Chapter Text
Lucius stood over his beloved son, reliving the regrets that he had made when he was amongst the living. He had been dead for decades now and had painfully watched his son live a long life of absolute unhappiness.
Lucius blamed himself for this, of course. He had paved Draco's path, afterall, but he'd truly give anything to have changed the choices that he had made involving the sculpting of his son— if it would have allowed Draco a happier life.
Draco was currently unconscious, near death from a drinking a poisonous concoction that he had brewed himself. He wasn't dead yet, but he soon would be.
"Draco, my boy," he whispered, weeping. "I do apologize for everything that I've done."
A blinding, bright light appeared right then, and after Lucius's eyes came back into focus, he saw that the spirit of Albus Dumbledore was now standing near him.
"Good afternoon, Lucius," the ghost greeted him simply.
Lucius gave him a nod. He wondered why the former Hogwarts Headmaster would even bother visiting the dying Draco Malfoy.
"I'm not here for him," Albus stated, somehow reading his mind. "I'm here for you. I would like you to do something for me."
"I'm not leaving him," Lucius said firmly. "I want to be here for when he crosses over."
"I believe that if you want to, you can keep him from crossing over."
Lucius lifted an eyebrow. "His death is inevitable, how do you propose to stop it from occurring?"
"Ah, the greatest thing about being a spirit of the Afterlife is the ability to appear anywhere we feel the need to."
Lucius tilted his head, slightly confused about his statement. The old codger had always confused him. "How will that at all help my son?"
Albus scratched his bearded chin with a pause in thought. "Perhaps it's not a where you would like to travel to, but more specifically, a when."
Lucius was momentarily perplexed. "Are you saying that—" Lucius stopped himself short and shook his head over the ludicrous thought. After all these years, living in the Afterlife, how had he not thought about time travel?
"Traveling time is indeed possible," Albus confirmed his thoughts. "Although, I do not suggest doing it as a way to relive your past. You will get lost in a sea of regrets. I deeply warn you to avoid that. Following another person's past though, that's not such a terrible idea."
Lucius looked down at his sleeping son. His skin was starting to grey, an effect of the poison. He was literally minutes from taking his last breath.
"Do you mean that—" Lucius wouldn't get to finish his question, the ghost of Albus Dumbledore had disappeared.
*/*
Draco paced back and forth. His body violently shook as he walked. He had read so many books these past few months, and while he understood the concept of the spell, the physical casting of it he still didn't comprehend.
His days were numbered, and, if he was being honest with himself, he had never thought he could pull off the task. Draco had no other choice though. If the plan failed, he would be punished dearly for it.
And it would be the last punishment that he would ever receive.
Draco loosened up his tie, feeling that he was suffocating. He pulled up the sleeves of his shirt, suddenly hot. He held in his breath, attempting to get a grip on himself.
He was a failure. That's all he could think about. Everything that he planned had fallen apart and hope was slipping away quicker than a Snitch that had been released at the beginning of a game.
He was going to die over it. And so was his mother.
He choked then, losing control of himself. A loud sob erupted from him, and he broke down completely, forgetting where he even was.
"Why are you crying?"
Draco jumped up, automatically withdrawing his wand, ready to obliviate the girl that had caught him in his miserable state.
No one was going to walk away with the idea that he couldn't compose himself.
But it wasn't a girl— not a living one anyway. It was Myrtle, the ghost who inhabited the abandoned girl's bathroom that he just now realized that he had escaped to.
"It's nothing!" he cried out in defense. He made to exit before he heard a quiet,
"I'm sorry I can't pass you a handkerchief..."
Draco slowly turned around to look at the ghost. He sniffed, annoyed with his dripping nose. Myrtle was looking down at her feet, ashamed. She held out a ghostly cloth, resembling a handkerchief.
Draco wiped at his eyes, removing them of his loose tears. "My mother always told me that it's the thought that matters."
Myrtle lifted up her head. The corner of her mouth pulled into a smile. "Why didn't you avoid my bathroom like everyone else?"
Draco looked around, scratching at the back of his head. "I guess I needed a place where no one would go…"
She nodded. "So you could think in privacy?"
She was hinting to his meltdown.
"Yeah," he admitted slowly. "Anyway, I apologize for invading your bathroom, Myrtle." He made to leave a second time.
"Come back any time, Draco. It gets lonely here, and I won't tell anyone that you're in a girls bathroom."
He looked back, giving her offer a thorough thought, seeing that the ghost was giving him a shy smile.
"I may just do that."
How a ghost of a girl could soothe Draco, he didn't know. Maybe it was because he didn't have to prove anything to Myrtle like he did with everyone else. She was lonely and needed someone to talk to, and he needed someone who would listen, someone who wasn't trying to steal his glory, someone who didn't pester him about his Death Eater task every chance they got.
One thing that he did know though, when Draco exited her bathroom, he would feel a little calmer. Even if it was just for a short while, his mind was put to ease.
"I don't want to do it today!" Vincent hissed to Draco. They were supposed to be listening to the apparation instructor, but Draco had more pressing matters to address.
"What else could be more important, Crabbe?" Draco snarled.
"It's just that… well—"
"Spit it out already, would you?!" Draco growled, irritated that his friend wouldn't properly speak.
" Malfoy ," McGonagall barked out. "Be quiet and pay attention!"
Draco pressed his lips together as everyone looked his way. He stepped away from Crabbe, creating some distance between them.
"I have a date," Vincent informed when the attention was back on the instructor.
"Well, this is more important than your snogging some Ravenclaw girl!"
"Are you at all close to finishing your project?" Vincent wondered hopefully.
"I don't know how much longer, alright. It's taking longer than I thought it would." Vincent made to argue with him, but Draco stopped him before he even got a word out. "Look, it's none of your business what I'm doing, Crabbe, you and Goyle just do as you're told and keep a lookout!"
Potter piped up with some snarky insult then. Draco grabbed for his wand but the Heads of all the houses shouted out "Quiet!" in unison, stopping him from casting anything. He sent Potter a deathly glare, wishing to put the Gryffindor in his place. Instead Draco focused on the lesson, ready to get this over with so he could go back to his real work.
"They expect so much from me," Draco told Myrtle later. He sat at the ledge of the tub and placed his head into his hands, shaking it, disturbed with himself. "Do you realize how exhausting that is?"
"I can only imagine," Myrtle said softly, seating herself next to him.
"Can anyone be as perfect as what they want me to be?" he asked hopelessly. "I've tried and tried …" he trailed off as a rush of emotion hit his gut. "I don't know what to do…!" He swallowed down the threatening sob that had developed into the depth of his throat.
"It's okay," she assured him. "Whatever it is you're trying to do, you'll figure it out. You've learned so much so far, you're the smartest boy I know!"
Draco lifted his head up, surprised at her words. No one had ever said that to him before. He found himself frowning, and Myrtle noticed this.
"What's wrong?"
"I was just thinking how nice it would be if you were…" He looked away, deciding not to say anything more, fearing it'd insult her.
" Oh… " she breathed out in realization. "Yeah, me too. We would have been great together, I believe."
He nodded, agreeing with her. Alas, they would just have to remain friends.
Draco hovered over the sink. He felt like he was going to vomit. He was so sick. Sick with worry, sick with grief. He was scared to absolute death. He was getting weaker and weaker everyday, and no matter what he did, nothing was working.
"Oh, please," Myrtle sung out in her moaning voice, attempting to soothe Draco. "Don't cry. Tell me what's bothering you, I'll help you. I will!"
Draco trembled in his place at the sink. "No one can help me!" he insisted. "Don't you understand? I have to do it! And I can't get it to work...! I just can't...and unless I do it soon... he says he's going to kill me!" He weeped into the sink. He didn't want to die! It just wasn't fair!
He gulped for air, blinking back tears. Something caught his eye in the reflection of the broken mirror that he stood in front of and he whipped around, drawing out his wand, sending a hex off to attack Potter.
Draco knew the bloody Gryffindor had been trying to spy on him, and it was because of that dunderhead that he had to force Goyle and Crabbe to be his lookouts as he worked.
The two Six years fought for several moments as Myrtle screeched for them to stop. Draco grew more furious as the fight continued on, and he decided to finally teach Potter to leave him alone. His Crutio curse didn't get fully casted though. Potter hit him with something so strong, it had caused Draco to bend over, and in horror, he noticed that a lot of blood was gushing out from multiple places of his body.
Draco collapsed to the ground, losing any strength that he had left. Potter hovered over him in complete shock of what he had done, and Draco, if he wasn't fighting for his last breath, would had wondered how Perfect Potter would even know of such of destructive curse.
Draco closed his eyes, shutting out the blood that was now blinding him. He grunted in agony, clutching his chest, feeling the warm, sticky fluid of himself coating his hands.
He couldn't die now. He had to save his Mother. The Dark Lord would surely kill his Mother if Draco died now. He prayed for a miracle. Someone. Anyone. He didn't care who.
Draco began shaking. The feeling of life was pulling from him.
All he could think about was his defenseless Mother.
Forgive me , he pleaded to himself. I'm sorry I failed you.
And then, his prayers were answered. He regained some strength, and his pain lessened. Draco felt himself being lifted up from the wet, cold flooring and he barely noticed that Snape was holding him up.
"You need to get to the hospital," the man told him. He informed Draco that he may have scarring, but Draco didn't care. He was alive, and that's all that mattered to him. There was still a dim light of hope for his mother.
Draco stared at the apple in amazement. He had done. He had actually done it! He took the apple out of the cabinet, staring at it in complete awe. Relief flushed over him, and he smiled, taking a bite out of the bitter, sour fruit, relishing over his accomplishment.
A bright light appeared then, and Draco hurled himself backwards in startlement, dropping his apple. A transparent body stood above him. Draco gasped, his jaw quivering in fright.
Draco had seen ghosts before, obviously, but this ghost was the most scariest one that he had ever seen. It was the ghost of his father!
"Father…!" he shrieked. "Did he… Did he…" Draco couldnt finish his question, too terrified over the thought of the Dark Lord murdering his father.
"My son," his father breathed, staring at him as if he had never laid eyes on him. He smiled. "You're so young !"
Draco's eyes widened in horror. "Is Mother…? Did he kill—"
"Let me explain, Draco. Your mother is fine, and so am I, for the time being anyway."
