Fallen Angel
Chapter 07
Draco remained in bed, woken every hour by one Weasley or another, forced to eat some crackers or drink a little something, but he struggled to keep even the lightest, most bland things down, so he was reduced to having stomach-calming potions and hydrating liquids administered to him through the tube. Draco hated that Granger had tubed him, he felt insulted, disrespected, but he couldn't fight it either, not with what strength he lacked. His mother had been right, however, he hadn't been this bad in a while, typically a little less gravely than this, but she did not know about him spending the entire previous night up with Ginny, or that he hadn't been eating again, or that he had been working out at a gym facility a few times a week. She would have a fit, he could practically hear her rant already, even with him so helpless in bed she would shake him senseless.
As it was, as he was, his senses were a little off that day. He could not see well, and his ears were ringing on and off again, and his sense of smell seemed to fixate on only the smell of his own vomit in the pail beside his bed, demanding him to have it removed and emptied. His memory was also seriously fractured. He normally did not remember much from the full the next day, and typically it was just a contemplation of uneventful and rather relentless tedium, but today, no matter how much he thought on it, he just could not recover anything. Every time he tried he got a headache and had to ask for the lights to be dimmed for a while.
"Good dreams, mate?" Ron asked as he entered the room, Draco waking, Fred leaving to allow Ron to take over for a while, Ron taking a bulk of the vigilant watch, knowing Draco much preferred talking to him while awake than any of the other Weasley brothers.
"I do not dream," he said, daring to stretch a little, but not so bold as to move much, just the shift from side to back as he laid there enough to make his stomach queeze.
"Right, you only remember…right?" Ron said, sitting at the spindle-legged vanity and dwarfing it. Draco said nothing, Ron knowing already and just trying to make conversation. "That's gotta be taxing. Are they always, like, completely accurate, or are they tainted by your opinions and evolve over time…?"
"They are events, exactly how they happened, they do not change, as much as I would love them to. They are as real as the day I lived them, and when I wake they are as true as I last saw them," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did whenever he had a headache.
"Does that mean you have a good memory?" Ron asked.
"No better than average, my memories don't come to me when I call, they come and go as they please, and whenever I sleep, in whatever sequence they choose. It is one of the things that landed me in therapy," he said, rolling his head to look at Ron, knowing the man was uncomfortable about something, and unsure of what, but sure it had little to do with how sick he was. His head hurt too much to read Ron properly, but those things he just knew, and wished he could implore further without straight-up asking, but doubting he would like the answer. Draco was in a mental debate with himself and wondered which would will-out, his curiosity, or his pessimism. In the end his headache won, and he decided to let Ron fret over his own issues while he simply focused on his own.
"Have you been talking to anyone…?"
"Just you," Draco said, basically cutting Ron off. He would have said Ginny, but that much was a given.
"You haven't asked for anything, can I get you something?" Ron asked, looking like he needed a purpose. Draco couldn't help but notice this and look over at him again. He was used to Ron being kind to him now, but things seemed…off.
"You are being awfully nice to me, Ron. Despite myself, my extensive therapy bill suggests that I listen to my good doctor's advice on not rejecting such sympathy, but I can't help but wonder what you're getting at," he said, eyeing Ron with great suspicion, Ron looking taken aback at first, and affronted, as though he was offended that Draco would think he had some kind of secondary motive, but the act was poorly played out, and shallow and Draco saw though it faster than Ron was able to give up on it.
"I am just concerned for you, you little prick. I hope you're happy, making me worry about your pasty arse," he said, Draco already narrowing his eyes. "Don't," Ron said, looking away though knowing that would normally not help with Draco so close. He hoped Draco would be limited in his weakness that it would matter this time that he couldn't see into his eyes. "Don't do this," he pleaded with his hand now clamped over his eyes, feeling the weight of Draco's mind pressing in on him. "Please, don't."
"What has happened?" he demanded, Ron refusing to even uncover his eyes still. "Don't make me look, I will likely only hurt myself trying, and then will you be?" he threatened, like a little boy holding his breath to get his way, intent on self-harm to force others who cared about his wellbeing to cave in prevention. Ron sighed.
"Just the same old garbage, Draco, honestly."
"What article did they print about me this time," Draco said, Ron cursing that Draco was able to get that much out of him and fearful that this was all about to come undone with Draco's ever pressing curiosity. He would find out by reading his mind a piece at a time, and that would be harsh. He needed to tell Draco, before that happened.
"Ginny wants to wait to tell you, until you are feeling more up," he said, internally screaming as he clenched his fists, wishing he had spent more time rehearsing how he would go about telling Draco about this. He had come up with a dozen different scenarios in his mind, based off a dozen different reactions Draco could have, but none were well thought out, and none ended well in his own mind, thus why he had abandoned each for the next.
"I want to read this article," Draco said firmly, able to sense at least Ron's internal conflict and able to make the deduction, just from that, that it was bad.
"Draco, no, you should really be told first, rather than just seeing it…"
"Let me see it, you have a copy in your back pocket," he said and Ron nearly growled in frustration, it impossible to hide things from Draco if he was determined to know, understanding now why he and Ginny bickered so much. She couldn't keep anything from him.
Ron stood up and walked those few paces to the bed, pulling out and unfolding the story as he went. Draco snatched it from him with a curt gesture and pursed lips, like he hated that he had to resort to so much just to get his way. Ron backed up just a step, knowing Draco's haughtiness would not last for long, and he would likely be in much greater need for comfort than anything.
Draco snapped the paper crisp, it just being a clipping, though a large one, and his eyes seemed to fall still the second they came upon the large picture front and center. His eyes narrowed, but in a way that implied he was simply trying to see as he held the paper close to his nose, and Ron just shifted his weight from foot to foot.
"Give me my glasses," Draco said to Ron though he was still looking at the paper so near to his face.
"Draco-"
"Hand them to me!" Draco said, nearly shouting, something he never did. His voice would have sounded angry, if it hadn't cracked, almost like he was tearful. Ron obliged, nabbing the spectacles off the dresser where they had clearly been laid for the night, and Draco slipped them on to furiously read the article at a rate that would make Hermione sweat in awe. Ron watched, waiting to see Draco's reaction, and it caused him to crumble to see Draco's face do the same.
"Dre, really…it…"
"Who…who wrote this?" he asked, trying to sound as calm and reasonable as possible, but it was not a very convincing act with how badly his hands and breath were shaking.
"Some chap named Agreus Kniklock," Ron said, having looked for the name of the author himself, needing to know whose body it would be he would burry later.
"Why…why did he write this?" Draco asked, his voice crumbling now too, Ron caught there, unsure what to do or how to fix this, or how to comfort Draco.
"I don't know, mate, who can say why people do mean things?"
"This picture…how did he get…why…why would someone do this?" he asked, the first sobs leaving him as he looked at the bit of paper before him his beast staring right back, growling at him viciously. He hadn't seen his own beast in years, it wasn't something he made a habit of checking in the mirror everyday, but Draco saw him staring at him, and it scared him, made him feel sick, made him feel exposed.
"I'm going to go get Ginny," Ron suddenly announced, fleeing the room in a cowardly fashion, unable to handle Draco crying. Gryffindor or not, what bloke could sit there with his pal and just let him sob? Harry cried a lot, and he was just as uncomfortable, but they had been mates for so much longer. Draco and him were still new to each other, there was still a level of animosity between them and thus a certain distance they both remained at. It was slowly closing in, and past feelings set aside, but he couldn't give Draco what he needed right now, so he would fetch him someone who could.
"Draco," Ginny said only moments later, so angry with Ron for having gone ahead and told Draco, but so distracted in getting to Draco that she didn't even bother to properly reprimand him, let alone let him explain. She just rushed in and was up on the bed with Draco within moments, and Ron left them, sure Draco wouldn't like -later- to know he had stayed and watched him cry.
"Why…I don't understand…I…"
"Shh," she said, comforting Draco in his tearful attempts to communicate with her how he felt. It was not necessary, she knew exactly how he felt. Draco just curled up against her to cry, because that was all he could do, and just the reaction he had to things like this. Some might call him a cry-baby, or even a sissy, but he challenged anyone who would dare call him such things, to have to go through what he did, and what was happening now, and see what their reaction would be. Anyone that didn't cry was a better man than him.
Ginny rocked Draco for a while, no words shared between them, but he seemed to draw very little reassurance from this, or at the very least showed no sign of relenting in his sobs. His mother came in, her face fraught with worry and hurt for her son, her angel, and she sat beside him, Draco immediately switching to latch onto his mother, crying still. Ginny looked at him, so sad for him, feeling so helpless. She looked up to see Michelangelo standing in the doorway, looking drained and weak, but his face like stone as he watched his father cry. Ginny rolled herself out of that bed and quickly moved over to the door, closing it behind her as she grabbed him by the shoulder to force him to take a step back. She did not want him seeing Draco cry.
"You should be in bed," she said, trying vainly to act like nothing was wrong, that Michelangelo had not seen the inner happenings of that room.
Michelangelo allowed himself to be led back to his bedroom without a word and with no protest, and it wasn't until Ginny was tucking him in that he spoke, face still as stony as before but eyes blazing.
"Who wrote the article?" he asked, Ginny just pausing in her fluffing of his pillows. "Who wrote it?" he demanded, that familiar temper of his flaring.
"You just need to rest and never mind what people say about you, or your father…"
"I don't give a shit what they said about me in that paper! They are a bunch of morons who wouldn't know up from down with a locating charm. Tell me who wrote that article about my dad because I'm going to kill'em," he said, Ginny a little alarmed by how serious Michelangelo sounded.
"That's not exactly incentive for me to tell you, now is it?" she said and Michelangelo looked mutinous. "You just need to calm down and be rational, for your father's sake. He is upset enough as it is, and he doesn't need you doing anything stupid to…"
"You think I'm stupid do you?" he snapped.
"Michael, I didn't say…"
"You just think I'm a stupid boy that does stupid things, and makes stupid mistakes, and that I cause my father a lot of unnecessary stress," he accused and Ginny was caught between assuring Michelangelo that it is not true, and getting angry with him for talking to her in such a tone.
"No, I don't, but I certainly think you say some pretty stupid things sometimes," she said, straightening to place he hands on her hips.
"You are willing to let someone do that to my father and just get away with it? You are supposed to love him," Michelangelo accused.
"There isn't a thing we can do, so long as no laws were broken, and so don't you dare try and imply that I don't care enough about your father to do something, I just know what sorts of things would make this worse," she said heatedly, heavily implying that Michelangelo were incapable of handling this rationally, thus why it was not up to him, and that did not bode well with the young teenager.
"You can leave my room now," he said, crossing his arms and flopping against his pillows in annoyance. Ginny wanted to stay there, and straighten that boy out, but she knew Draco needed her more, and he wouldn't like it for things to get any worse between her and Michelangelo.
She stepped outside, closed the door with a firm snap, and stalked down the hall in a mild fury until she reached the stairs; she was then overcome with unexpected tears. She had to cover her mouth and sit down, holding onto the railing the whole time, just sobbing there for a moment, feeling quite possibly as helpless as Draco at the moment, though feeling like a lot of pressure was on her to make things better when she wasn't sure how.
Ginny cried there, alone on the steps, not sure what to do about anything.
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"I am going to take that bell and shove it so far up his…"
"Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley scolded as she entered the room.
"Sorry Mum," Ron said in a sulky fashion upon being reprimanded by his mother.
"It was you who offered to wait on Draco hand and foot," Ginny pointed out, sitting at the table and the one who Ron had been talking to. He had offered to tend to Draco because he had wanted Ginny off her feet and relaxing since she seemed so stressed and upset. It also didn't seem fair to have the whole family put aside their lives to each take turns watching Draco sleep, and Narcissa had been doing this for far too long on her own, so he had taken over solo. But now Ron seemed to be having second thoughts, a little bell chiming in the room arousing a vein to bulge on his forehead. "I told you not to give him a bell," Ginny said, attempting to not laugh at her brother as he glared at the little magical bell that hung from a small hook on the wall, mirroring the jingle Draco was causing his all the way upstairs.
"First he is too cold, then too hot, then he wants to be alone, then he complains that no one is tending to him. He doesn't want food but demands a damn jar of peanut butter. He is driving me mental," he grumbled, Mrs. Weasley standing behind Ginny to slowly run her fingers though her hair, twisting it in her hands affectionately.
"You best go see what he needs," Molly said to him but Ginny held her hands up.
"I'll do it, he clearly is just being a pain in the arse on purpose, and milking this at the same time, and dragging me up there will guilt him into letting up some for a while," she said, both her mother and brother wanting to argue against her, but the little bell chiming again forced them to agree.
Ginny climbed the stairs and knocked on the door, and Draco said nothing.
"Draco?" she asked through the wood.
"I called for Ron," he answered.
"He is in the loo, I am here to see what you need," she said though the door still. Draco didn't respond. "You are driving him mental with that bell, which I think was your aim, but do you think you are ready to come downstairs yet? Come on, it's late, you can get out of that bed for an hour, watch the telly…"
"I would rather stay in here, thank you," he said, it clear he was avoiding media as a whole given the article that was published.
"You can't stay in there forever," Ginny said, placing her hands on her hips.
"Yes I can," Draco said childishly through the door. Ginny wasn't having this. She flicked her wand in silence and the door unlocked and burst open at the same time to allow her to walk in. Draco was just a lump under the blankets, and she sighed, fists on her hips in standard position.
"Stop this. Come on, you are feeling better, yes?"
"I feel like shit," he said flatly.
"But better than before. I bet if you go downstairs it will be enough to prove to Hermione that you can do without the tube anymore," she argued and though that seemed like a perk, Draco didn't leap at the idea. "Draco, stop hiding, come on, this is silly."
"I want to stay in here, and left alone. The second I leave I am vulnerable to the world; under this blanket I am safe from everything. If I leave its refuge next I'll be diagnosed with cancer, or have the house repossessed…I don't know, which is worse than what has already happened?" he grumbled.
"Don't act like your mother now, this isn't the end of the world, or a start of a series of adverse events."
"Surly I have to build up to cancer a little bit more. Next I will probably just go bald," he said as though he was not listening to her.
"Oh Draco," Ginny said, rolling her eyes which Draco could not see. "You have always had a shallow hairline, it's the same as your father's, you are not going to go bald. You shouldn't listen to those nasty papers," she said.
"Thank you, Ginny, for being so dismissive. The next time a tabloid calls you fat I'm just going to tell you to get fucked," he snapped from under the sheets.
"Draco!" Ginny responded in outrage, knowing exactly what Draco was doing. "It's not MY fault that picture ended up in the paper, so how dare you take it out on me!" she snapped back. "This is exactly why people can't stand to be around you, you are so damn mean when you feel vulnerable and get defensive! You are deflective, you take whatever shit you get and just throw it in someone else's face, and it's really fucking wearing! I have been putting up with your childish tantrums when no one else will, and I shouldn't HAVE to! I don't have to be here, Draco, with you, but I CHOOSE to be, because I know you are a genuinely decent person…I know, I have seen him…when you are not being a total arsehole!" she yelled at him, Draco very still under his blankets, Ginny's rage and stress that had been building over so many days, weeks, months finally boiling over like an unattended cauldron. She couldn't take much more of Draco if he was going to be this way, no matter what his excuse.
Ginny turned to leave, almost leaving the room cold with her exiting.
"Grow up, Draco," she snapped over her shoulder, leaving the door wide open, not caring, storming down the stairs and into the kitchen where she -without a word to anyone there- grabbed her cloak and Disapparated herself to the Burrow, her mother sure to follow. She couldn't spend the night with Draco, she needed space to clear her mind.
---------------------------
Ginny was in the Burrow's living room, sobbing into her mother's shoulder; Molly just stroking her daughter's hair, letting her cry, knowing the amazing healing ability of a good cry. Ginny cried herself to the point of a headache, and though that did not feel better, she felt like she had let out a whole lot that needed to get out, and she could deal with just about everything a bit better, with a little less pressure in her chest. Still, she had just walked out on Draco, when he probably needed her the most, and she felt terrible.
"Don't beat yourself up, Ginny darling. I might never have told you this, but I have walked out on your father more than once. Not since we were young mind you, but sometimes it's important to storm away before you say something truly regrettable," she said comfortingly.
"I did say some terribly regrettable things," Ginny sniffled.
"Nothing that wasn't well warranted, in my opinion. Draco is darling, you know I have grown to like him quite a bit, but he is still very…harsh. I'm sure it's everything his parents did to him, but I hold out hope that he can be housebroken," she said, stroking Ginny's hair slowly as the shared the loveseat.
"This is the exact reason I did not marry him when he proposed, he is too much of a boy still, and not in a cute way most of the time," Ginny said, blotting at her eyes. "I convinced him to see Harry's therapist, because they act so much alike, and I can see how much Harry has benefited from his time with the man…but I don't know if I can endure another 5 years of hell with Draco like I had with Harry," she said, a sob bursting from her in the end which she sucked in with quivering lips, her nose runny. She wasn't a girl that could cry and be pretty while doing so. Her nose got red, eyes puffy, and she seemed to cry, drool, and have a runny nose all at once. She couldn't imagine crying without these things though.
"And what do you mean `what his parents did to him'?" Ginny suddenly reacted.
"Nothing," Molly sighed, shaking her head.
"No, tell me. His mother made him paranoid as shit, and apparently his father was tough as troll skin which made Draco distant, but so what?"
Molly sighed, fearing she had said too much already but in a position where she would be forced to say more.
"You…you did not know him as a little boy…I knew him from when he was tiny. The Malfoys were in no way friendly with us, but I would see wee-little-Draco toted along by his parents, and I knew how he was being raised, and it was almost cruel if you ask me," she said delicately.
"How…how so?" she asked, having lived with Narcissa for months now and not seen anything peculiar. She was actually a really doting mother.
"I'm not saying this excuses anything now, but…" Molly considered her words. "Well, other than the repent brainwashing, he was isolated," she explained. "His father did not allow him out of that house or its grounds for years. Your father and I were friends with several who worked in the manor at the time, and they told us about how they were forbidden to speak to Draco, and he was provided with no playmates or exposed to other children. He was just up there all alone, with his horses and house-elves," she said and Ginny blinked. "When he was about six I think Lucius took him out of the house for the first time, and Draco was terrified, clung to his father's leg while hiding under his robes the entire time. If all that weren't hard enough on a child, Narcissa was -is- so concerned that he would catch something from some grubby child she forbid him to do just about anything, convinced that poor darling to fear or at least be weary of even his own shadow. She does that still, with Michael and Claire, if you haven't noticed," she said and Ginny nodded. "Draco was precious then, when I first met him in Diagon Alley, shy and so timid, and actually really polite. I think he protects himself now, like he sees something wrong with being that way, being himself. His father certainly hadn't approved. Dragged Draco off by his collar after Draco had tried to chat up Ron."
"He has never said anything about…"
"When does he ever talk about anything in regards to his father or his childhood?" Mrs. Weasley asked and Ginny nodded. "I'm no therapist, but I know children…Merlin knows I have dealt with my share of them in my life," she said and Ginny managed to smile. "I think he has just been led to believe that what is acceptable and what is expected of him is to be cold and harsh, like his father was, and that conflicts too greatly with how he is naturally. That and he does have that famous Malfoy temper."
"I wish I could just go and give him a hug, and start over," Ginny sighed, wishing that since before her mother's story, only now too wishing she could cry again but her eyes were spent.
"In the morning we can go back, and you two can kiss and make up, like any other couple. He needs you, but you need him just as much. You wouldn't keep falling for this kind of man if you didn't like something about taking care of them," she said and Ginny placed her hand on her large stomach.
"It's that deeply seeded mothering instinct of mine. I don't know where I get it from," she said and her mother laughed, having much the same attraction to Draco, this desperate desire to just scoop him up and care for him. She had had that instantly with Harry too. She understood that Ginny loved Draco, and knew that this minor incident was unfortunate, but not detrimental to the lasting stability of their union. Stress was high at the moment, and emotions were stretched thin.
One good thing to be said about the Malfoys was their sense of honor and loyalty. Draco would not abandon Ginny, so long as she did not abandon him.
----------------------------------
Draco was still clinging to his mother like a Sticking Charm had been put in place. Narcissa did not mind, it was nothing she had not experienced in the past, and she was grateful Draco had cried himself dry of tears at the moment, but she still felt awful for her baby. She had seen that foul article that morning and had gone all the way to the Burrow just to scream about it (screaming something she never did, until now) so as not to wake anyone sleeping after she had just gotten them home and in bed. She had seen it upon coming home, and it was a damn shame, because if she had known when she was there someone had gotten into the penitentiary with a camera and taken a picture of her angel, she would have made her indignation and outrage known, by all.
Footsteps, heavy ones, could be heard approaching the door, and Narcissa knew Draco was awake -despite that she could not see his face- by how he clung to her shoulder just a little bit tighter. The door opened and Draco tried to act asleep while his back was to the door, but it was no good, there was no way he could be sitting up in bed and holding to his mother's side so tight if he weren't awake to some degree or another.
"May I have a moment?" Arthur implored, speaking to Narcissa. She looked at him, then down at Draco, before nodding in her silence and making to get up. Draco protested by clinging, but she pulled away to leave Draco to just tip over and lay on his side, back to Arthur the whole time.
Narcissa left the men alone, closing the door quietly, and Draco still maintained his façade, even while Arthur spoke.
"Hey there, Draco. I realized I never actually talked to you today. I have been here most of the day, but you were always asleep while I was in here," he said and Draco gave no reaction. "I really wanted to talk to you," he said, Draco making no sound, no response. "I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding with the party, please, let's talk about it."
"Talk about what? That you moved the party to be the day after next so that I would be unable to make it, and you now claim it is just a mistake?" he said, still curled up on the bed but wiggling now to be under his covers, no longer pretending to be asleep and his mother no longer there to keep him warm. He was quite cold.
"Draco, no, see, I didn't know you knew about the change in plans, I didn't want you finding out through someone else because I knew you would not be told the reason. I was going to tell you in person…"
"Tell me what? That it would be less bother if I didn't come?"
"You are looking at it like I don't want you there, Draco, but that is not true. I thought you wouldn't want to come, given what happened last time."
"So you are spinning this like you are doing me a favor?" he barked.
"Draco, listen to me," Arthur said while sitting down on the end of the bed. "I thought you would be so bothered by what happened that you wouldn't want to come to the Burrow again. I thought it silly to have you postpone your birthday for so long to just have you not enjoy it in the end anyways. I figured, if you didn't come, you could just do something with Ginny and the kids, and not have to deal with what Phinn had said to Michael. Yes, I heard about that, and I'm sorry. Phinnaeus was completely in the wrong, and I can't believe a child of Bill's would say something like that," he explained, hoping Draco would attempt to sense his sincerity. Draco just remained silent. "Come on now, please, you know me, you know I think you are darling, don't choose to take this all the wrong way, come on," he said, pushing at Draco's foot that was under the covers, trying to encourage a reaction. "Come on, you know you just want to have your birthday party already," he said, pushing more, voice a little taunting, encouraging, friendly.
"I don't think even a party could make me feel any better at this point," Draco finally mumbled.
"That article…I don't know how these people were raised, or where they get off doing something like this, like they are oblivious to the pain they cause," Arthur said darkly.
"Schadenfreude," Draco mumbled.
"What?" Arthur asked, not understanding.
"Schadenfreude, it's German and means `happiness at the misfortune of others'," Draco explained.
"Draco…"
"People enjoy the suffering of others, of me, because they can take pleasure in not being them, in not being me. It makes them feel good about their situation."
"That's terrible. How could anyone think that about another person?"
"I am not a person to them," Draco sighed.
"But my daughter is, one would think for her sake they would cut you some slack."
"They think I have her under some spell," Draco mumbled, not really thrilled to be talking about Ginny when she had just walked out on him. What kind of jackarse did one have to be for their girlfriend seven months pregnant to walkout on him?
"Absurd, if they did any research into that they would know you can't use magic…that accusation is completely unfounded," Arthur said sternly. He knew Ginny was at his place, with Molly, it was part of the reason he was here now, talking to Draco.
"If you look carefully at the end of every article, after they spin an entire story about me or Ginny, is says `sources from the Ministry' or, `sources close to the pair' whichever, `say this rumor unsubstantiated,' so I cannot sue, and if I try and speak out against it, it becomes a case of me protesting too much, only convincing people further that it is actually true," Draco said, giving up on hiding to sit up and prop his elbows on his bent knees, to rest his forehead in his fingertips. He still had that stupid tube in his nose, and that movement tugged at it and made him swallow convulsively in his discomfort.
"I can take care of you, Draco," Arthur said, Draco just shaking his head while still propped up. "No, I can take care of this for you, and I will," he said, it not being an offer at that point.
"Thank you, Arthur, but there is no point in you getting in the middle of all this; people will be more willing to turn their backs on you than welcome me in. I wouldn't do that to you, I feel bad enough for what your family goes through already," he said.
"Draco," Arthur sighed, moving to sit beside Draco but maintaining a certain amount of comfortable -masculine- space. "You have gone from calling me Mr. Weasley to Arthur, when will you start calling me dad?" he asked.
Draco just looked uncomfortable.
"I am not here to replace your father, or take the place he once held in your life, but I am here to be a father-figure to you. Come on, you need one, I know you do," he said, looking over at Draco, Draco just looking down at his toes, wanting to hug his knees and hold his toes like he always used to.
"I have not had a good run with father-figures in my life. My father died, my father-figure Paul died, my father-figure Severus died, my newest father-figure Coderdale just died…all I have is Lupin at the moment, and though he has been fatherly to me, he too is growing quite ill, and I fear his pending passing."
"Draco-"
"I'm a plague to father-figures," he moped
"No."
"I wouldn't do that to you-"
"Stop it-"
"You have children of your own," Draco said, each talking over the other, Arthur having about enough of Draco's pessimism.
"Alright, that's enough," he said, placing a firm hand on Draco's shoulder. "I am not making an offer of this, I am telling you, you need a dad, and I'm going to be him, because my daughter loves you, and you are a part of this family now, whether you like it or not," he said, as though that were a threat. Draco smiled a little, not looking at Arthur yet. "As a father, I do not allow anyone to mess with my children. As your dad now, I won't allow anyone to mess with you," he said and Draco finally looked up at him, tube still taped across his cheek, eyes still so deeply circled, so tired but grateful.
"Thank you…dad," he said, finally said, Arthur leaning over just enough to take the hand he had on Draco's shoulder and reach around with it to hold his other shoulder then, pulling Draco into a one-armed hug so that Draco just tipped stiffly into him a little.
"You really do have a kind nature, Draco, and it's a shame so few people get to see that," he said, Draco seeming a little bashful at Arthur's praise but not refuting it, not denying it, for once. He instinctively wanted to pull away and deny that, and be nasty as though to prove him wrong while driving him away, but Draco recognized this, saw it as him sabotaging it, and stopped himself. He needed to allow himself to be vulnerable sometimes, as much as it risked hurting him, because the reward was so great. Or says his doctor. Draco was wiling to allow the man this shot, but if something bad happened to Arthur because of this, and by extension this became just another terrible experience, Draco would never listen to that man again.
As it was, however, he owed Ginny another really big apology…if she would have him that is.
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By the next afternoon, despite the fact he felt awful, Draco was out of bed. He wouldn't allow himself to lie in bed and be waited on. As much as a part of him kind of liked that, a bigger part of him hated feeling feeble, so he was in the living room right now, in his chair, wrapped up in a blanket despite the fact that it was a warm day in July, and he sipped at his coffee. He had just finished his dose of Wolfsbane, the first of many in this upcoming month, and needed to wash it down with something that contained no sugar. The cup was held up to his mouth even though he was not taking a sip at the moment, like he needed the smell under his nose more, and he was looking off across the room though it was clear he was not seeing anything there. His mind was focused on the radio that was on beside him, a magical tuner, the voices drifting out of the old lit up tubes concealed in its open wooden frame.
"I think it is appalling, actually, that this is now the third month that this has been going on, and the Ministry still has done nothing, still denies the problem exists at all!" the woman said, the debate fierce.
"There is no evidence of any foul play and it is not up to the Ministry to…"
"Is it not their jobs to protect the magical community?" the women interrupted. "Werewolves are a part of the magical community, whether some like it or not. As are Unicorns, Hippogriffs, Dragons…Why is it all these creatures are being poached and no one is doing a thing about it?" she demanded.
"First off, to make this perfectly clear, there is NO evidence that Werewolves are being harmed," the man said firmly. "The issues pertaining to some rogue Werewolves gone missing is a different case all together, being dealt with by the Beast Committee, to ensure the safety of the people, magical and otherwise."
"How can you say they are unrelated when the timeframe of these events coincide so closely…?"
"Furthermore, the illegal poaching of several protected magical beasts has led to an investigation by the Ministry, who are diligently looking into the matter, but we have no reason to suspect there is some illegal profiteering going on in the black-market of magical beast paraphernalia."
"I think the Ministry is just talking through their…"
"Alright, that is all the time we have for today's `Hot-Topics' Debate!" a third man suddenly interrupted, preempting the woman's harsh words, stopping the debate before it became a fight and regrettable things were said over the air. Draco was listening to this because Dean Thomas was the host, and it was actually a fairly reliable, unbiased (meaning not Ministry run or funded) show that gave cold-hard-facts and didn't sugarcoat things. "I'd like to talk you, Magdalene, for coming on. As always you were as relentless and hard hitting as a rogue Bludger. And you, Gangly, for being as witty as the bat," Dean said and Draco smiled into his coffee. "Tomorrow we will be discussing ethics in the field of reporting, and so until then, keep your cauldrons clean and your wands out of your back pockets!" Dean said, signing off for another show to come on, likely news, though to keep ratings up the network had allowed onto its waves a few gossip shows.
Draco sighed when his luck would have it, one started to air.
"Shocking photos, a scandalous article…we have the exclusive on Draco's reaction to these developments by those who know him, next," a woman said, sounding overly dramatic. Draco sat there, still unmoving, eyes on the tuner now. He knew no one "close to him" would talk to anyone about his private life -they all know he would know if they did so no one dared even a thought of it- so he wondered who the channel was trying to pass off as their source. He knew the person wouldn't be named one way or another, and they could just make it all up and no one would know otherwise…except him. Part of him was curious to find out what they would say, a larger part of him was just too comfortable to get up to adjust the tuner.
"Also, the photographer who captured the now infamous shot arrested? Only we have the braking story and the facts as to why the man was apprehended by the Ministry of Magic just hours after the publishing of his article. All this and much more, today on Gossip Goblin," the woman said, ending with such a rushing excitement tagged onto her voice, even Draco was mildly interested in what they had claimed.
Unfortunately, he would have to endure their segment about him before they would get to the part he wanted to here about the photographer, and that certainly left Draco in a bit of a foul mood. He kept his coffee under his nose to try and prevent a scowl from setting in too deeply, but he found it hard to not curl his upper lip as he listened to all sorts of poppycock about him. Were they reporting that he cried like a bitch? No. So therefore they weren't reporting the truth, but claims of him throwing a temper tantrum and putting a curse on the photographer were so far from the truth that Draco was almost able to pull some kind of morbid amusement from the story. They had no idea what a tantrum was for him, but if they wanted to know, maybe he would demonstrate for them, for the sake of good and accurate journalism.
Draco lit a cigarette and puffed away at it in his irritation as he listened on.
"And Agreus Kniklock arrested? This development is nearly as shocking as the photographs taken. Just after one, the day the photos hit the newsstands and flew into the homes of the magical community all over Brittan, Agreus Kniklock was apprehended by the Ministry of Magic and detained within their Department of Aurors. The Ministry did not release a statement, but Kniklock's representatives assure us he is not being charged with anything serious, and it is a matter of security. Apparently cameras are not allowed within the Ministry and Kniklock submitted that he was not aware of this. He was released within an hour and we are told he faces a fine for the indiscretion. A price paid for hard journalism," the woman said but her voice abruptly cut off when the tubes in the tuner cracked and then exploded, Draco unfazed by this as he continued to stare across the room, eyes slightly narrowed, cigarette perched at his lips.
A fine? The man sneaks a camera into the Ministry but then claims he hadn't known it was against the law (so why hide the camera and sneak it in in the first place?) and he tore apart his -Draco's- life, and all he got was a fine? A bloody fine?
Draco was not happy.
He took a deep breath of his cigarette and stretched a little, reaching over to set his coffee down on his little chair-side table. He took one final drag before pounding it out in his ashtray and abandoning it there to scratch at his scalp while looking around the room. He missed Ginny. Without her waddling around the house, rubbing her tummy distractedly, fussing over him, making him smile, he felt so empty. She wasn't there to scratch behind his ears or give him something to hug or shoulders to rub. He missed her long red hair sliding across her back in the sunlight that poured through the windows. He missed her laugh that filled the rooms and hallways of the old house. He wished she were here with him right now, so he would know that everything would be alright, everything outside their home would work out because they had each other in here, to protect and reassure one another.
He didn't have that, and he felt vulnerable and raw.
He looked down to scratch at his scalp more, all his hair falling forward, Ginny able to slip into the room at that point, unnoticed. Draco sat there for a brief moment, hair all draped forward, fingers gripping the roots, before he raised his head and pushed his hair back in one sweeping motion, taking a deep breath at the same time, opening his eyes to see Ginny standing there.
"Hey," she said tentatively.
"Hey," Draco said back just as awkwardly.
"I…I was told by your mum that you were in here," Ginny said softly, pointing with her thumb over her shoulder while taking a hesitant step.
"Yes, well, I couldn't lay about in bed all day," he said, wishing he could stand but his cane out of reach and is legs kind of heavy. Ginny didn't get very far into the room before she stopped, and what loomed over them was such an intense weight of discomfort, of things unsaid, they couldn't even bear to look at each other.
"What happened to the tuner?" Ginny asked in a desperate attempt to break the silence.
"It has always been a bit touchy," he said dismissively, glancing over at the still lightly smoking broken glass and cracked wood. He could also see his ashtray sitting there in plain sight and cursed, wishing he could hide it away before Ginny noticed it, but then there would still be the smell.
There was another long moment of silence before they both tried to simultaneously break it.
"I…" they said but then stopped, both about to let the other to go first, neither taking the charge.
Draco, the mind reader of the two, knew Ginny was feeling guilty, and frowned his brow, not willing to let Ginny blame herself for the fight when it had been him that had been the one in the wrong. She had simply called him on that, it's what he loved about her, her -sometimes- brutal honesty.
"I am sorry for last night. I shouldn't have yelled like I did, or stormed out. After all you have been going through and how hard you are trying, it wasn't fair," she said and Draco had been shaking his head from the start.
"You have nothing to apologize to me about, Ginny. Yes I have been dealing with a lot, but badly, and it has been unfair to you how I have reacted to one thing after another. What you said yesterday needed to be said, because it was true. Nothing that could possibly happen to me can ever give me the right to treat you like I have in the past," he said, really wishing he could stand now, scooting a little in his chair to be closer to the edge but so exhausted by just that that he knew he had no hope of standing. Ginny saw his desire, however, and moved over to him, to close that distance he couldn't himself.
"We were both wrong, you for how you act sometimes, and me for how I react to things sometimes. We are both a little hot tempered," she said with a grin that was so infectious that Draco was too within a moment of looking up at her.
"You, a fiery red-head, it sounds alluring. I'm just a bastard," he pouted and Ginny shook her head while squatting down.
"No you're not, you are just poorly socialized. We can fix that, no worries," she said, pushing his hair back so she could see his face clearly. He looked so tired, so ill. His throat was bruised so she understood where the soreness in his voice came from, and his whole body quivered, like he was cold. "Are you feeling alright?" she asked as she stood, hoping he would give her something to do so she could care for him and make him all better. It's what she needed to do.
"I feel fine, now that you're here," he said, leaning into her, wrapping his arms around her to press his cheek against her stomach and just take a deep breath in, knowing her scent and comforted by it. Ginny allowed Draco to hold her, and sniff her, and be comforted, because that's what he needed, but also what she needed. No one could cuddle like Draco could.
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"Happy birthday, Draco dear," Molly said as she entered the room, arms held open in a welcoming fashion, expecting a hug. Draco was in his bed, but not alone this time, and in much higher spirits than in many recent weeks, probably the highest since moving into the house. All around him were Weasleys, the brothers mostly, a few of the wives, and Arthur. Ginny, Narcissa, and the children were there too of course, as were Tonks and Lupin, and Harry and Hermione, so it was quite crowded, but in a comfortable enough way.
"Thank you, Molly," Draco said, allowing the woman to scoop him into a large, warm, squishy hug, him turning his face away to not have it fully planted in her bosom, and was smiling when she pulled away.
"Here you are, dear, I normally do not offer these until Christmas, but you don't have one already since you are so new to the family, and you are always cold, so you get one now," she said, offering him a shallow square box with a large green ribbon tied around it to hold the lid in place.
"Uh-oh, we all know what this is," George laughed as the rest of the Weasley boys…men…joined in with much masculine chuckling. Draco smirked up at them in a jeering way as he opened his gift to reveal a Molly-jumper. It was dark green and upon its chest was a bright green dragon worked into the front, cradling a D almost as large as itself. Draco had to endure much laughing for a moment, thanking Molly over the noise, pulling it on with poise to shut the boys up. He loved it, it made him part of the family now, he didn't care if they were all finding such amusement in it.
"You look darling," Molly gushed, reaching over to pick a fuzzy off his shoulder and to brush at it, as though it could lay smoother with a bit of effort on her part. Draco loved her doting, it was different than her mothers. His mother was more of a "little less noise" where as Molly was more of a "turn down that racket or so help me!" which Draco appreciated. He loved them both, because they were so completely different.
"You have to open mine now, daddy," Clarissa insisted, having already waited long enough apparently, in her opinion.
"Awright, awright," he said, raising an arm to pull his hair out of his jumper's collar and hold it up long enough to allow Clarissa to swoop in and confiscate his lap. "Oh," he groaned as she sat on him. It was not a terribly painful groan, it was good natured, but still, she was going to be twelve, when would she become too old to insist on always sitting on his lap?
Draco took from her the small package and could feel that it was something soft by how is squished in his grasp below the paper. If she was giving him a Pigmy Puff he was not going to hide his lack of elation. Had had just spent the last six months exterminating all the odd critters that had taken up residence, and now he had a whole new infestation on his hands, and they chirped and cooed all night as they drifted about in the drafts of the house.
"I saw it while out with Nana and Ginny and knew you just had to have it," she explained and Draco was instantly relieved to know it was something bought and therefore not a puff of fluff. Draco tore the paper which then unrolled to let fall into his hand a roll of silk. It was a necktie. Draco looked up at Ginny, who clearly knew already what it was, and he was not reassured by her tightlipped smile and hand nearly over her mouth. His mother was busy preening herself, and the Weasley blokes were all leaning around each other to see what it was he had gotten. Michelangelo just sat on the bed, hugging his knees, sitting very close to Draco but not touching.
Draco unrolled the tie to reveal that it was a very dark blue, with tiny silver wolves lined across it in staggered rows. Draco let out a breath that was like a laugh, and smiled, seeing the joke and pursing his lips together to prevent himself from smiling. This was not funny, he told himself as Clarissa looked bright-eyed and Ginny looked positively beside herself in her attempts to stifle her giggles.
"Look, they're little wolves," Fred teased, filling in the rest of the room who might not have been able to see.
"Fitting," Percy said, Charley laughing, Bill smiling. Draco looked up at them, daring them to laugh then, but they didn't heed his threat, they could tell he was trying not to laugh as well.
"I figured you would wear it to work, once you got a new job," she said so sweetly, effectively killing the jolly mood that had been rolling around the room. She clearly did not realize what she had done, because she seemed to be expecting everyone to laugh and agree, instead they cleared their throats and shifted uncomfortably. No one in that room other than Clarissa it seemed, had the optimism -or dared to be so bold- as to hope that Draco would be able to get himself a job any time soon, not with everything that had recently happened on top of his already haggard reputation as well as his past working against him.
"Thank you," Draco said, breaking the awkward silence created unintentionally by his well meaning daughter. "I will wear it to my next interview," he promised, giving her a big hug and saying "I love you" into her hair as she clung to him like he was the last solid thing on earth.
"Birthdays call for drinks!" Harry announced, who remained relatively reserved throughout Draco's mini-party. He was invited, but not welcome. It was difficult to be around Draco because though there was not open hostility between them, there was a cold animosity on Draco's part that just exuded distain and abhorrence. As far as Draco had gotten with the Weasleys, he hadn't budged when it came to Harry, or Hermione. The two as a couple just gave Draco something to loath as a whole, directing all his detestation in one unified bearing. It wasn't fair, but no one seemed willing to fight with Draco on it. They were grateful he was as friendly as he was, they felt it was a lot to ask of him -so soon, so fast- to be chummy with two people he possibly hated the most in the world. Even if he didn't admit it to anyone, Draco was trying, given his therapist's words, but he found it easy in theory but not practice. Hermione was taking care of him, Ginny, and their unborn child at personal risk of loosing her Healer License, and Harry was never one to pass up an opportunity to be a Saint, but maybe that's what irritated Draco most, they had abandoned him and were still acting as though their shit didn't stink.
"Draco is not to drink," Narcissa said sternly.
"Oh, come on, Mum, it is my birthday," Draco whined, the Weasley boys -men- all chortling amongst themselves at Draco acting like his predictable whiny self and mamma's-boy.
"Your birthday was last month, and you are not allowed to drink," she said flatly.
"It is my birthday party, am I not allowed one toast?" he pouted.
"Absolutely not. You have been sober for almost a year now, you are staying that way, and you are far too ill to be downing alcohol anyways. No, no, no," she said in tones that made it clear that that was the final word in it, though that did not stop Draco from sitting there and pouting for a minute, trying to persuade her.
"Like you would know what sober is," he said under his breath once his mother was out of earshot, over talking to a few of `the wives' who seemed to agree with her.
"It's alright, mate, I'll get you something to drink once you are out of bed," Ron said, flopping down on the mattress hard enough to make Draco bounce up slightly.
Ginny sat down beside Draco, so he was in the middle, Ron on his right, Ginny on his left, Michelangelo a little behind him and near Ron, Clarissa on his lap, the Weasleys all around, talking, all holding plates and forks as they ate cake and stood.
"Happy Birthday, Draco," Ginny said, leaning in to give him just the littlest pecks on the lips while handing him his slice of cake. The cake looked positively gruesome with its bright red interior. It was a red-velvet cake with raspberry filling, Draco's favorite.
"Thank you," he said, curling a piece of Clarissa's long hair around his thin finger, not touching the cake right away but knowing everyone in the room was looking at him out of the corner of their eye to see if he would. Everyone was convinced he was anorexic, even if they said nothing about it. He knew what they were thinking. "Why do both your mum and dad have to use the word `darling' to describe me?" he asked, Ron snorting a laugh, Draco ignoring him to just look to Ginny, who was smiling.
"What, you rather they hate you and use different words to describe you?" she teased.
"No," he pouted. "But darling is something you call a pixie," he griped, still twining a piece of Clarissa's hair.
"You are a total pixie, mate, just deal with it," Ron said, giving Draco a firm but singular pound on the back which was a bit rougher than Draco needed because he said "ow" which no one responded to because that was just Draco being a whiner, as always.
"The party moved back to being in the end of the month then?" Draco asked, Harry nodding, Ron doing so too because he doubted Draco would acknowledge Harry.
"Yeah, back to the end of July, you're welcome and all, but it won't be your party anymore, so don't be thinking you will get special treatment," he said, nudging at Draco who just "ow"ed again.
"What are you doing tomorrow then?" Harry said to ask as he held Hermione's hand, attempting to make civil conversation, always willing to be the one to extend to olive branch but always the one to get it snapped back in his face.
"Oh! Dad is taking me to Diagon Alley for my wand!" Clarissa beamed, eyes alight with excitement, her whole body sitting stock straight up as she still sat plopped in Draco's lap as she ate her cake, requesting the piece with the biggest frosting flower on it.
"Are you up to that, mate?" Ron asked.
"I typically worked the second day after the full, so it is nothing I haven't done before: crawled these old bones out of bed," he said with a shrug, looking behind him to pat at Michelangelo's foot to be sure he was included as he sat so quietly. He gave his son a warm smile, which was recuperated with a wearer one, and Draco just patted his foot again, turning to look forward once more but leaving his hand back there to be with his son, should he need it. He was still angry with Michelangelo, but he never wanted his son to think he did not love him, or believe he would exclude him from anything. Michelangelo's foot found itself in Draco's hand and Draco smiled, knowing that bit of affection was quite a lot from his son at that point. He gave it a squeeze, giving the boy that assurance and comfort, Michelangelo seemingly encouraged by that enough to even kindly -though quietly- thank his uncle Percy for the slab of cake he was just offered before digging in.
"You know going out will only get you swarmed by people, so soon after that article," Hermione said, Draco not turning to look at her as she spoke, facing stubbornly away as he responded.
"One: I cannot hide forever, it is either sooner or later I am going to have to venture out for the first time, so why drag it out and put it off? It won't make it any better and the dread will just have time to build. And two: I did nothing wrong so I likely won't be shunned, but pestered and possibly avoided -out of fear- which I actually wouldn't mind too much. My welcome just about anywhere has never been warm, so I can't say this will be that great of a diversion from my typical experiences," he said quite curtly, leaving the "I'm not a coward, I will not hide in shame" part unsaid but heavily implied. Ginny hooked her arm with his encouragingly, Ron looked a little irritated that Draco was being so crisp with Hermione, and Harry just seemed to sigh in his ever wearing tolerance for Draco's coldness.
Despite that, however, Draco had to admit, this was one of the best birthdays he had had in a long while, he dare even say `ever' due to how warmly he was welcomed. He could do without the fancy gifts and to skip the dry custom of his youth. Formal parties had a certain cultural lure to them, but he found them tedious, and repetitive. The same old people, talking about the same old things, wearing the same old -but new- expensive cloths to try and impress and out do one another, and the same old shallow complements, and the same old superficial praise…it had all been so wearing, so cold. Draco didn't miss any of that, of all things he had lost.
No Author's Note/Summery for you. Review!
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