Chapter Text
After the night of the full moon, things changed, not much, but still for the worse. While he spent more time with the elves — which he started to enjoy — the time he spent with his parents decreased. Lucius went from giving him looks to straight up ignoring him, as if he was never there, never part of the family, never his son. Thus, the meals spent in his room or the kitchen became recurrent, no more meals with his parents. As for Narcissa, she felt guilty for not spending time with him, for handing over her care-giving duties to the elves, but at the same time she was scared, apprehensive, and sometimes a feeling of disgust that surfaced from the very depths of her being — like two sides from the same coin. She tried…but not hard enough.
Nevertheless, when Severus came forth with a new potion that could retain his consciousness when transforming, they agreed to finance it — he believes it was actually for their own benefit rather than for his well being. As Narcissa had said, telling Severus was indeed beneficial. He had been shocked when she told him the news, never expecting something like that could have occurred yet unimpressed about how the methods hadn't worked. Thus, he took the matters into his own hands and thoroughly researched until he found an incredibly expensive and hard to brew potion. He took about a month to gather the ingredients and brew a stash before giving it to the Malfoy, as such, by March's full moon Draco could finally maintain his consciousness when transforming — quite the improvement if you asked him.
There was also another aspect of his “previous” life that he got back: his piano lessons. After what had happened, his mother took less time to teach him, making him believe that soon enough they would stop. Thankfully, he still had them, even if reduced in duration — it was one of the only times he could be with his mother and feel normal once again.
When the time came, he went to the music room and sat in front of the instrument, waiting for his mother. His small fingers brushed the tiles, aching to play them. He still wasn't as good, however the feeling was exhilarating, it was freeing like a cool breeze on a hot summer day or the adrenaline when flying on a broomstick. Delicately, he pressed the tiles, slowly playing one of the melodies he’d previously learned, taking his time to make sure it was properly played. His mother arrived in the middle of it, quiet steps before sitting beside him. He stayed focused on finishing the tune, not being startled by her due to his enhanced senses — one of the only perks of lycanthropy.
When it ended, she said, “That was lovely! Good to see you are still practicing the older melodies.” Being in this room always puts them in a good, relaxed, and gentle mood letting their conversations flow easily, forgetting the eggshells they were walking on.
They stayed there for a couple of hours. Slowly learning new melodies, practicing the older ones, taking turns, playing together. Time seemed to stop as they stayed in their own little world. Soft fingers pressing the tiles and accompanied by feet in the pedals. They cheered at accomplishment and giggled at mistakes. It was warm and familiar. He loved to see his mother so calm, genuine smile adorning her face. It brought him a soft, warm feeling in his chest, pushing away the darkness and embraced him like a fluffy blanket.
Being there gave him hope.
Hope that soon enough his parents would get used to or forget about his condition. Hope for the love and care his parents had. Hope that they will show it, just like it once was, months ago. He hoped that not only he could continue to see his mother’s smile more often, but also that he could show it too.
———
A couple of days later, Draco was roaming the manor — a habit he picked up from being bored that his parents never found out about. He had some close calls, though. Once, when his parent weren’t home, he decided to sneak into the library as he wanted to find information about magical creatures, hopefully in pictures or lighter language. He hadn’t noticed how long he had been there until he heard voices as he walked through one of the halls. He tightened his grip as he carried the books, turned around and sprinted back, making sure to make the least possible noise so as to not get caught — his parents had come back. It was his focus on getting away from there that got him lost. Looking around he tried to follow a path but it led to an empty room. Suddenly, a light bulb flickered in his brain.
“Dobby!” he shouted in a low voice, as to not get caught.
The elf appeared, “Does master Draco need anything?” He looked around and back at him in concern. “What is master Draco doing here? Master Draco should be in his room or else master Lucius is going to be mad!”
“I know, I know!” He explained the situation before asking him to apparate him back to his room. When they got there, Draco sighed in relief, “Thank you Dobby, for saving me there.”
“Master Draco must be more careful. Dobby wouldn’t like Master Draco punished” The house elf said, pressing on the matter. He nodded. After that, they kept spending time with each other: both for company and to make sure Draco wouldn’t wander around — that didn’t mean he had stopped, only that he became conscious about his surroundings.
On another occasion, as he walked through the halls seamlessly, he ended up on the second floor. Slow, silent steps, as he had previously learned to have a quiet pace so no one knew he was roaming around when not allowed (it was an unspoken rule). He found himself close to his father’s office, and heard his parents having a conversation. Usually, he wouldn't get too close, however his curiosity possessed him to take a few steps closer. Hiding behind one of the walls he focused on his senses, trying to focus on what was being said.
“... can’t tell them yet. We have to make sure it’s grown and healthy enough. We’ll tell them when we are sure there won’t be any adversities.” He could hear his father, cane hitting the ground.
His mother sighed. “Alright, but we can’t wait too long — it’s going to become noticeable, and you know I can't take potions to hide it. It could have unwanted side effects.”
“I’m aware. That’s why you’ll be spending most of the time here.”
There was a long, tense silence that followed, making Draco believe that they were done talking. That’s when Narcissa asked, concerned:
“What about Draco? He’s going to find out sooner or later. I can't always hide the pregnancy, especially if it means I’ll stay longer here in the manor..”
Pregnancy? Draco thought. They are having another baby? I’m going to have a sibling?
Mixed feelings surged within him, excitement and worriness.
“We’ll tell him soon enough. But for now the job is to keep our real heir safe, so they’ll be healthy and ready to carry our family name in the future.”
Huh?
Real heir? What does that mean?
Wasn’t he the heir? Why wouldn’t he b–
Oh.
Right.
He was that
Draco took a step back from the wall, walking back from when he came. Thoughts flooding his mind:
If they are having another baby, where does that leave me? What are they going to do with me? If I'm not the heir does that mean they don't want me anymore? Was I even the heir anyways? Was all the time I spent with mother a lie? Had it all just been fake? Was it all just in my head?
He hurried through the halls in order to get as far away as possible. He crossed by a window, stopping as he glanced outside.
What if I leave? What would happen if I escaped? Could I even do that?
What would I do? Where would I go? Maybe one of my friends. Wait no. That can't be done, they know father, they could tell on him or even bring me back. Would he even care?
Do they even know what is going on? They must know — oh, that's why I haven't seen or heard anything from them. They know. They were there so they must know. They must hate me. Hate the ugly, disgusting creature I am. Who knows what they could do to me? Wait. Does anybody else know? If anybody else knew, why would anyone help me?
Who would care?
He could not leave. He would have to stay here no matter what.
His mind working miles an hour. With rapid breathing and shaky hands, he kept walking through the halls. Pacing, the walls and halls shifted and turned, making him dizzy. Everything was too much — too quiet yet too loud. Every step and breath, crack and shift. Tears started running down his face making it hard to see the path he was walking on.
While rushing through halls and stairs, his feet somehow brought him to the door that led to the kitchen. He wiped the tears on his face as he stared at the door. Dobby! He could help. The elf always knew how to help. Thus, the boy took one step forward and entered the room. With provided food and warmth, the elf would know what to say.