Little Memories

Draco sat at the foot of his bed, staring blankly ahead as a few house elves busied themselves with fixing the mirror he had shattered days ago. That’s how long it had been for him to come, willingly, from his room. Of course, he had left when the Dark Lord showed up not mere hours after he had left Hogwarts, but he didn’t say a word, nor did he want to leave his room. His mother hadn’t been notified of the mess he had made of his room until now, and straight away she set the many house elves they had working toward repairing the family heirloom. She had looked quite cross with Draco for breaking the mirror, but he couldn’t care less. She should have been worrying about his mental state more than some bloody, antique mirror.

He hadn’t eaten much in the time he had been without Charlotte, only thinking about how much she was being deprived of food and finding that his appetite dwindled whenever a full plate of food had been placed in front of him. He didn’t think it fair to make a glutton of himself when Charlotte was probably wasting away in a cold, damp cell. He knew that she was skinny, bordering on appearing unhealthy before and now that she was at Azkaban, he feared what she would look like when she came back. Whenever he’d look at his full, untouched plate at dinner, he wished beyond anything that Charlotte would have the strength to persevere through Azkaban and come back to him.

His heart felt perpetually heavy without her, like it was yearning to be close to her again or that he felt what she was feeling. The fact that they were connected now gave him the tiniest sliver of hope, knowing that she would not feel that she had to be as subservient to Lord Voldemort anymore than any of the other Death Eaters had to be. She could live as normally as possible now, knowing that Draco would never do anything to hurt her. However, he knew just how much trouble she would be in when she returned. She no longer had the locket that was given to her on her birthday and that thought alone squelched any of the hope that Draco still had for her.

The house elves finished up, dismissing themselves from Draco’s room silently and closing the door behind them. Draco sighed heavily and fell back onto the bed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes hard enough that he saw splotches of colors in the otherwise black spaces of the back of his eyelids. He needed to find some sort of distraction, some sort of hobby or idea to keep all the negative thoughts he had from eating him alive and stealing away any bit of optimism he had left. He knew he didn’t have much, but he wanted to be as encouraging as possible when Charlotte returned. He knew that she was a pessimist and that he would have to balance her out.

Rolling over onto his side and reaching for the handle of the drawer of his bedside table, he pulled it open and grasped the already well-worn letter in his fingertips and read over it again, willing himself to memorize every word that Charlotte had written, just for him. Her scent was beginning to fade from the parchment and the edges of the paper were beginning to grow soft. There were a few, tiny tears at the paper, none of them interfering with the words that were written so delicately. As he reached the final words of the paper, an idea struck Draco, one that would keep Charlotte on his mind, but also keep her off of it. Hastily yet carefully, he placed the paper back into the drawer, next to Charlotte’s silvery mask and charm bracelet.

He sat up and began to make for the large desk in his room, sitting just in front of the bookshelves in his room, filled with books he had never laid a finger on. As he sat down in the high-backed, black leather chair, there was a quiet knock on his door and his mother stepped cautiously, almost appearing to tip-toe into his room. She looked a bit surprised that Draco had moved, since whenever she would go and check on him, he was always at his bed. Draco felt his cheeks throb slightly with pain and he realized he must have been smiling slightly at the idea that he had. The smile quickly fell though, knowing that he shouldn’t have the opportunity to be happy when he knew Charlotte didn’t.

Narcissa Malfoy delicately cleared her throat as she stared hard at her son, realizing just how weary and worn he appeared as the smile fell from his face. She knew that she would give the world, if it were hers to give, to see him smile like he used to when he was a boy but knew that it were likely he wouldn’t smile, genuinely, ever again. She knew that it was her and her husband’s fault for robbing him of his happiness, placing him in a situation where he had to serve one he didn’t want to.

“The Dark Lord wishes to see us,” she said, sounding a bit nervous before she stepped over to Draco and placed her fingertips under his chin. She looked over his face before brushing his unkempt hair back and out of his face with her free hand. A heavy sigh escaped her as she looked into his silvery-blue eyes and bit her bottom lip. “Come now, he mustn’t be kept waiting,” she said softly as she pulled away from him and walked out of the room. Draco’s brow furrowed as he glanced to the pieces of parchment on one side of his desk and the well of ink with a quill perched beside it. He guess he’d have to wait until later.

He pushed the chair back from him and quietly stepped out of the room. His hands dove into his pockets as he closed the door behind him, checking to make sure his wand hadn’t moved from it’s ever-present spot. He didn’t go anywhere without it now; he slept with it under his pillow, he placed it on a readily accessible ledge just shy of the bathtub when he showered, and when he’d eat meals, one hand would always be in his pocket, clutching nervously at it. As he made his way down the stairs, his Aunt Bellatrix passed by him, hand-in-hand with her equally crazed husband. Draco sneered at their back before resuming his normal, emotionless expression. He knew that Charlotte would not have mentioned for him to remain calm and collected if she didn’t know something beyond what Draco did.

He walked into the parlor and noticed the sea of black-clothed Death Eaters that surrounded him. His mother sat in a chair at the end of the grandiose room, her mouth straightened out into a thin line as she glanced down precariously at the amount of dirt Fenrir Greyback was mashing into her pristine crème-colored rugs. Draco shook his head as he walked past the rest of the group and stood beside his mother’s chair.

“You’d do well to wipe your feet before entering my house, Greyback,” Draco hissed venomously to the werewolf, setting his harsh gaze to the visibly bigger man. Fenrir merely growled at Draco, his upper lip curling back in a feral manner to expose his sharpened canines. Draco snarled back in return before their attention was commanded by the man that sat at the other side of the room.

“As you all well know,” the man spoke in a voice that sounded more like a raspy breeze than anything human, “the plans for Hogwarts went superbly last Saturday, thanks to the Death Eaters that were present there.” Draco watched as the man’s thin, colorless lips curled into a wide smirk. “Let’s give them a little bit of thanks, shall we? Please, stand Lestrange, MacNair, Greyback, Yaxley, Snape,” the man’s red eyes darted to each of the Death Eaters there as they stood, quiet applause filling the room with the mention of each name, “and Malfoy.” Draco locked eyes with the Dark Lord and the smirk widened even more. Draco knew that the Dark Lord knew he did not murder Albus Dumbledore, and Draco was uncertain if he would be punished for it or not. The applause dwindled a bit as they continued to stare at each other, either one not willing to back down. Lord Voldemort was the first to break the stare, yet the snake around his shoulders, Nagini, continued to look at Draco.

“Now, there were a few…set-backs…in the plan,” Lord Voldemort continued, his crimson-colored eyes turning to Mr. and Mrs. Goyle, who sat not too far from Draco’s mother. They both looked like they had barely gotten any sleep and Draco’s veins turned to ice when he caught a glimpse of Mrs. Goyle. She looked so much like her daughter that it pained Draco to look at her. “You do know that I am dreadfully sorry for what happened to our dear Charlotte…”

“No, you aren’t,” Draco thought to himself bitterly, making sure every mental guard that Charlotte taught him was up and fully protected. “You’re the reason she’s gone in the first place, you sick bastard.”

“…and that I wouldn’t have had her go. It was, however, in her best interests.” By now, Lord Voldemort’s expression had contorted into one of pure joy, only causing more anger to bubble up inside Draco. He drew in a deep breath of air through his nose as his fists clenched at his sides. His mother, sensing something was off, placed her hand gently on his arm and met his eyes when he looked down at her. She gave him a stern look, yet her eyes were scared. She feared for him and his emotions, and it put enough sorrow back into Draco that he immediately pushed his anger into the back of his mind and looked back at the Goyle’s.

“I have called this meeting to inform you of our next moves,” the Dark Lord continued, looking around the room. Draco forced himself to look away as Mrs. Goyle wiped a few solemn tears from her eyes before straightening up. “In two weeks, the dementors will relinquish their hold on Azkaban and kill every Auror in the fortress. In two weeks, all the followers that have been kept from following me shall return to us and our ranks shall grow tenfold.” Draco nearly breathed a sigh of relief knowing that his father and his girlfriend would be free in a mere two weeks. However, he knew time would pass by achingly slowly just to spite him.

“In two weeks, Mrs. Malfoy,” the Dark Lord’s eyes fixed on Draco’s mother, “we will move all operations to the Malfoy Manor, so you’re going to make sure that the accommodations are acceptable and that the dungeons are fully functioning. Is that understood?” He asked her, his lips curling into a threatening smile.

“Yes, my lord,” she said with a nod as her shaky hands clasped themselves in her lap. “Everything will be ready.”

“Good,” Lord Voldemort mused as he nodded and leaned back into his chair, “until then, think of it as your summer vacation. Two weeks from today, you all will report back to the Malfoy Manor and we will go over further plans.” The room remained motionless as they all waited for themselves to be dismissed to their own toils. “You may go,” Lord Voldemort said and the room was in a flurry. The Death Eaters were talking and conversing with one another as Draco quickly left the room without so much as a glance back. He made his way from the busy room and to his quiet little hide-away. He immediately closed and locked the door behind him, speeding over to his desk and beginning to write furiously onto a piece of blank parchment.