The weekend passed in a muddled haze for Draco. The reunion with his mother had been bittersweet; his father's forthcoming execution and the sudden summons from the Wizengamot putting a damper on what would have otherwise been a joyous occasion.
Draco had left Hogwarts with nothing but his muddied Quidditch kit, the change of clothes in his rucksack, and his wand. He hadn't been able to return to his room to pack, notify his friends, or even leave a note for Harry. The Head Auror had bluntly refused to allow him to return to the Eighth Year Dorms, citing the risk of further attacks from antagonistic students. The situation had spiraled so completely out of their control that Draco was left reeling, standing on a precipice, overlooking the vast unknown of his future. Perhaps, the only way to fix the situation was to simply cut out the source of the dispute—himself. If he removed himself from the equation, there would no longer be a need to solve the problem. Everything would just cease to exist then.
Draco shivered, despite the Warming Charms and the now ill-fitting cloak that draped loosely over his slender shoulders. His mother had been unhappy about the fact that he had lost more weight. It was understandable, Draco supposed, given the number of meals he had skipped throughout the School Term. He would have ate even less had Harry not been around to forcibly drag him to the Great Hall or the kitchens.
Draco exhaled, numbly watching his breath curl and twist in the chilly air. It was still dark out. The sun had yet to rise, but he and his mother were already awake. They stood, huddled together on the balcony of an unplottable villa that rested atop a steep cliff overlooking Saltburn-by-the-Sea, a small Muggle town and seaside resort. Sleep had evaded them both the entire night, so they idled and watched the stars fade as the darkness of night slowly turned gray; the sea reflecting the stormy hue of Draco's blank gaze.
It was Monday morning of the second week of December.
And come sunrise, Lucius Malfoy would receive the Dementor's Kiss.
Following that, Aurors would be arriving to escort Narcissa and Draco to the Ministry for their appointment with the Wizengamot.
The sky was beginning to lighten. Glimpses of orange streamed just along the horizon, struggling against the oppressive gloom of the early winter sky, turning the clouds burnt-red. Draco watched, detached from it all, as the North Sea ebbed and flowed; the murky waters slowly catching prisms of colour as the sun began its steady ascent.
Draco was suddenly reminded of Harry; his only source of light and warmth, chasing away the shadows that constantly tormented him. It was a poignant reminder, but Draco could no longer afford himself such luxuries.
Narcissa was silent, stoic. She faced the rising sun with quiet dignity and acceptance. Draco held her hand, fingers entwined as the blinding orb of light blazed over the horizon, washing the dull, overcast sky in sweeping strokes of orange, yellow, and red.
"Its time." She whispered.
Draco nodded, squeezing his mother's dainty hand.
Narcissa released a soft exhale as the morning grew increasingly brighter. Her lips moved ever so slightly, soundless; her eyes fluttering close. Draco remained as he was. He had said his goodbyes a long time ago.
Lucius Malfoy was no more.
After a moment, Narcissa opened her eyes and smiled softly, gazing up at Draco; her gaze beautifully clear and finally at peace. "Tea, darling?"
Draco smiled back, pressing a soft kiss onto his mother's perfectly coiffed hair. He led her through the glass double doors, throwing one last glance at the breathtaking scene behind him: the gorgeous sun illuminating everything it touched, breathing life into the shadows—dazzling, warm, beautifully intense. Like Harry.
Draco wondered if he'd ever see anything so exquisite ever again. How he longed to bask in its light for just a little bit longer.
* * *
Escorted by Gawain Robards and two Junior Aurors, Draco and Narcissa, both dressed in somber robes the colour of mourning, stepped through the Floo into the bustling Atrium of the British Ministry of Magic. Squaring his shoulder, Draco fought the nearly overwhelming urge to vomit whatever he'd managed to keep down for breakfast. The panic clawing at his insides was more pronounced now. Being inside the Ministry seemed to have exacerbated the mild flutter of anxiety that had plagued him since he'd left Hogwarts.
Pulling on every last tattered shred of his aristocratic pride and dignity, Draco assumed a coolly neutral expression that would've made Lucius Malfoy grunt in reluctant approval. Draco knew he couldn't show any signs of weakness. Not here. Not in this place, where he was surrounded by hungry vultures, waiting to pick his bones bare should he ever fall in their midst.
The stares aimed his way were far more vicious than the ones he'd ever encountered at school. He could feel the burning scrape of it on his skin as though he was being flayed alive. He wanted to flinch and hide from it all but one glance at his mother steadied him; her quiet strength and gentle grace, a balm to his soul and wavering resolve.
Narcissa fluidly took Draco's arm, a soft, reassuring smile on her face, and they were off, following the deliberate strides of the Head Auror as they meandered toward the lifts. Draco kept his chin up, eyes resolutely trained on the back of Gawain Robards' graying head. If the man was unnerved by Draco's piercing stare, he gave no indication of it. Aurors, after all, were a different breed of wizards. Not much could ruffle their figurative feathers. And for a brief, stolen moment, Draco allowed himself to imagine Harry as an Auror. Clad in form-fitting robes of dark-red, Harry would certainly cut a fine figure—dashing yet dangerous. A wistful look flashed across Draco's features, but it was gone just as swiftly; the Malfoy mask of cold indifference firmly back in place.
Stepping into the lift, Draco expected it to descend to the cavernous basement, where the Trials were usually held. However, to his surprise, the lift ascended and he remembered that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was located on the second level. He cast a furtive glance at his mother, but Narcissa showed no outward signs of confusion. She looked just as calm and collected as ever.
The lift jarred to a screeching halt and the three impassive Aurors exited without uttering a single word. Draco and Narcissa dutifully followed. Overcome with curiosity, Draco glanced about as they walked down maze-like corridors lined with doors that led to cluttered offices. Folded memos flew overhead in organised chaos amidst billowing robes of varying colours as Law Enforcement employees milled about. Nobody paid their group too much attention outside of the occasional raised eyebrow or scrutinizing stare. Once in a while, Aurors would pause to greet Robards, otherwise, their progress had been entirely unimpeded.
They finally stopped when they reached a rather imposing set of double doors. Draco could distinctly feel the oppressive Magic of extremely powerful Privacy Wards. With a flick of his wand, Robards disabled the Spells. He pushed the door just slightly open and motioned towards it, "Please."
Narcissa regally nodded. She relinquished her hold on Draco's arm and glided inside. Draco trailed after his mother and was soon followed in by the Head Auror. The doors snapped shut with an echoing finality that greatly unsettled Draco. With a furtive glance over his shoulder, Draco noted that Robards had posted himself along the wall—a silent sentinel.
Inhaling a deep steadying breath, Draco turned his attention to the chamber before him and realised that they were inside an impressive conference room. Even more surprising was that there were only two other people seated within: The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, a withered-looking wizard who looked like someone's amiable grandfather. Draco couldn't recall the man's name. He had been far too traumatised by the Trials to bother remembering someone so closely tied with it.
"Welcome. Please have a seat." Minister Shacklebolt greeted in a booming voice, indicating a row of empty chairs.
Draco and Narcissa took their seats across the two Ministry Officials. While his mother murmured a briefly worded salutation, Draco could only manage a polite nod. He didn't trust himself to speak.
Shacklebolt cleared his throat, a neutral expression on his face. "There is no love lost between Lucius Malfoy and the Ministry but all the same, I am deeply sorry for the loss of your husband..." He nodded at Narcissa. "And your father." He turned to Draco.
Narcissa smiled and shook her head, "You did not take my husband and Draco's father from us, Minister." She looked towards a charmed window that showed a sunny landscape so opposite from the gloom of London. "Voldemort did." Her voice didn't even waver at the name.
Draco's breath caught in his throat. He grabbed his mother's hand and squeezed. She didn't look at him but readily returned the pressure of his fingers. If they had been taken aback by Narcissa's words, Shacklebolt and the Chief Warlock did not show it.
"Let's get right down to business, shall we?" Shacklebolt said, turning towards the Chief Warlock with a curt nod.
The older wizard cleared his throat, conjuring a sheaf of parchments, before peering at Draco and Narcissa over his spectacles. "Despite the fact that the Trials had shed light to both your unsavory circumstances and redeeming actions during the War, the Wizarding public are none too happy with the outcome as clearly shown by the recent turn of events." He pointedly stared at Draco. "It is indeed unfortunate that although you have been spared Azkaban, you and yours are no safer outside of it."
The Chief Warlock took a breath and pulled out a parchment and pinned Draco with a measuring gaze. "Mr. Malfoy, as per your original Sentence, you are to complete your Hogwarts education with Restrictions placed upon your wand and must complete five NEWTs with grades no lower than Exceeds Expectations. Subsequently, after graduation, you are to report to the Ministry to begin your Five-Year Term of Community Service." He looked up and bluntly concluded, "Work without pay."
Draco nodded wordlessly. He had heard all this before. He was confused as to why the old wizard was repeating it again.
"Well, my boy." The Chief Warlock sighed, pushing his spectacles up his nose. "None of that applies to you anymore." And he proceeded to rip the parchment outlining Draco's original Ruling to shreds.
"Sir?" Draco gaped, heart suddenly pounding in his chest, feeling as though he'd been doused with frigid water. Even Narcissa's cool composure had slipped; her face quickly turning pale.
"As I've mentioned before, you are not safe out in public. None of the Pureblood families with ties to Death Eaters, no matter how negligible, are safe. You've both experienced for yourselves just how violent things could become." The Chief Warlock pulled out another parchment and laid it out in front of Draco and Narcissa. "With that being the case and the fact that we simply don't have the manpower to ensure your safety while you serve the full term of your house arrest, Mrs. Malfoy, We, the Wizengamot have deemed it imperative to change the terms of your Sentence."
Draco stared at the parchment before him but he couldn't see a thing. His mind was whirring with so many unanswered questions.
Are they throwing us into Azkaban after all? Just to keep the bloody public happy? Can they do this? Is this even allowed? Of course, its allowed... These people make the rules.
"Draco..." Narcissa's voice cut through the haze in Draco's mind. "Darling, look..." He didn't even realise that he had closed his eyes. Willing himself to read what his mother had pointed out, Draco stopped when Shacklebolt cut in, "The Verdict hasn't changed. Only the terms of your punishment. You will never again see the interior of Azkaban, Mr. Malfoy, unless of course you end up committing something later on that would warrant an extended visit."
Draco released a shaky breath, feeling suddenly weak with relief. He turned towards his mother and immediately noticed the radiant smile on her face. Stunned, he quickly read through the parchment detailing their new Sentence.
And there it was. It felt like a stone had settled in Draco's gut and his breath was once again cut short.
Exile.
Five years with absolutely no contact with anyone residing in Great Britain.
Five years without setting foot on British soil.
"It is the best course of action. It removes both of you from the eyes of Wizarding Britain and it honors the Verdict that kept you out of Azkaban." The Chief Warlock stated. "As the Muggle saying goes: Out of sight, out of mind."
Draco couldn't breathe. His vision started to blur and an odd throbbing had begun to echo in his ears, reflecting the uneven staccato of his heartbeat. It was quite the irony that only this morning Draco had pondered about removing himself from the equation entirely and mere hours later, the Wizengamot had deemed it wise to simply do it for him.
This was it.
"You will finish out the Fall Term at Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy, but you will not be returning after Christmas holidays." The Chief Warlock turned towards Narcissa. "We know you own a villa in France. That's where you will continue to serve the term of your house arrest. We have already notified the French Ministry of Magic. A portkey will be ready for departure on Christmas Day."
It was well and truly over.
Narcissa couldn't help the jubilant smile on her face as she nodded in relief before turning her attention towards Draco. However the sight of her son's ashen pallor stopped her short.
"Darling, what—?" Her words died on her lips as Draco met her gaze and she saw the raw, undiluted agony in her son's turbulent, gray eyes.
Then it hit her.
"Oh, my love..." Narcissa's face crumpled as she pulled Draco into her arms.
This was goodbye.