When Draco left the Potter's, he spent the remainder of the night pouring over his mother's journals that covered the rest of 1974 and 1975, respectively, as well as the journal covering 1975 and 1976. The contents were very similar to the first journal Draco had read—Miscarriages, loneliness, and musings on the teachings of The Dark Lord. There was no indication that Narcissa had helped the Order of the Phoenix—yet—but Draco was unsatisfied. He still had many other journals to read.
As soon as the first light of day crept through the windows of Black Manor, Draco gathered the three journals in his arms and walked towards the heretofore unused fireplace. Draco grabbed a bit of Floo powder and called out the address that Potter had given him. Draco had been expecting the Floo on the other end to be locked, so he was surprised when he landed somewhat unsteadily on the other side, and was greeted with a sharp gasp, and then a shouted: "Draco!" Immediately, Andromeda had her arms wrapped around him. "I've been so worried about you! Since we last spoke—"
Draco gently shook Andromeda off. "I need to talk to you," he said frantically.
Andromeda eyed him intently. "Draco, are you all right?" You look—"
Draco cut her off again. "Yes, I'm fine," he said hurriedly. He held his mother's journals out in front of him. "Do you recognize these?"
Andromeda looked down at the journals and smiled softly. "Your mother's," she said quietly.
"So you do," Draco continued.
She nodded. "Yes, she was always writing in those little books. From the time she was 13 years old."
Draco sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. "I need to talk to you," he repeated, a bit quieter.
"Certainly," Andromeda said, taking his arm and pulling him from the fireplace. "Come in, sit down. I'll make you some tea and some toast. When was the last time you ate?"
Draco shook his head. "No, I'm fine. I just need to talk."
Andromeda stared at him with an impassive expression. "You show up here at the crack of dawn looking nearly insane and like you haven't slept in a week. You will sit down and allow me to feed you."
"Fine," he muttered as he took a seat at the little round table in the middle of the room, suddenly feeling sheepish. Andromeda smiled at him before turning back to a small wooden stove and began to prepare the tea and toast. As she worked, Draco took in his surroundings. Andromeda lived in a small, cozy cabin that appeared to exist entirely in one room. The fireplace was located directly next to the small, somewhat old-fashioned kitchen where Andromeda stood, which led into a small eating area, where Draco sat. Beyond that was a cozy living room, filled with plush rugs and over-stuffed, mismatched furniture. In the living room, there was a white wooden door, and a rather rickety-looking set of stairs that disappeared into the second level of the cottage. "Where are we?" he asked.
"Suffolk," Andromeda answered, placing a steaming cup of tea in front of him. "In the country."
"This is where you've always lived?" he asked, remembering that his mother mentioned that Andromeda lived in a cottage in the country.
Andromeda smiled sadly. "Yes. Ted and I bought it when were first married, when we didn't have a lot of money."
"It's cozy," Draco replied, taking a cautious sip of tea.
Andromeda shrugged. "It wasn't much when we first bought it. It was a bit of a wreck, if I'm being honest. But we spent several years fixing it up and finishing the attic into a second floor. It's my home," she said, placing two pieces of toast slathered with butter in front of him before taking a seat across from him.
Draco hadn't realized how hungry he was until there was food in front of him. Truthfully, he wasn't sure when he had last eaten. He grabbed one piece of toast and indelicately shoved it in his mouth, chewing quickly.
As he ate, Andromeda pulled one of the journals across the table towards her, where she fingered the cover lovingly. "I always wondered what happened to these," she said quietly.
Through a mouthful of toast, Draco spoke: "I found them in her closet when I was cleaning out the Manor. There's a box just full of them."
Andromeda laughed. "I imagine that there are. She loved writing things down, so much that my mother got her a new journal every year for her birthday."
"Did you ever read any of them?" he asked, moving onto his second piece of toast.
"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "She was very private with her journals. When we children, she had them enchanted so that if anyone but her attempted to read them, they would appear in a completely different language." Andromeda laughed then. "For a long time, they appeared to be written in Russian. So what did I do? I tried to learn Russian." She laughed again, as if she were watching a memory play out right before her very eyes. "The next time I decided to snoop on her, it was written in Turkish."
Draco smiled at his aunt's memory. "Well, I can read them, so—"
"The enchantments are gone?" she asked hurriedly.
Draco nodded. "Yes—well, I suppose they are. Go on, try. I've already read those three."
Andromeda looked him for a long moment before smiling wistfully and dropping her eyes down to the first journal—1973. Slowly, she flipped the cover open and began to read. "Her wedding day," she said quietly. "I can read it." She read the first entry before her eyes quickly darted back to Draco's. "She was soul-bonded to him?" Andromeda asked in a strangled voice.
"Yes," he replied.
"I didn't know that—" Andromeda said quietly. "She never told me."
"I didn't know either."
Andromeda shook her head. "That foolish, foolish girl," she admonished, though her words contained little venom.
"I don't think I've known anyone who's soul-bonded before," Draco mused.
Andromeda sighed. "It's a very ancient, very archaic, pureblooded tradition. Especially where the Black and Malfoy families are considered. I remember, when we were children, it was always presented as a symbol of true love between and man and wife. It was only when I got older that I realized that its roots were that of patriarchal slavery," she spat, shaking her head. "It was created so women could not stray from their marriage beds without dire repercussions. Only works one way," she added bitterly. "My parents had one as well. I'm not sure about Bella. I certainly never had one."
"I'm glad I know," Draco said quietly. "For so long—I thought it was my fault that she was sick."
Andromeda reached across the table, taking his hand and squeezing it. "Oh, Draco," she said gently. "You haven't gotten to this part yet, but you kept her alive. Without you, I don't know if she'd have held on as long as she did."
Draco could feel tears brimming in his eyes, and he blinked them away, determined not to cry in front of his aunt.
Andromeda squeezed his hand once more. "She loved you more than anything, Draco," she said gently. "You have to believe that."
Draco nodded. "I know that now, I think," he admitted, wiping a traitorous tear from his face. "I was so mad at her. But now, with these journals, I think I'm starting to understand her a bit better." Draco bit his lip and looked up at his aunt. "Can I ask you a question?"
Andromeda smiled at him softly, still holding his hand. "Of course, Draco."
"Did my mother—" Draco paused, taking a deep breath. "Did she ever help The Order?"
Andromeda furrowed her brows, as if confused. "What—?" she asked, shaking her a head a bit. "Not that I'm aware of, Draco," she continued after a moment. "But Ted and I were never officially Order members. They occasionally used our house and we helped them when we could, but we never joined. I would not have been privy to more—" Andromeda paused, as if she were trying to choose her words carefully, "sensitive Order members. Why do you ask?"
Draco shook his head and attempted a smile. "Just something that Potter said," he replied, trying to appear casual. "It just made me wonder." Draco shrugged.
Andromeda stared at him suspiciously for a moment before deftly changing the subject. "You've been in contact with Harry?" she asked, taking on her own feigned casual air.
"Just a bit," Draco replied, looking down to where Andromeda's hand still rested on his own.
"And what of Hermione?"
"Ah, so you've heard," Draco said, closing his eyes forcefully.
"Harry told me," Andromeda admitted. "He was worried about you. Wanted to know if I'd heard from you. Which, of course, I had not."
Draco sighed. "I'm sorry I haven't reached out," he apologized. "I've—I've been a bit of mess."
"Been?" she asked, raising a brow.
"Am," he corrected.
"I am always here if you need me, Draco," Andromeda said fiercely. "I don't know if you realize this, but besides Teddy, you're the only family member I have left, too. I love you, and I won't judge you even if show you up in my Floo at the crack of dawn, looking half out of your mind and raving like a lunatic." She grinned at him, lightening the tension a bit.
"Thank you, Andromeda," Draco said quietly, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "I really appreciate this. And the tea, and the toast."
She squeezed his hand again. "Don't mention it, Draco. We're family."
Draco managed a small smile back at Andromeda before his exhaustion suddenly hit him with full force. He let out a long yawn before he spoke again: "I think I should go home, I have been up all night reading these," he said, motioning to his mother's journals. "And I'm suddenly—I'm suddenly exhausted."
"Of course, darling," Andromeda said with a smile, before her graze dropped down to the journals once more, looking at them wistfully.
"Keep them," Draco offered. "I've already read them. I think you should, too."
"Thank you," she said quietly. "And Draco—" Andromeda continued as Draco walked to the Floo and grabbed a handful of powder. "I think you should skip ahead a bit. Maybe, 1979?" she suggested with a small smile.
"1979," Draco repeated right before he disappeared into the Floo.
June 5, 1979
the most handsome little boy with white blonde hair.
June 18, 1979
A peacock and a snake. There is always pride before the fall.
June 27, 1979
My husband is excited, as we are having the distinct honor of having The Dark Lord dine with us this evening. It has been nearly a year since the last time. Since the time he nearly killed my husband.
I remember that day so clearly, truthfully one of the worst days of my life. Lucius, dropped carelessly through the Floo, completely unconscious, broken and bleeding. Nobody but I cared if he lived or died, but still—still—he worships this man.
I think calling The Dark Lord a man is being generous. His coldness is inhuman. He is a cowardly, hateful thing that leaves only destruction in his wake. And the feeling that my husband associates with The Dark Lord is excitement.
Me? I feel dread. I am thinking about freeing Jinxy and sending her away. I can't stand to see her hurt again. I try to keep her in the kitchens as much as possible, but I've heard the stories of other families who order their elves out so that the Death Eaters can torture them for their amusement.
I will not let that happen to Jinxy.
July 3, 1979
Jinxy is refusing to leave. She threatened to throw herself off of a bridge if I tried to send her away. Luckily, the Death Eaters were too preoccupied at our last dinner to ask after any Malfoy elves, but there is always next time.
I am always afraid of what will happen next time.
July 11, 1979
Rows and rows of potion bottles. Books, everywhere. A purple couch. A potion, the brightest pink.
July 17, 1979
I received a letter from Andromeda today. It has been months since I have heard from either her or Ted. Ted is a wanted man, and nowhere in Europe is safe for them right now. Even sending me a letter, heavily coded and enchanted as it is, poses a risk. But I am so glad to hear from them, to know that they are still alive and away from this horrible war. They sent me a picture of little Dora, who is 6 now and looks so much like Andromeda when she was a little girl.
Seeing a picture of my niece stirs a longing in me that I have long learned to ignore. The longing that makes me wonder, if I had a little girl, what would she look like? How would I dress her? Would she look more like me, or like Lucius? These are not good thoughts to have. While I desire children at the very core of my being, I still do not want to bring a child into this world that I live in.
But still. Sometimes, I wonder.
August 2, 1979
Lucius is abroad, and it feels like there is a weight lifted off my chest. I love him, I do, but when he's here, and seemingly back in the good graces of The Dark Lord, the possibility of being honored with a visit from The Dark Lord is much more likely, and I am extremely tired of playing the simpering and meek hostess.
It is a role I am quite over, if I am being truly honest.
I want to run away.
I wish I could run away.
I wish I wasn't trapped.
I wish the only way out wasn't death.
August 12, 1979
I don't know why I bother to write sometimes. My life feels so bleak.
I was happy that Lucius was abroad, but now I just wish he'd come back and hold me and tell me everything will be all right, as infrequently as he holds me nowadays, and how I know for certain everything will not be all right. I just want my husband to comfort me, to lie to me.
I miss my husband.
Or rather, the man he was before I forever bound myself to him.
August 24, 1979
Glass and blood. The slapping of waves against a ferry. Gentle hands that heal, then linger.
September 7, 1979
My husband has finally returned to me with a vigor I have not seen since the earliest days of our marriage. It is not often that he touches me now, and that suits me just fine; I do not have to stare at his Mark as often. There was no time for words before he was scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to bed.
He is asleep beside me now, and he looks so peaceful. I assume that everything went accordingly abroad. The thought makes me cold, because that likely means someone is dead.
I still wonder if my husband has ever killed.
I think the answer might be yes.
September 12, 1979
Lucius told me he loved me last night. I don't remember the last time either one of us has spoken those words to each other. I told him that I loved him, too. He wrapped me in his arms, and for the first time in years, I felt protected.
It was nice. Even if it is a complete and utter lie.
September 23, 1979
The Malfoy signet ring. Slamming hard against a table. Discarded.
October 10, 1979
I think I'm pregnant. I've had so many miscarriages, so many conflicting feelings. I don't want to go through this again. I can't go through this again. I think I might die. I wish I could talk to Andromeda. All I want is to talk to Andromeda.
October 21, 1979
I don't think I've ever been this sick in my life. Certainly not with any of my other pregnancies. There's always been a bit of morning sickness, but nothing like this. All I do is vomit. I can't keep any food down, and even the most innocuous of smells makes me nauseous. Even Lucius' cologne bothers me. He tried to hold me last night, and immediately I had to jump from the bed and run to the bathroom. I could tell when I returned that he was disgusted. I don't care.
This is your child, you bastard.
I can see the veins in my legs and they itch something horrible. My whole body feels strange and swollen. I feel like a stranger in my own skin.
I wish I could talk to Andromeda. I don't know if any of this is normal. As many pregnancies as I've had and none of this has ever happened.
Excuse me, I need to throw up.
November 4, 1979
It's not getting better. I'm still so so sick. I've lost so much weight because I can't keep anything down. I'm waiting for the day that I wake up hemorrhaging and lose another baby. After everything, there's no way this is the one that makes it.
November 25, 1979
I am sicker than ever, but this little one is stubborn.
November 29, 1979
The most beautiful little boy with white blond hair. It's him. It's my baby. I know it.
December 16, 1979
A constellation. It's clearer now.
With the image clear in my mind, I went to the library to look at images of constellations. The constellation I've been Seeing for years now is named Draco.
December 25, 1979
This will be my last Christmas alone, I think. My nausea has gotten a bit better—just a bit, my stubborn son—and I feel more comfortable in my skin. Despite my illness, none of my other pregnancies have lasted this long. I have just the smallest swell in my stomach, and when no one is looking, I can't help but touch it. Touch him.
I love him. I hope I don't lose him.
January 3, 1980
I've told Lucius that I think this baby is here to stay. He was thrilled, but still somewhat reserved. Of course, he hasn't seen what I've seen. I would be reserved, too, if I hadn't already seen my son. Draco, I tell him, is what I want to name him. Our family has always loved constellations. Draco, the dragon. Lucius loves my name choice. We spent quite a bit of time mulling over girl's names before we settled on Cassiopeia.
A lovely name, but useless.
I am having a son.
January 8, 1980
A ferret, white as the snow. Terrified. A magical eye. An imposter.
January 24, 1980
Finally, I can eat again! I am insatiable, with the strangest of cravings. Potatoes, mostly. Baked potatoes, chips doused with gravy, crisps. I had Jinxy make me a baked potato loaded with cheese, cream, beans, mushrooms and pickles and it was easily the best thing I've ever eaten in my entire life.
Lucius watched me as I ate with the most disgusted expression on his face.
I couldn't give two shits.
February 13, 1980
Draco is the most attention-seeking baby, I swear. If my thoughts ever stray from him, the nausea returns, or I can feel him flipping about, trying to get my attention. He does this all night. Why don't you sleep, baby? Just sleep. You're safe with me. I'll keep you safe, whatever the cost.
February 17, 1980
You indignant little thing, stop kicking me in the bladder. Your mother would like to sleep.
March 19, 1980
I took a risk. Perhaps a very dangerous risk. I received a letter from Andromeda yesterday, and I may have prevented the owl from leaving the Manor perhaps a bit forcefully. I have to see her. I have to. So I wrote her a letter.
Perhaps I'm crazed because of hormones. But I have to see my sister. I have to tell her about Draco. Just in case.
March 22, 1980
Andromeda has responded. She sent me a Portkey. I know it's not safe to use a Portkey while pregnant, but I've seen him. So I know he'll be all right. He has to be.
He will be.
I promised to keep him safe.
April 24th, I will finally see Andromeda again.
April 26, 1980
I have seen both Andromeda and Ted, and gods, I feel so refreshed. Their presence after so long had me instantly at ease. Gods, it felt so good to hug my sister again. We cried on each other's shoulders, and I distinctly remember Andromeda touching my hair, my belly, crying, asking me if I was all right. Asking me about my baby.
I told her he was why I had to see her. She had to know, in case I died. I wanted her to take him, and keep him safe.
I told her his name was Draco.
She sobbed, and told me she'd find a way.
I told you I'd keep you safe, Draco. I will always keep you safe.
May 5, 1980
Only a month now, I think. A month until I finally meet my son.
May 23, 1980
The Sorting Hat. Instantly: "Slytherin!"
Naturally.
June 7, 1980
Draco Lucius Malfoy was born on the 5th of June, 1980. He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. Ten fingers, ten toes, and a full head of white blond hair.
I have never known love such as this. It feels like my heart is about to explode. I can't stop staring at him. I'm afraid if I look away he'll disappear, or he'll stop breathing. He's so little, so fragile, and so dependent on me. I wouldn't even let Lucius hold him until today.
I couldn't let him go.
I want to send him to Andromeda.
He can't grow up here, in this.
But I don't know if I can give him up.
He has to stay alive.
As Draco closed the journal, he knew he was crying, and had been for over an hour. He hugged the journal to his chest protectively. "Mum," he said, as he sobbed heartily. "Mum," he repeated, breaking into a fresh set of sobs that wracked his body.
"Oh, good, so you are having a breakdown," came Pansy's voice from a few meters away. "I honestly couldn't tell."
Draco furiously wiped his tears from his face, not wanting Pansy to see him cry. "What are you doing here, Pansy?" he choked out, his voice sounding wobbly to his own ears. "Did you break in again?"
"Yes," Pansy said easily. "You should redo your wards, if you insist on living here. Remember, I told you if I didn't hear from you by noon I'd be here. I was even generous with my time. It's 3. Why do you look like shit?"
"I'm going through some stuff, Pansy," Draco spat.
"Yeah, clearly," she sniffed. "When did you last have a shower?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," he replied.
"Shower, now," Pansy said, pulling at his arms.
"Pansy—" he protested.
"Whatever you're going through, a shower certainly won't hurt."
Draco certainly couldn't argue with her there.
Pansy found several fluffy towels, shoved them into Draco's hands, and steered him towards the bathroom.
Draco was too exhausted to protest any further.
When he returned to his bedroom, a towel wrapped loosely around his torso, he found Pansy sitting on his bed, flipping casually through one of his mother's journals. He lurched, making to grab it from her nosy fingers. "I had no idea your mother knew Russian," she said absently, not even pausing to cast a glance at him.
Russian. Pansy saw the journals in Russian. "Do you know Russian?" he asked.
Pansy shrugged. "Privyet. Do Svidanya. Nyet. Spasiba."
So she couldn't read it. The enchantments weren't gone. Perhaps more specific.
His mother had wanted him to read it. He and Andromeda.
Suddenly, he felt very calm. At peace.
This was all deliberate.
Every little piece.
He knew it as he saw the journal from 1981 sitting on the very top. Draco grabbed it, still wrapped in a towel, and sat down in the wingback chair in the corner of the room and began to read.
November 4, 1981
They say The Dark Lord has fallen. Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived.
It is a farce. To some, there is only black and white. To me, there are always shades of grey.
The Dark Lord is not a mere mortal. He can't simply be killed by a Killing Curse. A ridiculous notion.
He will be back. I'm certain I've Seen it.
November 22, 1981
If I wasn't a traitor before, I am now.
I don't even care if I'm found out and killed for it. I have to protect my son. And if there is ever a return—my son will be fodder, I am certain. I have to protect him.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I went to Albus Dumbledore, and I showed him everything I've ever Seen.