Work Text:
The Malfoy Manor hadn't always been shrouded in darkness and death. It had seen a long list of occupants to be sure, but before that fateful year when the gardens turned black and the wind whipped down cold, empty corridors - the Manor had been bright.
That brightness first came about on a cool autumn evening. It was the meeting place of two important families, an excuse for a night of drinking and proposition. The Black household had come to strengthen their status, but they had no idea of the love that had already taken hold.
Lucius Malfoy had fallen in love with the lovely Narcissa Black some months ago when they had first met at Hogwarts. Their courtship was swift, and he quickly came to realise all he wanted in life was to make her happy.
Now, Narcissa Black was first and foremost, a Black. The youngest in a trio of sisters, each more wild than the next. Narcissa was the most grounded of the three, but she still shared that lust for power, a hunger that had to be sated.
So, Lucius and Narcissa set to work to become the most powerful couple in the wizarding world.
The Manor, of course, became their throne.
As the two climbed the ranks, the Manor claimed more and more happy memories.
They got added to the beginning, the soft secret touches beneath the table, the long drawn out goodbye kisses in the moonlight, the forbidden sleepovers clambering through windows. Now the Manor fed upon late night evenings curled up on a sofa too small for two people. It fed upon all kinds of passionate nights (and mornings, and afternoons, and evenings). The Manor absorbed the knowing laughter, the inside jokes, the foolish games. It even took the day Lucius fell from a tree and almost broke his leg, because Narcissa had been there to make it better.
They fed the Manor with more happiness than it knew what to do with, and that contentment spilled out when Draco was born.
The gardens were always colourful, no matter the season. The rooms were always warm, no matter the weather. The walls were always welcoming, no matter the portrait.
There was no room for despair at Malfoy Manor when there was so much love pouring between the three.
It changed, when he returned.
Lucius could no longer bend to his wife's wishes, as he had been bound to another. Narcissa could no longer seek comfort in her husband, as he could not afford to be soft. Draco could no longer find peace in the halls, there was only war.
The Manor changed. It crumbled back into its old darkness, and then it tumbled even more.
Cruelty and hatred filled the old building to the brim, and then it spilled out into the black and barren gardens until it hit the creaking gates. The grey rooms only held suffering, echoing screams that bounced around and up towards the towers until the sounds of anguish disappeared into the permanent heavy clouds that rumbled above.
The walls had known malice before, but never like this.
For a brief period, the Manor had only held happiness, and watching its inhabitants have that happiness ripped away left the place with an uneasy feeling of anger, a trapped claustrophobic pressing of the walls wherever you walked.
Then came after, when the cruelty had gone, but the emptiness remained.
Narcissa had wandered the rooms as she waited for her husband to return. It wasn’t the same when he finally did. Too long spent alone, too much time with his own thoughts.
The love was still there, shimmering under the layer of dust, but much like the Malfoy’s, the Manor was hurt. It still bled through the wounds the Dark Lord had inflicted.
There were still screams. Nightmares that would sometimes follow into the waking world. Not just from Lucius, but Narcissa and Draco too.
Surprisingly, it was no Malfoy who healed the Manor.
The Boy Who Lived became a regular visitor, but the Manor did not witness the happiness Harry gave Draco. It saw the results, but it never felt the first stirrings of contentment. It never saw the first kiss, or the whispered confessions, or the after dark cuddles. The Manor couldn’t shake the haunted shadow of darkness without it.
Over the years, the Manor was refurbished. Every trace of dust, of deception, of death was scrubbed away and wiped out. The scars remained, but the evidence did not.
Draco took over the running of the Manor. His father didn’t have the heart for it anymore, all he wished to do was make Draco and Narcissa happy, so he took the step back. Narcissa held no complaints, and so Draco and Harry moved permanently into the Manor.
Now there were more moments the Manor was privy to. Moments untainted by war and pain. The Manor saw Draco relax into his new life. It saw him learn Muggle recipes with Harry in the kitchen, chasing each other through the gardens on broomsticks, helping him mark essays and create new lesson plans. It saw Harry build up Draco’s confidence, picking out new suits on shopping trips, learning how to avoid a peacock bite. They grew into the space together, but it still wasn’t enough to erase the Dark Lord’s mark on the Manor.
Then came the first party.
Draco and Harry, having very different friendship groups, had worked hard to mend bridges and create new connections. The first party at Malfoy Manor was small in comparison to those in the past, but it was filled with hard earned love.
The Manor watched as Pansy Parkinson and Hermione Granger crossed the perimeter, arriving at the same time. One by Floo, the other by Apparition. They bumped into each other as they found their feet, and the Manor breathed.
The party went as most parties do, with drinking and laughter and friendship. It roared well into the night, and the untamed potential that was unfolding in the grounds had the Manor warming.
In the shadows where there had once been whispered secrets and harsh punishments there was a blooming love. The hushed words were filled with reassurance, cautious affection, the promise of forgiveness.
The Manor bore witness to the tentative beginnings of a love like no other, and it sang with calculated joy.
Hermione Granger and Pansy Parkinson were a match unlike Lucius and Narcissa. No-one had told them of their fate, no-one had orchestrated their romance, no-one had manipulated their feelings. No, this love? This mixing of green and red was not the product of jealousy and rage. It was not the softened hatred that had started with Draco and Harry. It was something all of its own.
Each party brought together new firsts for the Manor and the flowering couple.
Christmas gifted the first casual touches, thoughtful gifts exchanged with sheepish smiles. It gave hazy evenings and quiet nights, falling asleep on different sides of a bed only to wake up with no divide and comforting giggles.
New Years changed the tone, with one black arched eyebrow and a spirit unable to back down from a challenge. A first kiss that turned into another, and another, and another, until the party hooted and roared with glee.
Then Valentines, a double date that held the first inside joke, the first finished sentence, the first wordless look.
Summer gave drunken nights with happy games, leaving early to steal kisses in the warmth of the gardens.
The Manor glowed with love.
The love of past romance,
the love of a family of three,
the love of two broken boys,
and of two women who once disagreed.