Disclaimer: Not
mine. (Points to the lady with the money.)
Hers.
A/N: This plot
bunny was birthed by zelgadisgreywood.
Confession: I have a Shakespeare fetish. Expect the
occasional
reference. The title is from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 120, which I think
fits the
two pairings (HP/DM & HG/SS) rather well.
For those who do not know it, it is written out at the end
of the first
chapter. The quote at the beginning of
this chapter is from Arthur Rimbaud’s “Ophelia.”
Ransom Me
Chapter One
“Where the stars sleep in
the calm black stream,
Like some great lily, pale Ophelia floats…”
Draco
Malfoy had believed his despair complete upon his father’s
incarceration near
the end of his fifth year. Only his duty
toward his mother and his family name kept him from submitting totally
to the
darkness that threatened daily to overwhelm him. Before,
he had lived his life almost entirely
for his father; every action had been taken in the hopes of finally,
just once,
seeing some hint of pride in his father’s eyes.
Now, his father was effectively out of the picture.
For the
first time in his life he was forced to take control.
Narcissa had never been taught to do aught
but follow the men in her life blindly, and so she left the running of
the
household entirely in Draco’s hands. The
running of an estate which consisted of a rather large number of
tenants, an
entire village, and numerous other investments suddenly fell into the
hands of
a boy. He knew nothing of what to do
with it all.
His
depression was so complete that he didn’t notice his mother’s own
withdrawal
from life and eventual descent into madness.
He never noticed when she left the house that morning. He never noticed her walking across the lawn
barefoot, her long, white nightgown grass-stained at the hem and nearly
transparent from the dew. He never
noticed anything that night until one of the house-elves notified him
in a
panicked voice that the Missus was in danger.
When he
found her, it was far too late for rescue.
She was lying face down in the stream which meandered
across the
property, her fair hair swirling like a halo about her head as the
currents
eddied and swirled around her. It was
then that Draco realized he’d known nothing of despair.
The Order
met the moment they learned of Lady Malfoy’s death.
Fortunately, they’d learned of it fairly
early thanks to Snape’s close connection with the family and their
contacts at
the Ministry. Unfortunately, it was
still debatable whether they’d found out early enough to help Draco.
“The
Ministry is going to want to put him in foster care or an orphanage,”
Arthur
Weasley said. “He is still too young to
be on his own.”
Albus
nodded. “True. Mr.
Malfoy is one of the youngest in his
year, he won’t even be of age to use magic outside of school for a few
months
yet.”
Severus
snorted at that. “Don’t think that stops
him, Albus. The ministry would never
know if he did.”
“Fudge
wants access to the Malfoy funds,” Kingsley said. “Putting
him into the public child care
system would almost guarantee that.”
Molly
tutted softly under her breath. “He may
have more than most of us, Albus, but he doesn’t deserve to have his
inheritance stripped away. If it’s
absolutely necessary, Arthur and I will take him.”
Arthur nodded
his assent. He didn’t like any of the
Malfoys, but Draco was still just a boy.
He deserved a chance, at least.
“No, Molly,
you two have enough on your hands.
Besides, it would only anger Fudge further,” Dumbledore
sighed. “He is already upset with Arthur
for working
with me.”
“Mr. Malfoy
could go back to the castle with us, Albus.
School does start in less than a month,” McGonagall
offered.
Dumbledore
shook his head. “With only two old fools
to keep him company, Minerva? Besides,
the wards have yet to be reset for the next year.”
“It is I
who should care for the boy in his parents’ stead, Albus,” Snape said
softly.
“The Lestranges may be his godparents, but Draco trusts me.”
The aurors
and ministry officials sitting at the table were all shaking their
heads. Such an adoption would be nearly
impossible
to push through for a man with a background as checkered as Snape’s. However, it was Dumbledore’s word that was
law in this group, and he was nodding his head happily.
“Yes,”
Dumbledore said, twinkling, “that would be good for Draco.”
He left
unsaid the fact that he thought it would also be good for Severus.
The
documents naming Severus Snape as Draco’s legal guardian in the event
of his
parents’ absence had appeared in the Ministry records by the next
morning,
looking for all the world as if they had always been there. Adoption papers with all required signatures
appeared atop the appropriate desks.
Indeed, the signers would easily remember agreeing to the
adoption in
spite of the fact that many of them had never seen the papers at all.
When Snape
arrived at Malfoy Manor, it was to find Draco draped face down across
his
mother’s bed with piece of parchment in hand.
His entire body was shaking.
Snape frowned as he plucked the letter from Draco’s hand
and the scent
of rosewater drifted up to him. He
recognized the scent all too easily.
Narcissa had a tendency to drape herself across him at
certain
gatherings. Of course, Draco needed to
know nothing of that sort.
It was a
typical suicide note. He’d read plenty
in his time, most often written by his own hand just before being
crumpled and
thrown into the trash bin. However, it
also held some revelations and advice for Draco. Revelations
of Lucius’s cruelty and horrid
behavior toward her and others, revelations that Lucius was often very,
very
wrong and often not the wonderful person Draco believed him to be. Narcissa spoke at length about why Draco
should turn away from his father and everything he’d been taught since
birth. She wrote that it was too late
for her, but perhaps not for her son.
No wonder
Draco wept as if the foundation of his existence had been pulled from
beneath
him. It had. Snape
knew his Slytherins, though, and knew
that at this point Draco would not accept compassion from him. He would only see it as pity.
“Up,
Draco,” Snape demanded. “You’re an
absolute mess. Get cleaned up, and
quickly, boy.”
At the
sound of the familiar voice, Draco jumped up and nodded, blinking away
the
tears. “Yes, sir.”
Snape
nodded as the boy walked toward the bathroom, attempting to stifle his
sniffling. Later would come the time for
comforting. Draco would not appreciate
it now. As the boy cleaned up, he moved
down the hallway into Draco’s room and took stock of what would be
needed. His school trunk was already
packed and
ready. Snape opened the wardrobe and
selected a few other outfits appropriate for wear outside of school
and, with a
flick of his wand, sent them with the rest of the necessary items into
the
trunk.
“Where will
we be going, sir?” an uncharacteristically timid voice ventured from
the
doorway.
“My home in
Yorkshire, Mr. Malfoy.
I trust that will be satisfactory?” Severus asked, turning
toward the
young man in the door. Draco was making
a decent attempt at his usual cold expression.
“Yes, sir,”
the tone of Draco’s voice suggested that he really didn’t care where he
was
going. “May I visit mother before we
leave?”
Severus
nodded and followed the boy down several sweeping flights of stairs to
one of
the many “back doors” of the mansion and into the night.
They followed a carefully sculpted garden
path until they reached the Malfoy family crypts. One,
the newest and grandest of the three,
had a torch burning outside. The soft
light of candles flickered beyond the doorway.
Narcissa
Malfoy had been beautiful in life, and she would be forever beautiful
in
death. Malfoy wealth and expensive
potions would ensure that her body would never decay.
She looked as if she could wake up at any
moment. She had been changed into a
clean, white gown and a small bouquet of calla lilies lay upon her
breast. She seemed a bride waiting for her
groom.
Draco knelt
beside his mother as Severus stood uncomfortably to the side. Draco murmured quiet promises and apologies
as he took the hand nearest him, kissing the top of it. He placed the
hand atop
the lilies he’d placed there the night before.
That done, he stood and nodded quickly.
“Let’s go.”
Sonnet 120 – William
Shakespeare
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow which I then did feel
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammered steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken
As I by yours, you’ve past a hell of time,
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.
O that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you as you to me then tendered
The humble salve which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must
ransom me.
