They All Love You

part forty-one (draco's memories)

It was like he never left, the cold dark manor. He had hoped never to visit it again, perhaps on occasional holidays but nothing further. The wrought iron gate stood tall, intimidating Draco as he stared blankly at the building he was supposed to call home.

Not even owls hooted nearby, and the eerie silence of night created shivers all over his pale skin, forcing him to raise his palm to the magical identification wards placed around the plot- invisible to the eye. A ring of green illuminated when his palm was held up, and the gate opened quietly. He walked slowly down the stone path, delaying his arrival for as long as possible. 

He had no idea if anyone was there, or what had become of the manor. Contact with his mother had been minimal, but every letter was kept in Draco's first year trunk he brought to Hogwarts each year. Short, they were, but heartfelt to him. Letters dating back to when he was eleven years old to now were all kept neatly and well kept at the bottom.

Hesitating, he opened the front doors. More quiet welcomed him, and he stifled a cough from an over amount of dust floating through the air. His footsteps echoed through the high ceilings and marble flooring, with his levitated trunk soundless and mere inches off the ground. A small light illuminated in the main study, which naturally he drifted towards. He left is trunk on the floor and crept across the loud flooring and into the dark oak room.

It was large in size, with shelving lining the walls, with an even larger desk in the middle. Near the windows, however, a small lilac sofa was positioned. Courtesy of his mother, of course, when she had convinced Lucius to put one in there so she could be near him while he worked. It took a few weeks of convincing, but Narcissa put an end to it by placing it there overnight.

There on it, his mother lay fast asleep, with her to arms folded into a pillow like position, lightly snoring. Two cups of tea were sitting on the matching dark oak end table, with Draco's favorite pastry: raspberry strudel. He dipped a finger in the tea, cold, and cast a near-silent accio to retrieve his mother's finest woolen blanket.

Once he draped it over her, he doused the few lamps in the study and made his way to his bedroom. It was cold and dark as he remembered, and the curtains were already closed. He shut the door behind him and flickered the light in his spacious bathroom with a simple 'lumos'. 

He had already soft joggers and his jumper on, so all that was left was to wash his face and brush his teeth. The golden faucet squeaked loudly as lukewarm water streamed out, and he splashed some water over his face, arms on the sides of the sink as he looked at the reflection in the mirror. 

Like a parallel, he saw himself in the Hogwarts first floor bathrooms in his sixth year, having another unsurprising panic attack. At least that's what Pansy called them when he described them to her. He remembered his thoughts; words flying through his head. He had chosen what he would do.

Everything had gone to shit.

He was going to help Potter, to his displeasure. Not morally, of course, since he had nearly killed one of his own classmates a few days before in a ladies bathroom. He had screwed up again, and again, and now all he wanted to do was something useful. Something that didn't make him want to throw himself off the Astronomy Tower. Talking, even befriending Potter would surely kill him, but he knew what Voldemort was planning. He had to know- everything. All he wanted was to avoid the plans Voldemort had made; the deaths, the war, the pain.

But before he could even talk to him, Potter had found him and attacked. He was sure he would've killed him, and perhaps he wished he had. Everything would be made right if Snape wouldn't have found him. Draco felt crushed at the thought of just barely being able to do something good for a change- but even the hero didn't want him. Or his help.