The Banshee - a Draco Malfoy fanfiction

Chapter 28 : ...Death

"Darling, we need to go."

"I'm coming, I'll fetch my father."

Arriving upstairs, the man hears the muffled voice of his son behind the door of his father's office. The sight he discovers upon pushing the panel draws a slight smile from him. The old man and the child, seated on his lap, are perched above a Pensieve, engrossed in the images unfolding before them.

"...and she was never heard of again."

"Really? Never ever?"

"No, she disappeared."

"You must have been sad."

"At first. I searched for her for a long time. Then I met your grandmother, and we had your dad. I had a good job, friends, a family. And then there's you."

"You're not sad anymore because I'm here?"

"Not as much as before. That was a long time ago, you know."

"Then why did you cry when you saw her in the Pensieve earlier?"

"Aries, stop bothering your grandfather."

The child and the old wizard simultaneously look up, surprised to find the wizard standing at the doorway.

"Dad! Grandpa told me a banshee story! It was soooo sad. He even cried."

"I know, my big boy. But we have to go. Will you join Mom? She'll help you with your shoes."

"Okay!"

The two men stifle a smile as they watch the half-blonde, half-redhead head for the door.

"He looks more and more like his mother. If someone had told me there would be a Weasley in the Malfoy family..."

"Father, please don't start."

"Help me up, will you? This gnome weighs a ton."

Assisting his father as requested, Scorpius once again notices Drago's fragile silhouette. Since Astoria's death two years ago, he has withdrawn into himself. Rose and he have tried everything. They even offered for him to come live with them, but the old man was reluctant. He has lived in this mansion for too many years. Leaving would be too much to ask. The couple resolved to let him live as he pleases, still taking care to visit him every week. The one who still manages to draw a smile from him is young Aries, at the tender age of seven. Drago may say what he wants, but the child is a ray of sunshine every time he walks through the door. His Weasley side, no doubt.

"Did you tell him about Nora?"

"He was hovering around the Pensieve for too long. He would have stuck his nose in there sooner or later. I preferred to anticipate. Not like with you." The old man regrets.

Scorpius shivers as he recalls his first encounter with the memories of the banshee. Curiosity had prompted him to dive into his father's Pensieve while his back was turned. Images were etched into him that day. Images that sometimes haunt him in his nightmares, of dark wizards and a bloodied teenager. Drago, who had pulled him out of there, couldn't explain to his son what he had seen for many years. The memories were too fresh, too painful to be recounted. Scorpius, once at Hogwarts, had searched every corner of the library, scouring all the tomes recounting the history of the First and Second Great Wars he could find. Not satisfied with these romanticized accounts, he even snuck into the Headmaster's office to talk to the portraits of Dumbledore and Snape before his father intervened. This was followed by a painful discussion between father and son around the Pensieve in question. Scorpius finally managed to put a name to the face of the teenager and guessed, in the process, Drago's attachment to this young girl. An attachment that still haunts him to this day as they journey as a family towards the Hogwarts cemetery. Like every year, Rose and Scorpius take Aries to visit the graves of their mischievous great-uncles while Drago makes a difficult detour to a secluded corner of the park. To the place where the forest meets the lake, under the cover of a moss-covered rock. Shielded from prying eyes, the wizard gazes upon the calm lake and the lush forest. Melancholy, his oldest friend, kindly embraces him, reliving the blessed moments of his childhood at Hogwarts. He had found a home within these walls, a family, and a future. Voldemort had nearly annihilated it all, but it was ultimately Death that stole it from him. Nora. She was his future. Even today, he is convinced of it. If he hadn't listened to that spirit of misfortune when it begged him not to keep the young girl in a world where she didn't belong. He never regretted his naivety more than on the fateful day of his encounter with the Necromancer. For three years, three long years shrouded in a supernatural mist, he tried everything to make up for his mistake. He traveled the world far and wide, crossed the Forbidden Forest, confronting multiple wild beasts without ever encountering a banshee. Much less his banshee. He only resigned himself the day the wizarding world was shaken by a great shiver of fear. The Forbidden Forest had been the scene of a monumental explosion, leveling half its area. Dispatched to assist the local authorities, the Aurors spoke of a crater with a strange appearance, as if the blast had crystallized the earth and engraved it with a thousand runes. It took several weeks before they found the epicenter, then inhabited by the charred remains of a skeleton, also engraved with runes. Never again was that abnormal mist that had infested half the planet seen. It was the mystery of the century, except for Drago and a few privileged ones who kept the secret. Nora was dead. Truly dead. She wouldn't come back this time. He withdrew into silence for an entire year. Until the day he met Astoria. Beautiful, blonde, eyes as vast as an ocean, and a sweet smile. It wasn't until years later, long after Drago's attachment had turned into genuine fondness, that she realized he had thought he saw Nora's ghost that day. She was the one who saved him, pushed him towards life by giving him a new home and family. And it was she who, year after year, accompanied him on his pilgrimage to Hogwarts. She stayed in the background, respecting the moment that Drago spent with the ghosts of the past. Then, one day, she couldn't anymore. Scorpius and his family took her mother's place until the day she passed away, leaving Drago to the specters of melancholy. Since then, it eats him up, tortures him, and slowly kills him. Especially on days like today. When the rain falls on the lake and the mist veils reality. Nora is so close. He can feel it. If he turns his eyes to the edge of the forest, he could swear he sees her silhouette waving to him. Like on the last day. So he talks to her. An old fool mumbling to himself.