway, which impressed him in a perverse way. His mouth dry, he tried to think of how to formulate the words to express his scattered thoughts.
"I see she hadn't told you. Sit down, you look pale. Well, paler than usual."
Completely complacent, Draco allowed her to lead him to the drawing room where he practically fell into a chair. It was the jarring motion that aided his thoughts, giving them the force of clarity he'd been so far from earlier. "How long does she have? Isn't there something you can do? Why wasn't I told earlier?" Once he began, the questioned rambled out quickly. His voice was scratchy and whiny, reverting to the childhood tone mixed with horror.
Hannah's face softened slightly and she seemed to change into someone else, someone who actually cared about him and his mother. He recognized it as the way healers generally interacted with their patients. Still, he couldn't bring himself to be offended at the moment.
"It was not my choice when you were to be told. That she hadn't told you just--" She stopped mid-breath and shook her head.
"Just what, Abbott?" he asked, though his attempt at superiority fell somewhat flat as he wasn't wholly ready to alienate the one person who seemed willing to give him answers.
"Nevermind," she deferred, and Draco felt somehow she was still on her moral high horse. Not that he needed or wanted to hear her estimation of the situation. He knew well enough what it meant.
"Your mother is dying. We don't know exactly how long she has, but less than six months is a good place to start. And we're doing everything we can." Throughout the response, Hannah remained calm and professional. Both the reality and how it was delivered left Draco cold and empty inside. He nodded just enough to let her know he'd heard her.
"Now, if you'd like to go on being the gigantic prat you've been to her, then I'm sure you could hasten her death, so if you insist on being around, then be the son she talks about." In this second half, her personal commentary came through equally strong in both word and tone.
For a full minute, they sat there in silence. He with his head in his hands, elbows on knees and staring at the tile, occasionally looking up to glare at the brunette sitting near him. Hannah with her hands clasped in front of her, looking far more prim than her outburst would indicate.
He wanted to rage at her. He wanted to hex her senseless for the insults, but only one thing remained in his mind. He only had a limited amount of time with his mother left. Hurt began to ooze upwards, causing his vision to go somewhat blurry. He closed his eyes and felt wet on his eyelashes. Draco took a deep breath and tried to hide the shudder that when through him.
"You can go now," he conceded. His voice sounded distant and hollow, even to his own ears. He didn't look up at the rustle of robes as Hannah stood.
She remained silent, though he felt her eyes on him for a moment longer as she paused in her steps toward the door. When he didn't speak again, she continued in her path. He heard the door close and laid back in the chair, finally allowing the wetness to flow down his cheeks.
When he opened his eyes, the room was dark. Judging by how dark, he figured he'd missed the dinner hour by several. Sighing, he wiped at his eyes and cheeks, feeling the slight crustiness of dried tears. He shuddered slightly and pushed himself to standing.
As if in response to the movement, Tibby appeared before him, wringing her hands. "Can Tibby get the young master anything?"
Draco set his teeth together loudly. His head throbbed in response. "Is my mother awake?"
Tibby flinched, nodding, "Yes, Master Draco. Mistress is awake and having dinner in her room."
"Good." Draco turned on his heel and strode up the stairs without another word. His stride turned less angry and stubborn the closer he got to his mother's chambers.
She looked up at him from her position against the pillows. A dinner tray was set on her lap. The image reminded him of the mornings he and his father would decide she needed breakfast in bed. Though there would be no laughter as she chided them about how much of a mess the kitchen would be. No giggles as they held up their hands promising they'd had the house elf cook.
No, this time, it was a solemn matter. She was here because she was not to be straining herself by unnecessarily going up and down stairs.
"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.
Draco finished entering the room and crossed to the chair he'd occupied earlier.
"More rested," she answered, her voice still showing signs of lethargy and indicating more how much was being taken out of her.
He wanted to ask what she had. What was making her so sick, but he didn't want to focus on how little was left. He wanted to focus on how they could spend it. There would be time enough to find out what was wrong later. Tomorrow, when Hannah returned.
Draco nodded. "I'm glad. I rested a bit myself." There was no need to tell her he'd cried himself to sleep like a child. It would only upset her further.
She smiled at him, soft and gentle in a way that both warmed and broke his heart. "I'm glad you're home."
"I'm not going anywhere again."
Narcissa smiled more and reached out for him. He took her hand gently, holding it and stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. Everything else could wait.
Card Interpretation: The quiet strength that Narcissa has always embodied for Draco is dying (strength reversed). Draco is to be the sole controller of the Malfoy estate and has received the news while away denying himself and everything he believed in (page of wands is both a message about and an embodiment of career, passion, what drives us). Now, Draco is faced with what he would do to save her or at least make her proud. In the attempt, he is faced with learning what generosity (six of coins) really means and maybe learn the lesson of strength while he's at it.