An End And A Beginning

3: Singing All The While In The Minor Mode

It was much later the same evening when Draco thought his heart might leap out of his chest because it was thudding so loudly. He swore too, aloud. All because he was woken by Potter's bloody Stag Patronus flooding his room with bright white light as it stood no more than a foot away from his bed—from his face—seeing as Draco was sleeping on his side and facing the door. He checked his watch; it read 11.41pm. He'd probably only been asleep for twenty or so minutes. He stared at the Patronus which just seemed to stare back.

'What!' he snapped, thoroughly discombobulated by it. He hated to admit the bloody thing was impressive.

'Sorry to wake you. Received message from St Mungo's to forewarn they're concerned about your father's breathing. No more to message, though they may contact again during the night. If they do, I'll come straight to Manor.'

'Fuck!' Draco swore again.

'Sorry to be bearer of such news,' said Potter's disembodied voice again. 'If you want, you can Floo-call. I've opened my private Floo to your address. Restricted to calls and I know it's me but at least you can talk to someone if you need.'

The Patronus vanished then into a haze of nothingness, leaving behind a burning brightness on Draco's eyelids when he flung himself back and closed his eyes once more.

'Fuck,' he whispered to no one. This was really happening.

He lay there for a long time, his heart still pounding strongly as he found his thoughts wandering to his father's life, to his achievements, to his own childhood growing up in the grounds under his father's guidance, if it could be called that. There were good memories. There was love... occasionally. His father had never been a cruel man towards him. Instead, he had spoilt and pandered to his son's wants without thought, just constantly embedding ideas of Pureblood superiority. It was just all so misguided and all the more damaging for it. So maybe he was a cruel man because his father had unconsciously been so detrimental in the way he'd bought up Draco because he hadn't once thought of the damage he was causing. Instead he'd treated the family's privileged life as unexceptional if not their prerogative as he guided Draco into the arms of Tom Riddle. And all this was without considering the path he'd taken or that, afterwards, refusing to admit he was wrong, even at the very end as they faced the Wizengamot.

There was never an apology—just bitter entitlement. Draco had said as much to Potter earlier and that irked him to re-think it. He wanted to think better of his father. Especially as his father was laying in a cold, stark room in St Mungo's; dying and alone. Draco hoped the medi-witches and Healers were looking after him, despite his past, despite his tendency to be difficult.

It took a long time before he fell back asleep.

At 4am, Potter's Patronus appeared once more.

This time Draco didn't react so starkly. He supposed he was expecting it, even in his sleep.

'I'll be at the gate in two minutes. They suggested you come in. He's deteriorated dramatically.'

Draco simply tied his hair back into a loose knot and, un-showered, threw on his jeans and his green jumper. Yesterday's clothes. It didn't matter. Mind you, Potter looked like he'd dressed just as hurriedly, his Auror robes weren't fastened and his hair was a bloody mess, although any difference from normal was a little hard to gauge.

It was only when they'd arrived at St Mungo's that Draco thought perhaps he should have woken his mother, or at least left a note.

The main Apparation point was closed. They had to walk around to the Magical Accident and Emergency Department entrance on the other side of the outwardly-derelict Purge and Dowse Department store building. It took for-bloody-ever and, of course, it was the wrong side of the hospital for the lifts up to Ward 7. Once inside, the receptionist, without questioning it, just hurriedly ushered them towards the warren of corridors back to the main part of the hospital and anyone they passed seemed to know exactly why they were there. It was all accompanied by sympathetic looks. They made him want to scream.