December 19, 1991
Three days of pain, worse than when Father struck me. Three days of skipping meals and solitude. Three days of subsisting off potions.
Three days of the memories on repeat.
“Kneel.”
“Kneel.”
“Kneel.”
“K n e e l.”
With love and venom.
Malfoys don’t apologize.
“I wish I could hate you.”
“I wish you could too.”
I screamed at the empty forest that surrounded me. I needed control. I needed to calm down. I needed—
“Medea Malfoy, you stupid child,” and like that there was a man, tall and imposing with a hooked nose and black eyes. His black robes snapped in the wind, and the scowl on his face made him look stern.
“Professor.” I laughed, because of course it would be him. Of course it wouldn’t be Father or Draco. It was Severus. Come to save me from myself, just like he did six years ago, “Fancy seeing you here.”
“Yes,” he hissed, “What a coincidence. Tell me, has your father knocked a screw loose?”
Well, what could it hurt, really, to let some of it go? Let it go to a man with misery in his bones and grief written in the way he lives.
“You know, I haven’t gone accidental in so long, I almost forgot what it felt like.” My voice was still coated in amusement, more than I had ever shown to an outsider. And for all I cared for Severus, he had always been treated as such, “Not that what I did was accidental, mind you. I was simply out of control.”
It was hilarious, really, that I was so high strung. Even knowing. It had filled me with an otherworldly anxiety. A sense of duty so strong I would rather fall apart than release any of my pain.
“Out of control and angry. Over a house elf!” I laughed again, it was ridiculous. I had said I would live as a Malfoy. That I would take their views and make them my own. That I would be the perfect scion of a noble house. That I would never crack. That I would be a villain to save them.
I sat down on the damp ground, fresh with early morning dew. There was something freeing about releasing the words into the wild.
“Medea,” he huffed, “This is not the end of the line. You have not been disowned, disinherited, or otherwise distanced from your family.”
“You’re wrong,” I leaned back and let the dampness seep into my clothes. Who cared when a quick scourgify would clean it up. “Things have changed. I have disobeyed.”
“So dramatic, child, is it so simple to cut yourself off? I had thought they meant more to you.”
Now it was my turn to huff.
“No, Severus, they mean everything. That’s why it has all changed.”
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I felt another laugh bubble up.
“I couldn’t hate them if I tried. I could be disowned, struck from the family tree, and still, I would give my everything to see them have a happy ending.”
-
“I have returned your spawn to you,” Severus hissed, as he shoved me forward to face my father. Mother was there too, but this was different.
“I was just in the woods,” I sighed, “It’s not like I ran off.”
Catching myself I laughed, “Oh, actually I did.”
“Is she broken?” Came my fathers cool voice as he looked down at me, me who was still laughing at myself.
Me, who was usually so stoic I could be a statue. Me, who may actually be broken.
“No, just suffering from a potion overdose,” at Mother’s sharp intake of breath, Severus waved his hand at me, “It’s not dangerous it just has her more— expressive than usual.”
Oh.
That made a bit of a sense then.
“Wait,” I turned to Severus, a smile on my face, “Why didn’t you say that? You just listened to me ramble.”
“Yes, well,” a ghost of a smile danced across his face, “What else is a Godfather to do?”
-
Draco is the exception. The star to my night sky. I gave him an apology because in the moment I was so shaken, my very core was overwhelmed. But I should have known.
It wasn’t enough.
“Clean it.” He scowled, his already pinched face pinched further, “By hand.”
What if I throttled him? No. That was what got me here, standing in a room that looked like a battle scene. Ironically, it wasn’t the actual battle scene in Father’s study. No. That had been erased within moments. This was Draco’s room. Paintings were thrown, stuffies were ripped in half, clothes were strung about —some salvageable some not.
“What happened here?” I hissed, “What did you do?”
“Medea,” he sneered, the git, “You do not have a monopoly on poor choices.”
“You tried to use bombarda, didn’t you?”
“Shut up,” he said as his face tinted red.
“And this will solve it?” I gestured to the destroyed room.
“It’ll do.”
“Fine,” I sighed.
-
Mother, Father, Severus, Draco, and I were sat in the formal dining room, with a table too big for us five and enough food to qualify as a feast.
The room was cold, as the Manor always was. The conversation was slow, Severus and Father chatted about the school —and their issues with its governance. Mother chimed in every so often to agree. Draco chatted with Mother about Yule and to verify that the snakes could still come early.
I filled in the silence with small comments, comments that I had always made but seemed to hit differently now. Not to Mother or Father, but to me. I was less measured, more free.
“I have heard from your friends, it seemed they will all be in attendance,” Mother had an approving smile, and I nodded, “Very good, you two. It seems most of your year will be in attendance.”
“Spektor is the only one I wasn’t sure about,” I stated, “She doesn’t really participate much with the rest.”
“Well, what is her use?”
“She is rather skilled at transfiguration and theory, she meshes well with the other houses, and she seems the sort to hold her cards close to her chest.”
Draco filled in, “And she’s rather pretty.”
I turned my head to look at my brother, “What?”
“Well, she is.” He huffed and took a bite of some kind of mashed vegetable, it was white so it could have been potato but I had an odd feeling it was radish. Call it instinct.
I pursed my lips, “I think Daphne is prettier.”
“I didn’t say Spektor was the prettiest. Just pretty.”
“Well, as long as you know.”