Tainted Love

The Dinner Party

DRACO

Draco could see the gates growing bigger on the horizon. It felt insidious, like he was pulling up to a military base. In a way, he was pulling up to a military base. A former one, anyways.

He never visited the Manor when he could help it, but he felt obligated to go at least a few times every year. Narcissa was there alone, wasting away between the portraits and statues and old books that nobody had read in hundreds of years.

Draco almost wished the Ministry had confiscated all of their money and belongings after the trial. His mother might not have insisted on living at the Manor if there was nothing in it. And even if she had, it would be easier to visit the house if it was empty.

Sadly, it was not empty. Each room was perfectly preserved, every piece of furniture and decoration in place.

Draco understood his mother's urge - if everything looked the same as it had, it was easier for Narcissa to believe that most things were still the same. That her son was a popular heir, not a disgraced Ministry official. That Lucius was at work, not in a cell in Azkaban.

That they had never chosen the wrong side of the war.

But to Draco, the house was crafted to bring his worst memories to the surface. Everything looked the same as it had during the war. He hadn't gone to his room in years. He might be sick on sight.

But Narcissa had written him asking to see him and Draco supposed it had been a while since he had visited home - since June, probably. And it was almost December now.

He loved his mother fiercely. She was the strongest of the three of them and always had been. But she was too stuck in the past now. She wanted to talk about marriage options and galas that Draco would never be invited to. She wanted to talk about politics that Lucius had once been involved in.

She got angry sometimes when he told her he had nothing to do with those things anymore. Or else she got sad, which was worse.

For the past couple of visits, Draco had taken to making things up to make her feel better. When she believed that he was still a member of high society she acted more like herself and less like a shadow.

This was the worst thing Voldemort had taken from him, maybe. His mother.

She had sent a chauffeur to get him from his apartment. It was silly - he could've easily apparated. As much as he hated it, the image of the Manor was burned into his brain.

Driving cars was becoming more popular lately in pureblood circles. Half-bloods and muggleborns had always done it. But apparently muggle things were trending now.

He got out of the car and threw a quick "thank you" over his shoulder. The driver hadn't said a word to him the entire time. He didn't say a word now, either - he just turned and drove away.

Draco stared at the gate for a second before stepping forward and pushing through it. He was always a bit unsure whether or not the Manor's wards would recognize him. They were programmed to, obviously, but he came here so rarely and with such dread that he wondered whether the house might lock him out one day.

Narcissa was sitting in the tea room looking out at the garden. That was good - he hadn't really used the tea room much during the war, so there were less memories here. He took off his suit jacket and levitated it over to a hook on the wall.

Narcissa stood up and embraced him warmly. He hugged her back, closing his eyes slightly.

"Draco," she said.

"Mother," he replied.

They always acknowledged a great deal with those two words.

He sat down and felt the sun on his shoulders. The windows in the Manor were tall and narrow in an almost ominous style, but they let in a lot of light when the curtains weren't drawn.