Empty Spaces

Chapter 25

15th December

My dear son,

A father worries for his only child. It is a dark and cruel world in which one must either sink below the festering abyss or rise above it. As the eagle flies high, you must know that it is my life's desire to see my only son soar among his kin rather than mingle with the common crow.

A husband grieves for his wife who suffers alone. Cut off from the brightest light in her life, the darkness threatens to consume her. She who gave you your life now suffocates in the isolation you have bestowed upon her. In these final moments, she is asking to see her son once more.

It would do you well to remember where you come from. It would do you well to remember who brought you into this wretched world and who fought to keep you from the petty miscreants who inhabit it. It would do you well to remember your place.

Your devoted father,

Lucius

Draco dropped the letter as if it had burned him. Weeks. It hadn't even been a month. Three weeks was all it took for the whole world to fall apart with one stupid little piece of parchment. It wasn't clear whether Lucius knew about Potter or not, but Draco figured it was only a matter of time now anyway. What was clear was that his father knew of Draco's active rebellion against him and was now taking matters into his own hands.

What worried him most was the news about his mother.

She was just as much a victim of Lucius' power as Draco, but she was so deeply entwined in the man's iron grip that Draco had a hard time distinguishing where Lucius ended and Narcissa began. But he felt sympathy for her rather than anger. She had done the best she could with what she had, and Draco couldn't help the surge of guilt as he realized that he'd left her entirely alone this year. He wasn't even writing to her. He had no idea how she was faring, whether she was getting by or not... and if she really was ill, Draco realized that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't go back to see her one last time.

Fuck, Lucius. This is how you play the game.

He could ignore the letter and Lucius' poisoned words. But then he would never know. What if something happened to his mother and he wasn't there for her? He would never be able to live with himself after that.

It'll catch you off guard and then you'll be stuck in the shit and that's how he gets you... I learned from the fucker.

Hell yeah, I learned from the fucker. But you don't have me quite yet, Lucius...

Draco grabbed a parchment and drafted up a letter. He knew he could craft better words under less urgent circumstances, but all he really needed was to see her response... See how she answered his questions... Then he could plan his next moves. He sent Merlin off to the Manor and collapsed in his bed, crushed by the weight of a million things he couldn't name.

School. Fuck. Get to school. You have to, otherwise they will send you back.

So Draco became Malfoy once more, pulling on his school robes and hiding his guilt and anxiety and shame and everything else... He was deaf and blind to everything around him because that's what you do when the world falls apart beneath your feet. You go to the place where nothing can reach you and no one can hurt you.

He barely made it to Potions on time, ducking into a seat in the back corner. Potter was waiting for him in their usual place, but Draco couldn't face Potter right now. He couldn't face anyone. It would break the protective facade and then everything would come crashing down. Sorry, Potter. Avoiding Potter's eye from the front of the room, Draco buried himself in his antidote, shutting out the entire world and concentrating on the familiar precision... This was probably why he'd always been good at Potions. Things made sense in Potions. Cut this root. Chop that beetle. Clockwise stir, then counterclockwise. There was no game in Potions, just a systematic order of operations...