By The Light Of A Dying Flame ~ Drarry Fanfic

Chapter 30: Draco

Draco had not expected his return to Hogwarts to be met with such little complication. Or fanfare, if he were being honest.

As with the Manor, he'd decided that walking right up to the gates and hoping for the best was his only real option. It wasn't as if he had that much to lose. Except, he supposed, his life, but he was pretty lukewarm about that these days. Dolohov and Bellatrix had alerted Snape that he would be returning, but he had anticipated some reservation from the Dark Lord's highest lieutenant, especially after Draco's spectacular display the year before. Instead, the gates had opened for him immediately upon his arrival, and Filch was awaiting him at the main doors to escort him to the Headmaster's office.

"Harry," he'd said to his mother only a few hours before, "I know how to help him win this war."

She'd stared at him, like he'd said he was going to shave his head and start calling himself Tom Riddle. "I understand not wanting to be one of them, anymore," Narcissa said slowly, her dark eyes darting to his exposed forearm, "but to truly defect, Draco..." Narcissa had never formally taken the Mark herself, and Draco never knew if it was because Lucius had told her she didn't need to, or if perhaps there was some small part of her that hadn't wanted to commit herself so entirely to the Dark Lord. Perhaps that was just Draco's own wishful thinking.

"I know what I'm doing," Draco said, straining to keep his voice level, to drain it of the frustration at her hesitance; she hadn't spent weeks with Potter and his friends, hadn't felt the gentle touch of kindness, the warmth of someone who genuinely cared if she lived or died. Light hadn't yet broken through the darkness for her, as it had for Draco, like kintsugi filling the cracks he hadn't even realized existed. "Don't you want things to be better than all this?" he asked, waving his hand around at the musty room, its corners flooded with shadows, the sounds of someone shouting downstairs.

Narcissa swallowed, the movement painfully visible in her thin throat. "Of course I do, but I—"

"You're scared," Draco finished, and Narcissa nodded, relief visible on her pale face, that she did not have to admit to her fear out loud. "I'm scared, too," he said, his grip tightening on her hand—her fingers felt so frail beneath his own, like those of a porcelain doll, "Of course I am. All of this is fucking terrifying." Narcissa's brow furrowed, her lips parting as if to scold him for his language, and he waved her off. "But I think that our time is up, you and I. It's been up, since Father died. Maybe even before that—so isn't it better to have something worth dying for?"

Narcissa stared at him, her black eyes wavering in the wandlight, studying the face of her son. She had aged far too quickly in the past year, but she was still beautiful; a queen carved from ice, even if her kingdom was rapidly crumbling around her. "Alright," she said into the silence that had stretched so long, Draco thought he may drown in his own heartbeat. His breath released in a gush of air, and he fought the urge to close his eyes and slump into his mother's side. She would hold him up, he knew she would, but it was his turn to be strong for her. "I trust you, Draco," she said, reaching up to cradle his face with her free hand, "I may not agree that this is the best path forward, but you're correct when you say we are on borrowed time; we may as well use it."

Draco squeezed her hand again, willing his gratitude to flow through his arm and into Narcissa's palm as bright warmth. "Okay," he replied, knowing now was not the time to keep trying to appeal to her with his own newfound righteousness: he would take her reluctant agreement to help and run with it as fast as he could. "Then I'm going to convince that lot downstairs to let me go to Hogwarts."

Narcissa's ashy eyebrows shot up on her lined forehead. "Why on earth would you want to go there?" she asked. "I thought Potter wasn't at Hogwarts."

"He will be soon," Draco insisted, releasing his mother's hand to stand and begin pacing around the bed. Now that his mother was reluctantly on board, frenetic energy was coursing through him, adrenaline building in his veins. "He's searching for something, and I think I know what it is—and where it is."