Work Text:
You will know when it’s time, my dear Draco.
A promising smile on his mother's face, holding both of his hands where the heirloom weighed.
A ring.
Medium size with a dark silver outline. Instead of a gemstone, a translucent bubble laid on top, its sheer transparency merging with his skin. A dark bulb lay trapped inside. Draco’s fingertips were curious, itching with the urge to touch those petals, to see if they were as soft as they looked.
His mother had been vague with the explanation, but he got the message.
You must wait. Something great will come.
Love.
Every night, he opened the drawer in his bedroom hiding the artifact. But it never changed. Bulb still sealed. Closed. Waiting.
Three years. The disappointment subsided as days went by.
✿✿✿✿
He stopped looking at it when his mission was assigned.
He remembered the gentleness of his mother’s hands and the warmth in her eyes when she handed it to him.
These weren’t delicate times.
So he never had much hope. The world had already lost all hope for him.
✿✿✿
He was free. Happiness being now a possibility in his future, after so many years. Or at least, to some degree. It was an option. And he would take it.
Nightmares and sleepless nights came to stay. The crying and the guilt would go on forever, he thought.
But the weight on his shoulders was gone. He wouldn’t have to commit atrocious crimes, he wouldn’t have to live a life covered by darkness, serving the Dark Lord.
Or Azkaban.
Guilt and nightmares, he could deal with that. A price to pay for his freedom. The best possible outcome.
✿✿
He saw himself in the mirror. The bags under his eyes were already a permanent trait, but his face, although still pallid, wasn’t grey and ill-looking.
Alive. The reflection confirmed it.
Uniform perfectly ironed. Necktie in its place, doing the knot by heart. Satchel ready.
And his ring.
He started wearing it after his return to Hogwarts. His first step into the future.
He smiled. It didn’t suit him. Yet. It still looked like a pained grimace.
You will know when it’s time.
And he genuinely felt like now it was. The opportunity to overcome was more palpable than ever. New beginnings, new experiences…
His own experiences. Taking over the reins of his life for the first time.
✿
Occasionally, he visited the greenhouse. Late in the afternoon to have the building for himself, hands book-free this time. He had read enough about the subject. Didn’t have to do extensive research to find out which flower the bulb belonged to and all its different interpretations.
Some were good: peace and tranquility.
Some were bad: stress, anxiety.
Some were worse: delirium, scandal.
He didn’t want to think too much about it.
At the sound of the door opening, he saw her turn her head. Realizing it was him, she quickly lowered her gaze. She was on her knees, in the far corner of the greenhouse, hair in a bun. Flushed, ashamed.
He followed her eyes.
She had a flower in her hands.
“Oh, Malfoy.”
You will know when it’s time.
Goosebumps covered his whole body, so suddenly it made him shiver, taking him aback. A tingling sensation spreading on his hand. On that finger. Eyes wide open, he looked down.
His ring.
He knew then. This was it. After so much time, so much longing, wondering.
Waiting .
It fluttered.
“Are you alright? You look pale.” She got up, taking a few cautious steps towards him.
Unfolding slowly.
“The flower,” he said in a hoarse voice, pointing to the flower in her hands, trying to control his breathing.
“Oh, yes. Hellebore.”
“The poison,” The worry in his voice surprised him.
“I know you want me dead, but I happened to survive a war. I’m not dumb. I charmed my hands.” The venom was in her voice.
Unclenching his hand, he raised it in front of his face. Granger’s blurred silhouette could be seen behind his finger.
Full bloomed; the flower was alive. Dark violet, intense, almost black on its edges. Velvety and delicate, as he’d always imagined.
The same flower. On his ring. In her hands.
You will know when it’s time, his mother’s voice resonating in his head over and over again. Those words who followed him all these years.
Love, the last notion behind the heirloom. He frowned, his breath faltering, bringing down his arm and his eyes.
Realization hit first, along with frustration.
It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.
Disappointment came after. He couldn’t even look at her, ashamed by this sudden rush of emotions.
He might have heard his name coming out of her mouth but he wasn’t sure, ears pounding too hard and gaze on the floor. He felt out of air, overwhelmed, so he ran through the door without hesitation.
Shortly after, the heartbreak, almost unnoticed by him in the midst of his defeat. The oppression in his chest was hard enough to make it real.
He wanted to be loved. True love. He wanted to enjoy what his mother had promised him, the good things he had just started to believe could happen to him. Hermione didn’t seem like the person who would grant all of that… to him.
Pulling the ring out of his fingers, he was ready to throw it out of his sight, his existence. He made the mistake of looking at it once more.
He couldn’t.
It weighed, now in his pocket.
Your soulmate, my dear.
And he felt doomed all over again.