A/N This story does refer right back to 4. Malfoy's Moment of Need.
(1001 words)
'Harry?'
I look up as Draco sits on the sofa next to me. 'Yes?'
'I was thinking...'
'That's never a good sign.'
'Oi! I was thinking, I ought to go to the Manor.'
'Dray,' I gulp. We've not talked about it, not since that awful day in year eight.
'I mean the grounds really. Merlin, I'm responsible for 2,500 acres of land and I've been ignoring it. I mean, we have an Estate Manager, but perhaps it's time I faced what's happened and go there.'
'We'll go together,' I know he doesn't want to ask but he wants my support as much as I'd need his if our positions were reversed. 'Tomorrow?'
'Yes,' he says quietly and I know he's nervous.
That night I spoon him tightly and, eventually, my warmth lulls him asleep. But I remain awake long after, thinking of his father, and the manor, and the memories.
In the morning, each holding our Firebolts, we Apparate to outside where the gates used to be which once lead up that long gravel drive to the house. My mouth falls open and I take Dray's hand, holding it firmly. 'There's nothing here!' Not even the hedges that used to line the driveway, instead, it's a huge open wildflower pasture, covered in sheep.
Dray smiles, the sun catching his platinum-blond hair. 'Maman had it all flattened. She said it wasn't fair to leave the ugly burnt-out shell like some dead carcass jutting up into the landscape.'
He leads me forward, surprisingly at ease. There is a freedom to the meadow, a breath of fresh air. It's beautiful. It's so very hard to believe the Manor ever stood here. But it also hurts me to see this grassland, I feel surprisingly sad about Lucius. He died here and yet he's gone. It seems so utterly empty and futile, there are no memories here, it's a place freed from its past, as if the generations of Malfoys never existed.
An oak tree has been planted where the front door to the house had been, maybe closing off the dead house permanently and laying the ghosts to rest by creating new life. The tree seems strong already, despite only being here for a few years. Perhaps, I think, it's the latent magic in the earth but the tree represents strength that goes beyond the darkness that once haunted this small pocket of England.
I touch its trunk, no thicker than my biceps. The wind whispers in its leaves and the tree seems to murmur Welcome Harry.
I wonder about the connection I have with Dray, about whether it will work, for if we can feel the edges of wards, read magic, detect dark magic, talk to ghosts... I push my mind forward, cautiously reaching out.
You are always welcome, Mr Potter, especially as you have brought our son back to us.
'Can you feel it, Harry,' Dray says quietly. 'It's like the tree is singing.'
I smile. Yes! I use our Legilimens connection. We haven't communicated like this since Montenegro and I see his beautiful grey eyes widen. Listen!
I hold his hand and pull our connection to the song of the tree and it seems to sigh Dra-co, Dra-co, Dra-co... over and over like a heart beating.
'My father?' Dray whispers. 'Lucius?'
Yes, Lucius, yes... and no. We are all. We are one; the past, the present, and your future. We are Malfoy. Come back to us, Draco.
'Is it malevolent?' Dray says quietly. 'It doesn't feel like it is?'
No, we understand now. We are freed from our human mistakes and beliefs and greed... we accept all... all that matters now is this... is love...
The breeze rustles through the leaves taking the words away with it and I shudder as the connection breaks.
'Let's fly,' I suggest, unsure how else to cope with what we have experienced. I want to think, to understand what has happened.
We swoop over the landscape, Dray showing me the haunts of his childhood: the lake; the deer park; the woodlands; hidden follies; the grasslands. It feels peaceful here, but perhaps I am affected by the experience.
We land on the side of a hill, it is open, giving us a view over the valley to the lake which glistens in the sunshine. I watch a herd of deer meandering slowly beneath ancient chestnut trees in the park and, in the distance, there is a farmhouse which is just visible through the trees, though a squeal of children's laughter drifts towards us.
Dray throws himself onto the grass. 'The Estate Manager, Eduard Doyle, and his family live there. We'll visit them after lunch.'
We have a make-shift picnic and I open two Butterbeers.
'This was always my favourite spot as a child. I used to run away from my lessons and send everyone into a panic because they didn't know where I was. I used to come up here and sit on the hillside and just watch everything. Here, my troubles went away.'
I smile. I have been let in a little further behind the mask.
'Eventually Maman put a tracker on me. Then she would come and find me and we would sit here together. We would pretend there was no manor; no formalities; no pressure; no formal dinners; no politics; no sneering blood superiority; later, no Dark Lord. I would be Robinson Crusoe, alone on my island. Just me and all this nature. Free.' He sighed.
I watch as he reclines with the sun on his face. I rarely see him looking like this, only when he is truly relaxed, when I have undone him and he has truly let go. It is a very personal, private side to Dray. The pointiness seems to have gone, the tension in his shoulders, his posture.
And I understand. We need to be here. Here is home.
'We should build our family home here,' I say. 'On this spot.'
He looks at me and smiles. Yes, he sighs.
*****