Chapter Twenty-Six

Draco

Since the incident with Hermione's parents ended, I have been wandering the streets, trying to make some sense of this situation. Where do I start looking? What if it wasn't my father who did this? What if she's already dead and I'm too late? The only answer that comes to my mind is paying a visit to my old home, Malfoy Manor. However, unless my father has weaseled himself out of this ordeal (as he usually does), surely he would be hiding from the Ministry of Magic. The Manor is definitely the first place they would look. They'd find a bloody awful lot there, but my father wouldn't be foolish enough to stick around. My mother would surely leave as well: she hates it when people realize that the Malfoy name isn't as prestigious as everyone thinks. Before I can talk myself out of it, I run to an alley between two buildings so no muggle can see me. With a deep breath, I Apparate to the Manor.

The mansion is in worse condition than it ever has been: the greenery lining the walkway has completely overtaken the path, two of the grand windows are broken, and the door seems to be falling off of its hinges. I don't know what has happened here, but it's obviously not good. A face in one of the broken windows startles me until I realize it's the new house elf.

I stumble through the overgrown bushes, getting stuck by thorns multiple times. Out of all of the plants surrounding me, the only flower that hasn't died from the weather is a single red rose. I pick it with the hopes of giving it to Hermione once I find her. I breathe in the faint scent of it as I imagine Hermione doing the same when I give it to her.

Suddenly, the front door bursts open. My first instinct is to hide in the bushes, so I drop to the ground. Immediately, I feel the pain of the many thorns penetrating the bare skin on my arms, but I have to remain silent. I can hardly imagine what would happen if I was found 'snooping.' I try to breathe as quietly as possible, but it's hard considering how fast my heart is beating. The snow is falling very quickly now, providing the perfect disguise. All at once, the sound of footsteps becomes audible. There are two sets of them; one is small and light, and the other loud and heavy. My heart skips a beat in my chest as I realize who this must be.

"I saw him, Master," A voice whispers. I assume that it is the new house elf, for it is not my father's voice. "He was strutting through the bushes-"

"Yes, the bushes. That reminds me that I need you to tend to them," My father's voice says, as cold and careless as ever. It's the first time that I have heard it since the ordeal with my arm.

"Of course, sir. But aren't you concerned that your son is here?" The elf asks. They're in my sight now. The elf is searching diligently through the bushes on the other side of the walkway, while my father stares at him, bored.

"Frankly, I don't believe you. You do this at least once every other day now." He scoffs. Why does he do this? My father obviously doesn't care where I am. The elf has completely searched the other side now, and he's moving directly towards me. I close my eyes and hold my breath, scared to see what is about to happen.

"Master-" The elf begins, but he is interrupted by being hit by my father. I hear the bushes rattle back into place as the elf whimpers.

"You have better things to do than to look for my son, and I do as well. Go clean or something, I don't care. Just don't say his name again." He says in his dominant tone. They both walk back inside without another word.

What a relief! I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I tilt my head so I can watch them go inside. When they close the door, I check every window before standing up. Small drops of blood trickle down my arms from the multiple thorn wounds. Carefully, I make my way towards the door, trying my best to stay out of plain sight. No matter what the house elf was told, I know he will still be checking for me. Suddenly the front door doesn't seem like such a good idea. My next option is the basement door, which you have to take a hidden outside staircase to get to. It's going to be hard to get from the front of the manor to the back of it without being seen. After all, it is a mansion.

I maneuver my way through the bushes until I get to the edge of the property, where the fence is. My footsteps disturb the glistening blanket of snow, but I do my best to make my tracks look like an animal's footprints. From what I can remember, they shouldn't be able to see me from inside of the house. My back remains against the fence as I slowly and painstakingly move towards the back of the house. I try to not make a sound; I know that they can't hear me, but during the war, my father placed some serious human-detecting charms around this area. With any luck, they've worn off by now.

Five minutes later, I have reached my destination. I am standing where the hidden staircase begins, or where it used to, at least. The plants surrounding it have grown so much that it's hardly recognizable. Dobby wouldn't have let this happen. Before I enter, I make sure that no one is watching me. Once I am sure I am not being watched, I struggle to hold the dying plants back as I start to descend. The staircase is designed to look natural, so it is completely constructed of dirt and grass. If one didn't know its purpose, it would've looked like it was unintentional.

There is a brown and green door at the bottom of the staircase, which was also designed to be disguised. I can barely see it since the light the entrance should provide is barricaded by bushes and snow. There is a certain spot to push so the door will open. I try to recall what that spot is as I push the door in random places. I should remember what it is: when I was younger, my father would sometimes force me out of the house when I annoyed him, like when I tried to show him my drawings. I would always come down to the basement this way, where I had hidden some crayons and pieces of parchment beside the entrance. I would come in here and draw for hours because I knew neither my father or my mother would come looking for me. However, I drew pictures of us as a happy family in the hopes that they would hang the picture up in the dining room. My thoughts were that if I could make the family on paper believe that they were happy, maybe I could make us believe that we were, too.

I shake the thoughts of the hopeful little boy I used to be out of my head to focus opening the door. It opened immediately, revealing the foul-smelling basement, or dungeon. The door closed and sealed itself behind me after I stepped inside. The door was only an entrance, not an exit. They couldn't let the prisoners escape that easily.

Although I don't want to waste any time, my curiosity gets the best of me. I find myself sitting on the floor, pulling the loose cinder-block out of the wall. To my surprise, the few crayons I had are still there, along with one piece of parchment. I take them and put them in my pocket. Just as I begin to fold the parchment, I realize that it has a drawing on it: its my family standing in front of our manor. My father is wearing a Death Eater mask, with the Dark Mark on his arm. My mother is yelling at a poorly-drawn Dobby. A small Draco is barely visible in the back of the portrait, running to the basement. The more I look at it, the more I remember it. This is the only drawing that I didn't show my parents, and that is why its hidden down here. This is the only time I was brave enough to capture my reality on paper. This was the last picture I drew. After this, I never showed my childish side again; until this year, with Hermione. With her, I can joke around, laugh, play games, anything. She brings out the best in me, the inner child that had been hidden for years.

Thinking of Hermione makes me snap out of my memory daze. I stand up, stuffing the parchment in my pocket. The basement is one large room. Surely, if Hermione was in here, she would have seen me. Nonetheless, I look for her in here, searching the perimeter of the room up and down three times before stopping. I hear something: footsteps. And there is nowhere to hide.

"I hear him," the one on the stairs says. It's the house elf, talking so low that it must be to himself. "He's down here, but Master would never believe me."