Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Clair de Lune ❯ Nouvelle Vie ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter One:

Nouvelle Vie

“New Life”

 

Draco always knew something was different about him and his family. It wasn't just the fact they'd served the Dark Lord, a great man from what father's fiends would tell him sometimes when Mother wasn't around. Or that they were Malfoy's and pureblooded for generations. No, what made Draco's family different was Harry Potter.

 

It was true Draco had always heard stories about the boy, who'd been so instrumental in the Dark Lord's downfall, but they'd always been different from the ones the Parkinsons' nursemaid told Pansy or that Bête, known to the rest of the world as Blaise Zabini, were told. His mother would always tell him the stories of the Dark Lord's defeat with a grave, sobriety that had always stuck out to him. At the end she would always given the same warning, her blue eyes glowing with some emotion his younger mind didn't understand.

 

“You must learn your lessons well and always obey your Father and I.” She would say, and then smile sadly. “But above all else you must not go near him. You must avoid the green eyed boy with untidy black hair.”

 

As a result Draco's young mind had always clung to Harry, wondering about this mysterious boy who his mother feared and his father would stutter around when he was mentioned. So he'd snuck away from his parents in Diagon Alley sneaking glimpses of books written on him. Learning the theories of how he survived and finding each more ridiculous then the next. Nothing seemed reliable, each ending with saying that truthfully they knew nothing about how he survived. Eventually Draco grew frustrated and bitterly gave up his quest to learn of the boy. But then, while studying his lessons on his family trees, something every Malfoy and Black heir was supposed to memorize he found something unexpected.

 

His aunt Dorea Black Potter had married a man named Charlus Potter having one son with him. A son named James. Stunned by his discovery Draco had scoured their library until he'd found one of the books his mother had added to its collection with her dowry. It was a book showing the Black lineage back to even before the Norman Conquest and was magically in tune with the Black family blood updating itself anytime anyone with their blood was born. With a trembling hand Draco had looked up Dorea Black Potter a line connected her to Charlus Potter, directly below them was James Potter who married Lily Evans Potter. His eyes widened when he saw the fresh spindly drawn golden line going pointing towards their child.

 

Harry James Potter

July 31, 1980-Present

 

“Harry is your blood kin Draco, a third cousin. He is a direct male descendent of the Black name, just like you. His Grandmother was my great-aunt Dorea.” His mother had told him, not meeting his eyes, instead staring down at the book she'd been reading when Draco burst in. The recently ten year old boy froze confused and scared. He didn't know why he was scared just that he was. Avoiding his cousin, his blood? It didn't make sense. Why was his mother breaking one of his most important lessons?

 

“B-but, we never abandon family.” He parroted, making his mother almost flinch as he told her the words he'd heard since he was old enough to walk. “We never abandon family, it comes before everything else. We will out, because we are one.” His mother wouldn't even look at him as she told him quietly, so quietly her words had barely carried across the great expanse between them. Enormous with the sheer size of her secret that went against everything he'd been taught.

 

“Not always Draco, not always. Sometimes we lose those most important.” She told him quietly, and closed her eyes as she told him something that shocked him almost more than his revelation had. “I had a sister, another one beside your Aunt Bellatrix, her name was Andromeda. I loved her very much, but when she was in her seventh year she started dating a boy. He had no name, no status, and a penniless pauper.”

 

She looked up at her son face taut with pain. “He was a Muggleborn, named Ted Tonks. Andy told Bella and me about him. She should have known better.” Narcissa's hands tightened on the arm rest of her chair, her knuckles we white from her tight grip. Draco's mind was blank.

 

“Bella and her fought over it for a year, but when Andy told us she intended to marry Ted and to hell with tradition Bella was furious. She told Mother and Aunt Walburga. Mother was horrified and tied to convince her to change her mind. Aunt Walburga slapped her. Slapped a Black.” His mother's voice wavered eyes distant, back in the room watching her sister's shame. A chill ran down Draco's back at the thinly veiled fury and hurt in his mother's eyes. “Even Bella was shocked, but Andy just stood there back straight, eyes dry and told us she would marry Ted Tonks and that she'd had enough of this family. She left that day and Aunt Walburga blasted her off the family tree.”

 

Draco was silent and his mother looked at him. After a few moments she seemed to calm and her naked emotions that made him flinch from their intensity were hidden away as she spoke in a dull voice.

 

“Andy had a daughter. She named her Nymphadora, kept the traditions even though she was disowned. I only saw her once, Draco. I've only seen my niece once in her entire life. It was right after the war had ended. Your father was speaking to the Ministry, making sure they dropped all of the charges and some Aurors went after him. They were furious that nobody could prove your father had done anything. Lucius would never admit it, but he would have been hurt, badly if they'd had the chance to attack him. Nobody would have stepped in. We were hated universally and completely.” His mother's eyes looked through him once more and Draco felt a stab of something odd, a mixture of pain and jealousy. He'd always been the center of his parents'. To have his mother speak so intensely about someone else made him, feel hurt, envious that somebody could mean so much to her despite not even knowing his mother.

 

“Nymphadora stopped them, she was fifteen at the time, interning with a Ministry officer to decide rather she wanted to work there or not. She knew who Lucius was and stepped between them. She told them if they wanted him they'd have to get through her first. The Aurors knew her father and apparently respected him, so they left. Left because my half-blood niece, who wasn't even acknowledged as family protected us!” Narcissa gave a cold humorless laugh that was somehow more painful to hear than anything else. “When she looked at us I knew she hated me. Hated me more than any of the others. But she was a Black, a true Black despite the taint of her father's blood and family comes first. She didn't say one word to us, didn't ask for thanks, she just left, left after giving me a look of such venom…I shouldn't have been hurt by it, but I was. I had never expected for my favorite sister's daughter to look at me like that. I loved your aunt, she was my hero, but when her girl looked at me liked that it made me realize…” Narcissa paused seeming to search for the right words. Draco wanted to tell her to stop, that he didn't want to hear these horrible words, but she continued anyway.

 

“It made me realize that sometimes family leaves you.” Draco had left after this, practically ran from the painful silence.

 

He was confused by his mother's story. All he wanted to know was about Harry Potter, the mystery boy, but instead he'd heard his mother's confusing tale. If Nymphadora had protected his father didn't that only prove his lessons? But his aunt, the one he hadn't even known existed before then had betrayed his mother. Betrayed everything that it meant to be a Black, a pureblood, her entire heritage thrown away for some Muggleborn. His mind almost couldn't wrap itself around it. That a well off pureblood witch, his own aunt, could lower herself to do something…something so horrid. So Draco let it drop, hid his mother's story away deep in his heart. Along with the part that had been so curious about Harry Potter. All he knew was he'd hurt his mother by bringing it up. He'd let his curiosity die. He'd listen to what his parents said, following these words of wisdom exactly. He would ignore the occasional whisper from the pureblood Ladies, who would fall back on old gossip like his Aunt Andromeda, when gossip was scarce. But most importantly he would never forgive Harry Potter for it.

 

Somewhere along the line, his feelings had mangled together with his mother's pain, his confusion and hurt, the story and he'd connected it all to Harry. He didn't care if it made no sense, he felt it. He couldn't help all he felt and he couldn't unwind the tight confused ball of his feelings he'd hidden away deep in himself. He swore to never think about it again. That is not until now.

 

…

 

“Draco, darling, could you pass the marmalade?” His mother questioned making a fidgeting Draco Malfoy jump slightly as he hurried to comply. His mother gave him a soft amused smile, but Draco didn't notice he was preoccupied with other things.

 

It would be today he knew it would. The day he got his letter. Ever since his eleventh birthday he'd been rising in the mornings trembling with anticipation as his anxiety peaked when they had breakfast. Watching worriedly each day as the owls delivered mail, first the small brown barn owl from the Prophet, then anyone of the large expensive owls his mother's and father's friends sent, always waiting for one of those calm elegant owls bearing the letter written in emerald ink. But always he'd be disappointed and his heart would plummet convinced he would shame the family and not be enrolled. Then the anxiety would begin again steadily growing as he convinced himself it would be the next day only to be disappointed once more.

 

It had gotten so bad that Lucius had jumped up one day after Draco had sighed morosely, more loudly than he'd intended, and demanded an owl so he could write to Hogwarts and ask rather or not Draco was in. Draco had convinced his father not to flushing a slight pink, hot with embarrassment. From then on he'd suffered in silence. He probably could have borne it better if he hadn't felt the tension and slight horror that surrounded his parents each time Hogwarts was mentioned. It was as if they thought he would die as soon as he stepped foot in the castle and were trying to avoid the subject and enjoy the time they had left.

 

Draco of course knew why his parents were so edgy. It was the exact something that cast a taint on his own grand dreams of his schooling. The same thing that he'd skittered around thinking for over a year. What was never mentioned in his home along with the War and Aunt Andromeda. Harry Potter. Draco's own flesh and blood. The mere thought of the boy, who he'd never met, who'd done nothing to deserve his hate, made Draco furious. And now the boy was spoiling what was supposed to be one of the best things of Draco's life. He was the reasons his mother's face would tighten and she'd grip whatever she was holding with force enough to break a few glasses. He was the reason his father would freeze when the owls came, looking at a newspaper his eyes immobile until he knew there were no letters for Draco.

 

Draco shied away from these thoughts, head snapping up at the familiar soft sound of wing beats. His heart froze as an unfamiliar owl entered and slowly began to descend. Right in front of him. He couldn't stop the wide grin that spread on his face as he took the letter form the owl. Looking down at it he felt something in him relax. Emerald ink and the crest. He'd done it. He was going to Hogwarts. Draco closed his eyes and hid his grin, waiting for his euphoria to become manageable so he could deliver the good news with the proper decorum and dignity expected of him.

 

“F-Father,” he said biting his lip when his voice shook and sounded a bit airy. His father didn't scold, but instead looked at him with questioning gray eyes. Draco had to resist squirming at the tension in the room and the looks on his parents' faces, half expecting, half worried. Everyone knew that there was no guarantee, not even for the oldest purebloods, that their child would definitely get into Hogwarts.

 

Draco swallowed, and continued despite his dry throat. “It's my Hogwarts letter.”

 

The snap of the tension was almost audible as the inhabitance gave a great sigh. For a moment Draco wasn't sure rather to be offended by his parents' apparent lack of faith or euphoric over his accomplishment. Deciding on the later the boy allowed a small grin that still hinted at the innocence of childhood. But even as his mother hugged him and his father ruffled his hair fondly in a way that he hadn't in years Draco sensed the same dread he'd felt all summer. For once he ignored it eager to enjoy his family before his unavoidable meeting with him.

 

…

 

Draco was more than a little uncomfortable. Shifting slightly he bit his lip to hold back a yelp as Madam Malkin's assistant's needle dug into the soft skin of his thigh. The woman looked up glaring at him accusingly. He returned it bristling. He was the one who kept being gouged by her inept needle. And he'd only moved a smidge. The woman huffed and muttering under her breath, no doubt curses against him, she continued her work. Draco sneered down at her, but stopped as soon as he glimpsed himself in the mirror.

 

He'd thought he'd gotten his father's sneer down, but one look at his expression was enough to make his cheeks flush a pale pink in embarrassment. Angry that he'd revealed he was embarrassed to a snobbish low-class witch—who stabbed him again, the wretched cow—Draco glowered at his reflection as he examined it, trying to decide where he went wrong. His hair was an attractive shade of white-blond, just like his father's, impeccably styled without a strand out of place. He was pale, not an ugly ghost white, but rather smooth fair skin. A very attractive coloring if he said so himself. His pointed features were like his father's, but he had his mother's sharp cheek bones. He of course knew he was good looking as all Malfoy's were supposed to be, but sometimes his angular features rather reminded him of a ferret or a fox. Not, as the Bête claimed, like a weasel. No Malfoy looked like an animal that was practically a synonym for Weasley.

 

But what stood out most about Draco, what always grabbed his attention were his eyes. At first they looked the standard gray that could have come from either side of the family. But when you looked closer you could see the difference. There barely visible around the pupil were miniscule flecks of green. Draco loathed these specks and liked to think of his eyes of plain gray, instead of an odd speckled look that he didn't find suitable for a Malfoy. Plus the green in his eyes always made him think of a certain someone…

 

Draco jerked back a little, interrupted from his thoughts as he heard the shrill voice of Madam Malkin cut through the air. Another boy was coming for his robes. Draco pulled on a disinterested look as he examined him blandly. His clothes were rags, and muggle made by the looks of them, fitting the boy's thin frame badly. He had black hair, with unruly look to it, sticking out in the back with his bangs covering most of his forehead. He didn't look directly at Draco as Madam Malkin pulled a black fitting robe over him and his horrid muggle clothing to get his measures. All in all he reminded Draco of a puppy a half starved, drenched, kicked puppy that nobody wanted. Draco wrote him off as a Muggleborn, but then again wizards were known to be eccentric so he could be a pureblood with a horrible fashion sense.

 

“Hello,” Draco said attempting to be friendly. “Hogwarts, too?”

 

“Yes,” the boy replied still not looking directly at Draco. This annoyed the blond. Honestly the lower class should understand to treat their betters with respect, he thought exasperatedly.

 

“My father's next door buying books and mother's up the street looking at wands,” Draco said, once again attempting to start a conversation, while still probing for information. He waited for the boy to mention that Draco had to be there to get his wand and when he didn't Draco lost most of his steam, but continued because of years of etiquette training under the watchful gaze of his mother.

 

“Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." Not that he could bully his father into anything, but that didn't mean he couldn't beg, no not beg, convince him to. Draco barely resisted quirking an eyebrow at the expression of annoyed recognition that briefly crossed the boy's features. Both because of the emotion and the fact it was the first time the boy hadn't seemed like a beat puppy. Hm, perhaps the puppy still has some hope, Draco thought to himself mildly.

 

“Have you got your own broom?” he questioned deciding he was going to enjoy messing with the Muggleborn.

 

“No,” the boy replied, looking a bit anxious.

 

“Play Quidditch at all?” Draco questioned, inwardly seething at the boy's behavior. He. Wouldn't. Look. At. Him. Draco wanted to grind his teeth and shout at the boy's arrogance and rudeness. Instead he settled for making him feel like a fool.

 

“I do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?" Draco continued airily enjoying watching the boy squirm.

 

“No,” the boy stated glumly, looking firmly at the floor. Is that all he can say? Draco wondered thoroughly bored with his fun already, but continuing on, at least the boring Muggleborn pauper didn't stab him with a needle every time he attempted a civil conversation.

 

“Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" Draco informed him, deciding the boy would definitely be a Hufflepuff. That's where all the dunderheads go, as Severus says. The boy thought viciously remembering one of his godfather's particularly venomous monologues after a disastrous Potions class.

 

“Mmm,” the boy replied. Draco inwardly sighed and looked around trying to find something else to talk about. Why I'm I even bothering? He didn't have an answer to that other then he was bored and rarely had a chance to talk to someone his own age rather than Pansy, who he tolerated, and the Bête. Plus there was something odd about the boy. It wasn't big, but the small things he did seemed to annoy Draco for no reason at all. Made his skin tingle and bumps rise on his arms as a coldness slowly increased to form a lump in his stomach. It was almost as if he knew the boy and knew he should hate him, but couldn't remember why.

 

Draco's eyes feel on the window and gleamed with recognition at the large man outside. "I say, look at that man!" Draco was surprised as the boy looked a little more cheerful.

 

“That's Hagrid,” he said sounding oddly pleased with himself. “He works at Hogwarts.” Draco fought the urge to glare at the boy. How insufferable. So he can be friendly with the half giant oaf, but not him. A Malfoy.

 

“Oh,” Draco said hiding his smirk and knowing this would annoy the boy. “I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?" Just as he expected the boy bristled at the description. Served the prat right, Draco thought happily.

 

“He's the gamekeeper,” the boy told him with a defensiveness he probably didn't realize. Ah, so he must really like him, Draco taunted mentally.

 

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed." Draco drawled, rubbing salt in his earlier words.

 

“I think he's brilliant,” Draco was almost impressed by the boy's tone. It was practically pureblood in its haughty iciness.

 

“Do you?" Draco said, with a slight sneer. “Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" Draco knew he'd hit the mark with those words.

 

“They're dead,” An orphan. Draco frowned, that could explain his shabby attire, but it could also mean he was in truth a pureblood. After all during the war many respectable families were destroyed and children orphaned. Draco opened his mouth to question him on his origins only to have the boy finally look at him.

 

Draco's question died in his throat s all the blood left his face. He was looking into bright green eyes. The boy's annoyance evaporated at Draco's expression and he looked at him panic stricken. Messy black hair, green eyes, an orphan… Harry Potter. Harry bloody Potter. Draco froze, everything in him stopping except for his eyes staring into Potter's own confused green ones. Green ones with specks of gray around the pupil. The exact same gray of Draco's own eyes. Draco felt something spark in his stomach some sort of recognition. Some part of him went out to this boy. The boy he hated.

 

Suddenly Draco was falling foreword. He barely saw Potter fall with him or hear what sounded like his mother scream his name. Everything was dim compared to the fire that was racing painfully through his veins. And then everything was black.