It had taken him three weeks but Draco managed to disarm the wards to his father's private study. He knew his father well enough, or at least better than the Aurors that had failed to gain access to it, to manage the feat. But once he was inside, he didn't know what he wanted to do. Draco knew his father's deepest secrets could be found within the blood-red walls of the room but he wasn't quite sure he wanted to know what they were. So he closed it up again and sought his mother in the garden.
But she was not alone. His mother's soft voice was raised to a hysterical shriek and Draco barreled around the corner, wand drawn, anxiety gripping his chest. The only thing he saw were blood-red eyes, and for a moment he thought he was back in his father's study again, before the Cruciatus curse brought him to his knees.
A throbbing headache accompanied Draco's return to consciousness. His body sought the peace of oblivion but the sudden recollection of his mother caused him to bolt up. Pain shot up and down his spine and he crumbled to the ground once again. "Mum," he croaked.
Silence greeted him. He crawled along on his hands and knees, the darkness of the night making it difficult to see anything. He tried to keep his eyes focused and though only mere seconds had ensued before he caught sight of his mother's long blonde hair, it felt like years.
"Mum," he whimpered. He pulled her still form towards her and his own heart pounded so furiously in his chest that he almost missed the sound of her shallow breathing. But he could not wake Narcissa Malfoy and when he placed his cold hands to her, he did not feel the surge of power that always took over him when he healed a creature. So he smoothed his mother's silky hair back from her beautiful face, something she had always done to him when he was a little boy or sick in bed, and waited until he was strong enough to carry her back into the manor.
As it were, his noble actions were unnecessary. The house elves were anxious when they didn't receive an order for supper and finally, a few ventured to look for their mistress. Fossett (Draco's 4th birthday present) squeaked in indignation and surprise to find his young Master and mother in such a deplorable state. He whisked them back to their respective bedrooms and treated them with utmost care but Fossett soon learned what Draco already knew, that there was no simple cure for whatever Narcissa had sustained.
Draco knew he hardly loved anything in his entire life but he did know he loved his mother. His recovery was quick, as it usually was, though he winced when he rolled off his bed and onto the wood floor. Once he was on his feet, however, he did not know what to do or more to the point, who to go to. After all, if the Dark Lord was angry enough to invade Lucius Malfoy's home and curse his family to an inch of their life, he was pretty certain no Death Eater would provide them haven. And who did he know but Death Eaters? He was a Slytherin after all. Zabini. But no, just because he didn't think Blaise would join forces with the Dark or had any immediate connections with Death Eaters didn't mean he or his mother would be willing to risk their lives for others. Then red hair and freckles entered his head. He entertained the notion for a moment but he let it pass as well. Even if the Weasleys would help him, he didn't know how to contact them.
Draco could almost feel his face harden in resolution. He would find someone or something that could be of use. He was not willing to bet on whether Lucius would choose his family or the Dark Lord and he had to make sure the fanatical half-Muggle would not be able to access him and his mother, by any means. Draco looked in on the still unconscious Narcissa before grabbing a handful of silk handkerchiefs. He slid down the banister to the living room and headed to the back kitchen where he started handing them out to the house elves who began crying and gripping onto his trousers. "Stop it, stop it. You can still work for us if you want!" They immediately let go his expensive clothing and smiled. "Just know that you are free from following whatever orders my father may give if he ever comes back."
Fossett pushed his way to Draco and bowed deeply. "We are willing to serve you, young Master."
Draco nodded, feeling awkward but grateful nonetheless. Knowing that he had inspired loyalty from something by a better means than fear felt heady. But he had no time to dwell on that. Draco gave the elves instructions to pack their things and left them to find Graves, the Malfoys' aptly named ghostly butler, and told him to warn him if any 'guests' dared venture into the Manor.
And then Draco again stood in his father's study, with feelings considerably different from what they were that morning. He tore through the room, overturning stacks of carefully organized documents, wrenching out drawers in his father's desk, pulling books from the shelves. Though afterwards, the state of things indicated the blond Slytherin had been in a mad rage, Draco had actually been calm, diligent and methodical above all. He did not miss the secret drawer in his father's desk but smirked when his instincts had been rewarded by a sliding panel in the almost flawless wood. His father was a paranoid man after all. But Draco had been particularly surprised to learn his father's deepest secret did not concern Death Eaters activity but his mother.
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Finding where the Weasleys lived turned out to be less of an issue that Draco had originally thought. His father seemed to have a 'hit list' of sorts, with exquisite details of his enemies' whereabouts, history and favorite foods. Herbert Chorley, Albus Dumbledore, Allen Meadle, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Ted Tonks, Arthur Weasley. Apparently his father did not seem to think much of women. And then there was one particular wizard conspicuously missing from the list.
"You love your mum," Draco muttered under his breathe as he crossed the lawn to the dilapidated home of the red-haired Weasleys. He knocked on the wooden door and it was some moments before an accented French voice asked, "Whose iz sit?"
Draco pondered whether he should reply in French before he shook his head and said clearly, "Draco Malfoy."
There was no response but then he heard a scurry of activity on the other side of the door before it was flung open and he found three wands pointed at his nose. Arthur Weasley was peering at him with great curiosity while another member of the Weasley brood, a tall man with long locks and an earring, had a determined, almost fierce, expression on his face. Draco settled his eyes on the bearer of the third wand, a tired looking man with soft brown eyes. "Professor Lupin, I've been looking for you."