quidditch kiss cam | dramione

15. Returning to the Manor. (part two)

He pressed his lips to her forehead as he closed his eyes at the sharp and cold contact of her skin with his own. “Goodbye, mother.”

And then, he had already turned around, walking away from the scene without sparing as much as a second glance at his dead mother in the love seat.

The fact of losing his mother on this day took Draco down his memory lane—Christmas holidays at The Manor. He had gotten all the gifts he had ever wanted, all the toys and books, everything. He would run down the stairs on Christmas mornings until he was 12, look around, locate his presents and actually enjoy the day. After 12, it became a burden— seeing his parents at the Manor with their odd conversations in hushed whispers about you-know-who and dark magic, it didn't feel like Christmas anymore. By the time he had decided to stay at Hogwarts for the next break, his parents had stopped writing to him. It wasn't the same, it really wasn't after all that happened. What he remembered most about his last Christmas with his parents was his mother smiling down at him once in a blue moon, telling him that she loved him and that despite their rocky relationship,  he could still come over for Christmas at least and spend the day with her, if not anyone else. She had promised him that she'd always be there, if not on any other day then at least on Christmas.

And now she wasn't, she had been taken away the same day she had promised not to leave. It was all that he remembered, and God, how he'd wish to give anything to not remember.

In a parallel mind to his, Minerva took her time, casting sad eyes on the dead woman, she sighed, turned on her heels and walked off to where Draco had just gone. She hadn't known Narcissa except for being the wife of a deatheater and the mother to one of her students who also, for the record, happened to be a deatheater in the past— it felt inappropriate to voice untrue words of sympathy and eulogies like they had been fast friends in their time.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Minvera approached him standing right next to the pillar outside of the room they had just exited, the room where his mother laid dead now. Draco had the calmest expression on his face, even his placid body agreed with his restful brain.

But dear God, his eyes.

A whole storm, of grey and silver ready to collide with the rocks and cause complete havoc in mere minutes.

“I will send someone over to collect her and proceed with the burial duties,” she informed him, not noticing the storm in his eyes, or maybe she did— “I would understand if you want to go back and come back another day, it's been...” she calculated her words, “A rather unusual day.”

Draco didn't speak.

McGonagall sighed, “We can always come back another day. Answers can wait, grief and a little emptiness is permanent.” she told him in a wise tone, as if she was lecturing a child. “Let us go back to Hogwarts, I promise you, I'll ask around about the deathmark through my...acquaintances. I'm confident that we will get a lead. The information your mother supplied us with has indeed, helped us in a way or two. At least now we know what is going on and dare I say, it is absolutely frightening and at the same time, impossible.” McGonagall realised she got off track, realising this, she sighed once more. Dealing with the emotions of her students wasn't really her cup of tea.

“I promise you, we will have a lead soon. Your mother wouldn't have died in vain.” With that, she flashed a portkey from her bright green robes and looked at Draco right in the eye.

With one final glance at the closed double doors of the drawing room, Draco touched two fingers to the portkey, spinning and spinning until he finally landed on all fours in the head mistress' office.

All he knew now, was that he wanted to curl up into a ball and cry like a little baby who had just lost his mother in Digon Alley, except, he wouldn't be able to find her this time.