FHB: Chapter 35

My dear boy,

By the time this letter reaches you, I would be long gone. I do not have a choice and no one can save me now. From this point onwards, everything you do will be of grave importance. Your actions will determine the fate of this family. It is a heavy responsibility and I apologize for making you carry it. You must understand, that all that I have done was for us. I did not plan to leave like this and if I could change my fate, I would. At this very moment, the best I can do is to write you this letter.

I will never admit this verbally, but I am weak. The choices I have made were never my own and my actions were all for the preservation of our family. Family, honour and blood, has always been our motto. But the most important of all three is family. It may not seem like it sometimes, but I try my best to keep us together. Even if the world calls me a coward, a hypocrite, a liar, and a murderer, I do not regret my actions behind those words. You can look at me the same and I won’t blame you for it. It is the truth. I am not proud of who I have become, but I am proud of you.

Ignorance is not my forte. I know that you are struggling with your identity. You should not be fighting this war, but you’ve been thrown into it because of me. I apologize for the pain I have caused. I wish I could have given you a better life, but that is merely a wish. Maybe when this is all over, you can give your son a better life… one away from this madness. I pray you will get that chance.

As this letter might contain my last words, I want to be honest with you. A parent should not say this to their child, but I have to. The day your mother and I brought you home from St. Mungo’s, I wanted to end your life. I wanted to spare you from a harsh fate, but after watching you peacefully sleep, I could not do it. Sometimes, I wonder if I made the right decision that night. Sometimes, I even regret not having done it. I’m a horrible father, I know.

You’re probably wondering what the point of this whole letter is. You’re probably seething with hate as you digest my words. I have disappointed you, and I will have to disappoint you again because I need you to do something. When the time comes for you to end a life, please do not hesitate. I know you would, but you will have to fight against it. Think only of this family and it wouldn’t be so hard. If you cannot bear to think of me, think of your mother. We have to do what is hard to protect those we love… even if we end up being hated.

Remember, you’re not weak. You have never been weak, Draco. You are far from a coward and you are not a hypocrite. You are not me and you will never be me. You may be my son, but you are a better human being. You are strong, you are brave, and you will never lose your soul in these dark times. I will lose mine, but I will try to find a way back.

Take care of your mother for me, and goodbye.

Your father, Lucius.

He could not believe what he had asked his son to do. Lucius hated himself for it; for following his own father who asked him to kill. He knew that the letter would only torment Draco further, but he had to write it. Lucius had to prepare his son and remind him to be strong. It pained him to see the confliction Draco had to go through for years, but he had a small hope that it would all be over soon.

Lucius folded up the letter and was about to seal it with some wax when his bedroom door violently swung open.

“They are coming for you!” Narcissa said with fear in her eyes.

“I’ll be fine,” Lucius lied.

“No, they cannot take you! On what charge, Lucius? What evidence? Can’t we call someone for help?”

Lucius shook his head before putting the letter in Narcissa’s hand. “Give this to Draco, please.”

“Lucius…” Narcissa trailed off, lost for words as her hope diminished at the sound of Ministry Officers storming up the stairs.

“Narcissa, I need you to do something for me,” Lucius quickly said, knowing his time was running out.

“What is it?” Narcissa’s voice had lost its strength as her eyes began to water.

“I want you to leave me. I want you to take Draco and leave.”

“What? I can’t do that! I will never do that,” Narcissa insisted, as she grabbed onto his hands.

“You have to.”

“No! Not now! Don’t do this now,” Narcissa choked.

Tears began to stream down her cheeks and his heart ached at the sight of her struggle. Why she loved a man that only brought her pain? Lucius wished he knew.

“When the time comes, walk away. Do it for Draco,” Lucius stressed on each word.

Narcissa could not respond to what may seem like a ridiculous request, but Lucius knew that she was strong enough to do it. She had kept them together, protected the family as best as she could, and talked sense whenever Lucius was about to lose himself. She will leave him at the right time.

Now, as much as it hurt him to do so, he had to go. All for family, honour, and blood.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

This fan fiction has officially ended!

Thank you to all who have followed it religiously and voted in the polls. I’m glad that it has finally come to an end and happy that we got to take this adventure together 🙂 I hope you guys enjoyed this story, so do let me know what you think of it in the comments below!

To commemorate the entire series, I decided to whip up a little something. I thought it would be fitting as it ties in with the original series. You can download it if you like 🙂

Just to restate, this will be the last piece of fan fiction on my blog. From now onwards, everything will be original 🙂 If you are new here and would like to read my past fan fictions, you can visit the fan fiction page for all the links. Also, if you would like to read a short Draco fan fiction, click here.

Thanks again and Potter on!

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Case Study #65

Students of the newly developed Magic & Psychiatric department in St. Mungo’s sat in a small lecture theater. They were studying the techniques of dealing and treating mentally deranged patients through the collaboration of muggle science and magic. Today, they were shown a unique case; case study number 65.

Right in front of the class was a pensieve. It was no ordinary one as it had mirrors around the wide glass bowl. Smoke was also puffing excessively from the liquid within, and a thick cloud had gathered a feet above the bowl. In the cloud itself was a memory, playing out an interview.

“Does it make you feel good to watch people suffer?” The interviewer’s voice echoed throughout the small lecture theater.

“Great pleasure,” the subject replied.

“And do you think what you did was right?”

The subject merely laughed in reply.

“So, you think it was right?” the interviewer asked again.

“My right and wrong is defined by you isn’t it? You are here to call me crazy, to justify my actions, to… help me?”

“Yes, I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help doctor. I’m not your patient, so you don’t have to test your patience on my sanity.”

Slowly, the dark room started to fade away within the cloud, and that was all with the short memory.

“At the age of six, the subject had already showed intense sadistic, brutal and violent tendencies. Subject was also highly intelligent and could learn quickly. Interestingly, subjects personality is claimed to be hereditary. Both aunt and cousin were also short tempered and easily distracted,” read Dr. Batred, the senior lecturer of the first badge of students.

“For today’s class, I would like you to go back and write a one thousand word discussion on whether you believe the subject had been born or nurtured with such traits. If you have no questions, class is dismissed.”

Once Dr. Batred had turned his back against his students, he expected to hear them leaving, but instead, one of the asked, “Sir, I’m afraid you have not given us enough information to write on, if you do not mind showing us the other memory bottle you have with you?”

Dr. Batred took a quick glance at the two bottles of memory sitting on his desk. He had earlier planned on showing both of them, but thought of saving one for the next class.

“I was actually planning on showing this one in our next class,” Dr. Batred picked the bottle up as he spoke. A label pasted onto the bottle read, ‘1st Interview’.

“Sir, as much as you would like to chase us off, we would like to know more,” another student added in.

Chuckling to himself, Dr. Batred felt rather happy at his students’ response. Such keenness should be credited.

“Very well. If you are all so very keen.” Dr. Batred headed to the pensieve and retrieved the earlier memory before pouring in the new.

As he did so, he briefly mentioned, “This was an interview conducted by a family friend of the subject. The subject’s parents were rather worried of their child’s state and decided to call for help. It wasn’t easy getting this memory, but thankfully for us, I knew the interviewer. He thought this memory would come in useful one day, so he decided to sent it to me with an invitation to his funeral.”

The class chuckled along with uncertainty of the premise of the statement. Thankfully, the awkwardness of the supposed joke dissolved when the memories in the bottle rose into the cloud above the pensieve.

“Hello,” the interviewer greeted the child.

They were seated in a cozy living room. The fireplace was burning brightly, casting flickers of light on their faces.

“Hello sir,” the child replied politely.

“How are you today?”

“Rather fine, thank you.”

“I would like to ask you a few questions. I hope that it is alright with you?”

“Does it have to do with me hurting my sister?”

“There is a question or two on that.”

“If you must know, I don’t like my sister. Father and mother pays too much attention to her, and she’s rather stupid if you ask me.”

“Is that why you have tried to suffocate her?”

“Yes,” the child answered expressionlessly.

“Why do you do that?”

“I want her to die.”

“Do you want your youngest sister to die too?”

“Cissy? No. I like Cissy.” An expression crossed the little girls face as though the interviewer was asking a ridiculous question.

There was a short pause as the interviewer tried to decipher her expression. But not being able to conclude anything, he continued.

“How old is Andromeda, Bella?”

“What a stupid name,” Bella replied as she stared right into the interviewers eyes.

“She’s four am I right?”

“She’s four. And Cissy is two.”

“Do you know why your mother locks your bedroom door at night?”

“Because she’s afraid I might kill Andromeda in her sleep.” Bella paused before she continued, “They think I might kill Cissy too, but I love Cissy.”

“I see. Is that why you left dead baby birds on Cissy’s crib?”

“They are presents. So Cissy know’s I love her.”

“And did you kill those baby birds?”

“Yes. I squeezed them with my hands,” Bella answered proudly.

“Why did-“

“Don’t you think it’s more meaningful when a gift takes effort, rather than just going to a store and buying one?” Bella interrupted immediately.

“Do you think Cissy would know the difference?”

Bellatrix shrugged in reply. As the interviewer looked to her parents the memory slowly disappeared in the cloud.

“Now, a one thousand word discussion wouldn’t be a problem, would it? Nature versus nurture; get on with it!” Dr. Batred ended that evening class, wondering to himself if he actually thought Bellatrix Lestrange was crazy or just a highly intelligent person with a lack of remorse.

Not Even The Cold

It has been 3 days since they took his father. And in those 3 days his mother had never left her bedroom.

Draco had to make sure she ate during meal times and slept when she needed to. He was constantly making sure all her needs were met. And all done without a single complaint.

Draco Malfoy, a mommy’s boy? Partly true. But the reason why he was trying his best to look after his mother was because she was the only family he had left.

Was it so hard for him to have a normal family? Draco constantly thought.

That morning, he sat on his bed staring at himself in the mirror. He looked ordinary. He could easily pass off as a muggle. And as shameful as it is to admit it, it seemed like a very good idea.

Growing tired at staring at his sleep deprived eyes, he decided to check on his mother. As he entered her room, there she sat again, by the window. For the past 3 days, Narcissa Malfoy would sit and stare out the window. She wouldn’t talk if given a choice, nor would she leave.

Draco could feel her pain, her lost, her fears. Her emotions filled the room, and Draco wished he could do something about it.

Upon hearing him enter, Narcissa turned around and forced a smile.

“Mother, have you eaten?” Draco asked, worried he would lose her too.

“Would you make me a sandwich?” Narcissa asked softly.

Draco nodded and did as he was told. He headed to the kitchen and attempted at making a sandwich, which was the least he could do for his mother.

Bread. Ham. Cheese. Lettuce. What else? Draco thought to himself as he placed one on top of the other. When he finally took a step back from the sandwich, he felt disappointed. If he wouldn’t eat that thing himself, how could his mother?

Draco swept the kitchen table clean, sending the sandwich and everything else on it onto the floor.

“Elkin, clean this up!” Draco shouted at a house elf who hurried to the task given. “And make mother a sandwich,” Draco ordered.

Of all the concocted emotions that was driving him nuts, the very one that affected him that day was disappointment. Couldn’t he do anything himself? Is making a sandwich so hard? Draco felt like a disappointment.

And now that the Dark Lord had chosen him for a task, he was so afraid he would be a disappointment. Not to the Dark Lord, but to his family. Their lives were at stake. If he should fail, he might as well disown himself.

Deep in his own thoughts, Draco noticed the house elf slowly walking up to him. And as he took the plate of sandwich from it, he gave the house elf a kick, “Back to work.”

Still emotionally distraught, Draco headed to his mother’s room and placed the plate on her lap.

“Thank you dear,” Narcissa smiled as she kissed Draco on his hand.

“Do you need anything else?” Draco asked immediately.

Narcissa shook her head and Draco left her to her sandwich. He didn’t have anywhere else to go but his room, so he retreated under the messy comforter on his bed.

Though under his comforter he felt protected from the chill in his room, deep inside, ice was building. Ice was building on everything he hold dear to him, his hopes, his dreams, his future. All growing cold. All fading away with every step he took.

To think that he could actually have a normal family made Draco hate his father. How could his father drag them all into this mess? He never wanted it, and he was sure neither did his mother. Now that his father was in Azkaban, he had to fix it all.

Alone in his room, Draco held on to his tears no longer. The pain, the hurt, the fear and everything that made his mother upset, everything that tore his family apart, was finally surfacing.

He was 16. Merely 16. He didn’t deserve to go through all these.

When Draco heard his door open, he quickly wiped the tears off his cheek and sat up. He was ready to yell at the house elf for intruding his privacy. But at the door was not a house elf… it was his mother.

“How are you feeling?” Narcissa asked as she walked towards him and sat on his bed.

“Fine,” Draco answered, surprised that his mother left her room.

“You don’t look fine,” Narcissa said as she wiped a tear off his cheek.

“Mother…” Draco trailed off. He didn’t know what to say.

“I know. I know you are angry and upset. I know you’re scared,” Narcissa said as she held on to her son’s hand.

“I, I don’t think I can do it,” Draco said, holding back his tears.

“You don’t have to, if you can’t.” Narcissa never wanted this for her son, and she could feel his fear.

“But if I dont-” Draco choked on his words.

“Let me take care of this. Don’t worry about it.” Narcissa closed in and gave her son a hug.

And as though the flood gates broke open, Draco broke down. Tears fell and he couldn’t stop, even if he forced himself to.

“Hush now, everything is going to be alright.” Narcissa held on to her son tighter. He had been taking care of her for the past few days, and it was her turn now. She was his mother, and she was going to protect him.

This time, Draco felt protected. Knowing his mother will have his back, he felt secured. They may not have his father, but they had each other. And nothing was going to break them apart. Not the fear, not the anger, not the pain, not even the cold.