Chapter Text
Stuck inside his ancestral home, under constant Ministry surveillance and regular check-ins for the next year, Draco had rarely left the cold walls of the manor. Restricted wand usage and visitational requirements the Ministry made certain nobody could meet had left him with plenty of time on his hands. Flying over the manor grounds had brought him no relief, knowing his every move was watched and analysed. The scrutiny had changed from a mere nuisance to a complete invasion of privacy in a matter of days.
It had prompted him to spend most of his time either in the library or in his own Potions laboratory but they had quickly lost their initial appeal. He subsequently had started training the Muggle way, out of part boredom and part coping mechanism. It helped him build up a sweat and empty his head as he had grown fond of the burning of his muscles after each session. By the time of his eighteenth birthday, he had regained most of the weight, and some of the muscle mass, he had lost in the two years prior. He no longer looked sickly and gaunt. He felt healthy once more.
Draco eased himself into his seat in the family dining room, accompanied by a weary sigh breaking free from his lips. His body felt sore and sluggish unlike anything he had felt after his daily routine of exercising. Not only that, he felt his magic tingling, as if in anticipation for something. Baffled by the feeling, Draco couldn’t help but wonder what was going on with him.
Had he become sick? Had he pushed himself beyond his limits?
His self-inspection was cut short once the birthday dinner was served. Seeing all his favourite dishes on the table would have made his mouth water on any other day. On this day, however, he now felt his throat constrict thinking about stomaching all of them. Despite feeling unwell and not hungry at all, Draco politely sat through the six-course meal as decorum dictated, sampling every single dish to the best of his current predicament. His body needed nourishment after all, he convinced himself.
However, his inability to finish the one slice of his apple tart, the dessert he favoured most, garnered attention.
“Is the tart not to Young Master’s liking? Mipsy bakes a new one!” The house elf wringed her ears anxiously as tears were forming in the saucer-sized eyes.
“No! No, Mipsy... I’m too full at the moment, everything was so delicious. Could you save it for me? I’ll make sure to finish it later,” answered Draco, ignoring the heavy feeling in his stomach and the quiet scoff of his father.
He could almost hear Lucius in his head, reminding him of their status.
Malfoys didn’t eat leftovers.
“Of course, Young Master! Mipsy is happy to do so,” and with a snap of her fingers the dessert was cleared. The elf bowed deep and was gone with an audible crack a moment later. Lucius clearing his throat made him turn his head towards the head of the table.
“Now that you’re done catering to the servants, shall we move to the drawing room?” His father drawled as he turned around and left with his cane rhythmically tapping at his side.
“I was merely being nice,” the Malfoy heir responded before dropping his napkin on the table and rising from his seat too. “Something you could try...” He muttered to himself earning a gasp from his mother who was waiting for him.
“Draco!” She reprimanded lowly but he didn’t have any strength left to look guilty.
It was no secret that Draco’s relationship with his father had worsened after all he’d put the family through. The relationship of admiration and respect on Draco’s end had quickly morphed into one of contempt and, recently, one of pure indifference. Yet, since the sentencing, Lucius indeed had gone out of his way to spend more time with his son and even start to prepare him to take over the family business. Draco had been groomed since his birth to lead Malfoy Industries but he now felt more inclined to learn than before. Having his father’s encouragement to take initiative, rather than the strict discipline he had been submitted to too often, attributed to the change in his perspective.
It had taken some time but gradually Draco had begun to look forward to pore over countless documents, contracts and proposals. Creating his own drafts and plans for the future of the business without his father’s guidance were challenging at first, but ultimately liberating. Witnessing a simple nod or a hint of pride in his father’s eyes had meant more to him than anything. As much as Draco hated to admit it, he still coveted his father’s approval. He just wouldn’t blindly do his bidding anymore.
He resented the fact that a war had needed to be fought in order for Lucius to realise the importance of family, and that his son was his own person. Sudden interest in Draco’s and, by extension, the Malfoy family’s future was in regard to the Malfoys finding themselves fallen out of favour. It also could have been due to guilt or Narcissa pressuring her husband to fix the broken trust between father and son, Draco couldn’t care either way. Notwithstanding the justification, he knew Lucius had an ulterior motive.
Ambition.
Like father, like son they said. Draco could understand his father’s actions. What he couldn’t understand were his own treacherous feelings. Deep down, under the façade of indifference and mask of aloofness, he enjoyed having Lucius’ undivided attention. While the father-son bonding rarely ventured outside the topic of business, Draco could tell his father cared, in his own stoic way. Despite the hours they spent discussing the future of Malfoy Industries could never make up for 17 years of reprimand and controlling, Draco knew Lucius was trying. And he, proven to be less cruel than his father ever had been, was willing to meet him halfway.
Still, his father had far to go and many things to atone for, making Draco less judgmental of Lucius’ behaviour. He couldn’t expect his father to change overnight.
How could he?
He, himself, had barely started to embrace open-mindedness and a different outlook on life in a post-war Wizarding Britain. The wake-up call he had received once he had sworn loyalty to the Dark Lord had left him torn, confused and lost. His perspective had already been addled and warped enough to make the change in it swift, but all the more rattling. Unlike with his parents, his beliefs had been challenged and questioned ever since entering Hogwarts. His feelings of superiority and pride in his name had been no help to him in the face of adversity. In hindsight, it had brought him more harm than good.
However, Draco still retained most of his Malfoy pride, only in a more reserved manner. He only felt shame for flaunting his family’s wealth, influence and notoriety, instead of embracing the legacy of two of the oldest Pure-blood families that ran through his veins. Instead of hiding behind his ‘pure blood’ to taunt, berate and mock, he should have used his higher social and economic standing to do what Malfoys and Blacks had always been best at.
To lead.
His parents, as much as he loved them, had twice gone the worst possible way about it, and it now rested on Draco’s shoulders to redeem themselves in the eyes of public. To change the family name to be once more synonymous with perseverance, prosperity and purity of magic rather than with its unfavourable connotations of subterfuge, stigma and supremacy of blood.
Now was his chance. After getting his NEWTs, Draco would most definitely take charge of the family business to clear its tarnished reputation. He would show the world that being a Malfoy was indeed something to be proud of and even envied, despite its current unsavoury associations with the name. He would do his very best to ensure his family’s good standing once more. He would do it for his parents’ and his own sake, as well as for his future family’s.
He was turning eighteen, yet he still didn’t have marriage prospects -this was highly unusual among old families like his. But these were unusual times. Narcissa and Lucius seemed to have also understood that and hadn’t pressured their son just yet. He had plenty to do once his probation was completed, and a wife and heir were the last thing on his list. Draco could only hope for the best, and pray that things would once turn out in his favour. He only wished to have a say in his life. Just one choice.
Until then, however...
Draco’s hooded eyes took in the many presents that greeted him. On any other occasion he would have felt excitement and intrigue but the throbbing sensation behind his temple made sure his pain was felt the most intensely. Lowering himself into an armchair in the small drawing room, he shook his head at Lucius’ offer of firewhisky. Draco set onto unwrapping the numerous gifts while Narcissa had a chilled glass of wine and Lucius nursed Ogden’s finest.
Expensive parchment, coloured ink, quills of exotic birds, tomes on Alchemy and the latest model of Nimbus were among the now opened packages. The last one, however, had left him excited. Excited and reprehensive.
It was a small cube shaped box, its shape too telling to be mistaken for what it was. Divesting it of the blue paper, the velvet box sat heavily on his palm. Under the lid was the one thing he had not expected to receive, at least not until he had a family of his own. Flicking his gaze to his father’s bare small finger before turning his grey gaze back to the box. Within the cushioned container lay the family signet ring in all its glory. The Malfoy crest engraved into the navy-blue stone caught the light coming from the fireplace behind his seat. The silver gleamed as he plucked the jewellery and held it between two fingers.
“I meant for you to receive that later... but circumstances are unusual, to say the least.” Lucius stood after finishing his drink and walked to Draco. “However, I’ve no doubt you’re ready. I know you’ll do right thing and correct past mistakes and wrongdoings. My mistakes and wrongdoings,” he placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder.
Draco didn’t know what to say. On the one hand he knew his father had effectively placed all the familial burdens on Draco’s conscience whilst washing his hands clear off all personal responsibilities. Using guilt and sweet words wasn’t beyond his father, but Draco was no fool. He could see through him; the Malfoy patriarch was desperate.
On the other hand, however, Lucius also placed his complete faith in Draco, something he had never done before. He understood him though. Lucius had been stripped of power and status, seen undesirable and a failure in public eye on top of that. It truly rested on Draco now to fix everything.
Draco wetted his lips and considered his reply carefully. He didn’t want to upset his parents by setting conditions right away. A fallout was the last thing he wanted, especially since they had only just begun understanding the meaning of family. However, he would not only become head of the business but also the family itself and change would have to be made. Sooner or later.
“I will try and live up to both of your expectations. But only if I do things my way, on my terms,” Draco stood and raised his head to meet his father’s piercing eyes, daring him to refuse. Of course, Lucius was in no position to do so. A minute passed while the two men stared at each other before Lucius let out a small sigh. His lips were thin but there was a small smirk playing at the corner of them.
“As you wish.”
“We only want you to be happy,” Narcissa spoke up once the situation deescalated.
Nodding his head, Draco put the ring on his small finger. The silver shrunk to fit snugly, then he felt the shift in his magic. He became aware the change in the ancestral magic of his home, as Malfoy Manor recognised him as the new patriarch. The wards and elves now abided his word above all else. Yet the tingling of his magic, the restlessness in his blood and the soreness of his body had only become stronger.
Oblivious to Draco’s inner turmoil, Lucius pulled him into an awkward, yet firm embrace. Draco let out a small sound of surprise before returning the gesture just as awkwardly. It had been longer than a decade since his father had shown any kind of affection aside from pats on the shoulder or on the back.
“Happy birthday Son,” Draco was pulled out of reminiscing as his father broke the embrace.
He barely had the time nod in gratitude when his mother pulled him into a much warmer hug. He held her body tight, more at ease in Narcissa’s embrace and more familiar with the feeling. Rising onto her toes, she placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. A worried look etched onto her face as her heels lowered to the floor rug.
Her palm slid along his cheek and forehead. “My Dragon, are you feeling unwell? You’re awfully warm to the touch.”
His mother’s enquiry made him all the more aware of his body’s weariness and protests. Draco nodded in response before calling for Mipsy.
“Young Master is now Master of the house! Mipsy and the other elves are at their new Master’s service,” the elf’s large ears kept sweeping the expensive Persian rug amidst the repeated bowing.
“Please take my presents to my room. I’ll be retiring shortly.”
The House-elf excitedly performed her first task for the new Lord of Malfoy Manor before vacating the room with a crack. Draco turned back to his parents, only to excuse himself and bid them an early goodnight. Leaving the drawing room with less elegance than what was befitting a Malfoy and a wizard of his status, he made his way up the second floor where the bedchambers were located.
Once he finally made it to his wing had it become painfully obvious that he hadn’t simply strained himself. Draco had only ever felt this weak and sore after he had received rounds of Crucio for his many failures the year prior. Using the walls for support, he stumbled his way through the long halls until he reached his room. Some of his painted ancestors had enquired for his wellbeing but he could only shake his head in denial.
Clicking the door shut behind him, Draco wasted no time to divest himself of his formal clothing that stuck to his clammy skin. He didn’t need to look into the mirror to know he looked like shite. His vision swam and his fingers shook as he buttoned up his pyjama top. A few minutes of struggling later, he fell into bed and wished for sleep to ease his distress. He would not get his wish, however.
His sleep would be disturbed.
“Don’t fret Cissa, I’m sure it’s nothing,” Lucius tried to placate his pacing wife.
“You saw how he looked Lucius. You know he inherited the gene. What if...?” Lucius had rarely seen his witch so troubled. Wringing her hands was the complete opposite of the calm and collected woman she always portrayed.
“If what? He should have shown signs on his seventeenth birthday. He should have gone through sudden physical changes, a growth spurt as Healer Erfidy had stated.”
“You’re right. I’ve never been more relieved once Draco’s birthday passed and nothing happened. I held onto the emergency Portkey for days, should he change in front of... Him,” Narcissa threw her arms around Lucius’ shoulders and buried her face in his chest.
Lucius held her body close and ran his hand along her spine in a soothing manner. He understood his wife’s feeling all too well. The constant fear of when the Dark Lord would turn on them for one reason or another. Appeasing His ego and sense of superiority was the safest way for survival. And Malfoys were best at surviving and adapting. It may have been the cowardly and unsavoury way, but it had been the only way.
“...I’m glad He is gone,” she murmured into his robes.
If Lucius was completely honest with himself, he was too. Of course, he missed the prestige and power it had come initially with following the Dark Lord. But as years progressed, he too would see what Dumbledore’s side had known even before the First Wizarding War -Voldemort had been no ally to Pure-bloods or to their cause.
Unfortunately for the Malfoy family, it had taken Lucius a long time to realise what the Order always had seen. His doubts about his lord had formed when his only son and heir had been given a task that could only result with him dead. The Dark Lord was willing to sacrifice the future of two of the most noble and ancient houses in Wizarding Britain only to punish Lucius for his failure. By the end of the war, after being submitted to many sessions of the Cruciatus Curse along with his wife and son, he had lost both interest and motivation to support a cause that he no longer could stand for.
“As am I,” his words but a whisper into her blond hair. “Let’s go to bed, hm?”
Offering his elbow, she nodded with a smile before taking it. The couple headed towards their own wing when the screaming began. The wizard and witch stopped dead in the landing between two floors and listened intently. The second another cry was heard, a horrified look etched onto Narcissa’s face. Meeting the eye of her husband, she gathered her long robes and rushed up the remaining steps. Lucius wasn’t far behind, his cane under one arm as he followed his wife’s frantic lead.
The two Malfoys practically raced down the long hallways; their hurried steps barely muffled by the rugs under their feet. By the time they reached their son’s bedroom door the duo had lost all composure; panting heavily, hair windswept and robes askew. Unbefitting of people with proper breeding. Yet, neither cared as a loud yelp resonated along the walls.
“Draco!” Narcissa called for her son and tried to door handle, only to find it locked.
Brandishing her wand, she proceeded to use every unlocking spell she knew followed by desperately wrenching the handle after each unsuccessful attempt. Lucius, in the meantime, sought the help of portraits.
“It was horrible! I almost fell out of my frame; I was so rudely awakened!” Grumbled one of his female ancestors as she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes at Draco’s door.
Lucius wanted to roll his eyes; he’d never been a fan of his great-great-grandmother due to her horribly selfish personality. He offered a half-hearted apology on behalf of his clearly-in-pain son, prompting the ancestor to huff and strut out of her frame. Good riddance.
“That poor boy... He looked worse for wear, barely managing to stumble into his room. I asked him if he was all right but he didn’t give an answer,” a portrait from the opposite wall spoke up, caressing his painted long-beard. “Lucius. He can’t be, can he...?”
“We don’t know yet,” the wizard breathed and turned to his wife.
“The room’s warded. I can’t unlock the door.” Blond strands escaped from her perfect chignon as she whipped her head towards her husband.
Lucius thought of his options as, this time, muffled whimpers were heard. He knew some unlocking charms that his wife was unaware of but he was stripped of his wand for five years. He was barred from even using another’s.
“Mipsy!” The elf arrived not a moment later and bowed. “Remove the wards Draco has set up!” He ordered the creature that only glanced at the door before wringing her ears anxiously.
“What is the matter? Can you not do what your master has asked?” Narcissa reprimanded the elf. No reluctant House-elf had the right to come between her and her son. Mipsy only shook her head.
“No, Mistress. Mipsy can but Mipsy shouldn’t,” she looked the witch and wizard in the eye. “Mipsy and the other elves feel it. Master Draco’s magic is transforming. His body is changing.”
The two Malfoys slowly looked at each other, disbelief evident on their faces. It should not have happened. The timing, the symptoms and the circumstances were all wrong. Nonetheless, it was happening. There always had been a possibility, especially since the gene had been merely dormant for many generations. What it would mean for the family, especially for Draco, was but everyone’s best guess. This, however, would change everything.
“Very interesting...” The portrait of the elderly Malfoy set back in his chair and caressed his beard.
“Indeed,” Lucius breathed as his mind was racing with future possibilities and consequences that came with this revelation.
“Does Master want Mipsy to take the wards down?”
The wizard held his wife’s gaze for a long second before responding. “No, Mipsy. You may return to your duties.”
“Why?! Draco is in great pain! How could I, his mother, stand by and allow him to suffer!?” Narcissa cried theatrically, her blue eyes filling with unshed tears.
Both ignorant to Mipsy’s pop, her husband pulled her close. “Just think Cissa. He is going through something that had him put up wards instinctually. You could put yourself, or Draco, at risk by dismantling the protective enchantments or interfering with the transformation.” Narcissa nodded into her husband’s shoulder.
Lucius was right, of course. Still, she felt helpless. A feeling she had become quite familiar during the two long years the Dark Lord had His presence imposed on the family. She was forced yet again to choose between either of the two men she loved most.
“Are we to do nothing?” Drawing a calming breath, she dabbed her eyes free of the result of her loss of composure.
“There is something we can do. Have faith in our son. He is a Malfoy; he will endure,” said Lucius self-assuredly. Seeing her husband so calm and rational made Narcissa feel somewhat comforted. “In the meantime, we ready ourselves for what to expect in the coming days. I’ll owl Healer Erfidy and set up an appointment as soon as possible.”
Narcissa sent a last longing look at Draco’s door, as if she could make her son appear through it only by wishing hard enough. Taking her husband’s hand in hers, the married couple sombrely headed towards their own wing, after asking the portraits to keep them updated.
Two days later, the Ministry reluctantly approved the request for an urgent medical consultation by the family’s healer. However, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement dispatched two Aurors as escorts and a security measure. Healer Erfidy was allowed only two hours to stay and take care of business.
Draco’s state had not changed much in the meanwhile, making Narcissa all the more anxious for the meeting. She longed for answers and confirmation but at the same time, she dreaded what they would effectively mean for her son.
At four o’clock sharp in the afternoon, the fireplace roared to life as three people emerged from the emerald flames. Two Aurors, dressed in rugged uniforms, flanked the Malfoy family Healer. Healer P. Erfidy was a tiny, frail-looking elderly wizard who had served the family for three generations.
“Healer Erfidy, gentlemen, welcome.” Narcissa stepped forward, always the hostess and lady of the manor. “My husband has been feeling quite under the weather, otherwise he would have been here to greet you.”
“Mrs Malfoy, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Healer Erfidy spoke up and placed a chaste kiss on Narcissa’s knuckles. “Now, let’s not waste any precious time and show me to your ailing husband.”
The healer was anything but frail as he grabbed his heavy bag and followed the swishing robes of the witch. His short legs and age were no hindrance as he kept up with Narcissa’s larger steps. The two guards could barely share a baffled look before following the pair. The obvious familiarity between the two was hard to miss. This visit seemed more of a social call than asking the opinion of a medical professional.
Unbeknownst to the Ministry, the Malfoys worded their letter to the healer very carefully, letting him know that this was to be anything but a simple check-up. Within the heavy bag lay the complete medical history of the Malfoy family, as well as some additional material on magical creatures. Innocent enough to bypass the Ministry scrutiny but telling to one in league with old families. Families of the Sacred Twenty-Eight often made adjustment in medical documents; from the innocent removal of scandalous trips to St Mungo’s, all the way to complete erasure of inherited blood curses and unsavoury connections to beings of lesser blood.
Entering the lounge, they proceeded to cross the lavishly decorated room and stop in front of a door at the opposite end. Behind it was a small tearoom, where Lucius was already waiting but the Aurors weren’t allowed to know that. Narcissa had to keep the look of disdain off her expression at the sight of the security traipsing on her expensive rugs with their improper footwear.
“I’m afraid the gentlemen will have to wait here. My husband’s condition isn’t something the Ministry is privy to.” Narcissa faced the Aurors and flashed them a saccharine smile.
“Ma’am, with all due respect, we must ensure the healer’s safety. Wherever he goes, we go,” said one of the men, his lack of manners made the witch purse her lips in distaste.
“You may address me as Mrs Malfoy,” smiled the matriarch thinly before glancing at the grandfather clock. They had lost five minutes already, without even getting around of discussing anything of consequence.
“The lady is correct, however,” the healer interrupted and stared up at the two men. “confidentiality between healer and patient is but of utmost importance. The Ministry is only allowed to request patient files under exceptional circumstances. Do you, good sirs, have a warrant or a request signed by the head of DMLE?”
“Well... no, but -” Healer Erfidy waved his hand nonchalantly, interrupting the pitiful attempt at an excuse.
“Exactly.”
That effectively silenced the bumbling Auror, painting a pleased smirk on Narcissa’s lips. She then called for Mipsy and instructed her to look after their guests. Mipsy didn’t need to be told twice what the lady of the manor truly meant: Discourage them from touching anything, let alone from listening in the conversation the Malfoys and their healer were to have.
Leaving the two Aurors in the care of the House-elf, the Malfoy matriarch and the healer slipped behind the door. Lucius rose from the small table and greeted the elderly wizard with a firm handshake. Sitting down at the table, trays of tea sandwiches and biscuits appeared, followed by a steaming pot and three sets of china. Narcissa took charge and poured both men before serving herself.
“Lovely as always Mrs Malfoy,” broke the healer the silence and took a cucumber sandwich. “But I doubt you invited me for tea. Otherwise, why the subterfuge?”
“Indeed. There is something we urgently need to discuss,” replied the matriarch and placed her cup down. Lucius didn’t miss the way her hand shook ever so lightly as the porcelain clinked together.
“Of course, I brought almost 400 years' worth of medical records with. I assume the situation is more serious than your letter suggested. Which part of family history would you like me to correct?” Lucius leaned forward and met the healer’s gaze.
“This isn’t about some age-old scandal nobody remembers anymore. This is about our son,” the patriarch said lowly, as if the walls had ears.
“Our son Draco... we believe his special gene isn’t latent anymore. No, Lucius and I are quite certain it has activated.” Narcissa placed her hands in her lap and tightly clasped them together. Her husband placed his own atop of hers and squeezed them reassuringly while the healer across them gasped loudly.
“Are you telling me...?” At Lucius’ curt nod, Healer Erfidy sprung to his feet in an instant, as if rejuvenated. “This is marvellous! Extraordinary! Momentous!”
Narcissa dabbed her mouth elegantly and rose from her chair, her husband following suit. They knew Healer Erfidy. He would not contain his excitement until they had satisfied his curiosity and vice versa. Moving to a larger table surrounded by comfortable plush armchairs, the couple sat down silently.
The energised healer was with them a moment later, heaving his heavy bag into his lap and furiously rummaging through it. Procuring a dossier, a thin notebook, a thick scroll of parchment and a quill, Healer Erfidy put on his thick reading glasses. His hands were shaking with anticipation and joy. Charming his quill to take notes, the healer turned his attention to the anxious couple.
“Now I understand why you requested my research on Veela, Mr. Malfoy. Everything I was able to find out is in here,” he tapped his notebook with pride lacing his tone. “However, knowledge on male Veela is scarce and rather lacking due to them being the rarest of an already small population of magical creatures. But whatever you need to know, just ask,” he picked the small notebook up and opened up at a section, presumably, on male Veela.
“Why?” Narcissa spoke up. “Why now? Why Draco?” Lucius offered his hand in comfort which his wife didn’t hesitate to hold onto.
“My research on the subject is still in progress, so if you can tell me the surrounding events when it all started, I would be most grateful.” The couple looked at each other before Narcissa nodded.
“Draco was visibly exhausted and tired the whole day but that wasn’t anything worthy of suspicion. He started keeping a very active life, you see. But during dinner, he ate very little and refused his favourite dessert. He looked rather pale and also had a temperature.” The witch recounted and fell silent for a moment before adding the last bit. “The portraits saw him stumbling into his room, barely able to hold himself up straight before it all began.”
“Hm...” The healer opened the dossier on the table. Judging by the moving picture attached to the file, that was Draco’s medical record. “We know that Draco, and every other Malfoy before him, inherited the latent gene. Mr. Malfoy, do you know which of your ancestor married a Veela?”
Lucius rubbed his chin as he pondered but ultimately shook his head. “There are no records of a Veela marrying into the Malfoy family or even having an affair with one. But I know that doesn’t exclude the possibility.”
“It is clear that parts of the gene have always manifested themselves. Take the appearance of Malfoy men, for example. Sharp facial features, light coloured eyes, fair skin and almost white hair. These are the signatures of French Veela. The Malfoy family arrived to England from France originally, didn’t it?” The quill scratched across the parchment audibly as Lucius nodded.
“Yes, Armand Malfoy sailed from France. His portrait has been lost, therefore it is impossible to make certain. However, records state that he and every Malfoy that came before and after him had always had those ‘signatures’.” Healer Erfidy nodded and adjusted his glasses.
“That makes me think of two plausible explanations. Either a Veela had been introduced to the bloodline before Armand Malfoy had ever left France, or the Malfoys are descendants of French Veela. A pure male Veela to be precise. I am inclined to believe the latter, since otherwise recessive features of a gene remain dominant, even after a millennium. The source of a gene this persistent could not have been anything less than a pure Veela, let alone a simple human, wizard or not.” The healer pushed up his glasses and looked at the pair.
“Female Veela traits are passed down from mother to daughter, it is only logical to assume that fathers pass male Veela traits down to sons. Having said that, isn’t the Malfoy family known for having only sons?” Lucius nodded his silent response.
His head was spinning from the sudden revelation of his ancestry. The assumption that his family hailed from a magical creature Wizardkind had believed to be extinct in the male line...!
He knew he carried the gene, but would have never guessed it was of serious consequence, let alone to have it manifest ever. It should have been unreasonable to think otherwise. As Healer Erfidy had stated, the gene was resilient but had been dormant for possibly even longer than a thousand years.
“As to the why, Mrs. Malfoy... I’m a bit perplexed myself,” announced the healer reached for his notebook once more. “However, I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. Maybe not to Draco, but to his son or grandson.”
Narcissa sank into her seat dejectedly. She didn’t whether to be grateful for or fearful of the lack of an explanation.
“That being said, I have a theory why it manifested itself at all, knowing it lay dormant for so long. Forgive my boldness Mr and Mrs Malfoy, but young Draco have gone through trying times reaching his adulthood. With his ancestry, a transition into adulthood was to be undisputedly a crucial part of his life.” Licking his lips, he searched for words as the couple sat stone-faced across him, emanating a frosty aura. The dark past of the family was something the married couple tried their best to ignore.
“Do continue.” Lucius insisted in a slow and deliberate drawl, making the old wizard perspire at the temple.
“As I was saying,” Healer Erdify dabbed his damp skin with a handkerchief before clearing his throat. “Draco was under constant duress; his mind and body were subjected to torture and he had to live in fear. This kind pressure on his psyche and harm to his body was the catalyst that awakened his dormant gene. Now that an imminent threat is gone, his magic acted in its self-interest and forced Draco to undergo the transformation in order to be better prepared against future perils.”
Lucius acknowledged what the healer said. The theory appeared far too sound for his liking. It hit too close to home. If Healer Erfidy was correct, it was his own fault that Draco suffered. One more way he had failed his son.
“What does the transformation consist of? We barely know anything about male Veela.” Narcissa demanded quite sharply but it was evident that she was only concerned for her son.
The healer perched up and stopped the quill from taking notes. This was something he knew to the very letter; he needed no copy of his own research.
“I am not surprised to hear that. There have been only seven confirmed cases of male Veela. Most of them barely exhibited any typical traits of their female counterparts, and the last known wizard who did died over 200 years ago; in 1788 to be precise. Despite the little information and credible sources available, not to mention the secretive and private nature of Veela, I managed to find out plenty about them. I even assisted famed Magizoologists in their research on this subject,” taking a deep breath the healer began his lecture-like explanation.
Narcissa listened intently, desperate to learn everything she could about her son’s newfound status. Glancing at her husband, she could see that he was too listening with great curiosity but she could also see the confliction in his expression. She knew Lucius and her were to have a long discussion once the healer had left. Turning her blue eyes back to the animatedly gesturing man, she interlaced her fingers with her husband’s.
“Not many people know this, but male and female Veela vastly differ from one another, and not only in the numbers they’re represented. Females come into their heritage along with going through puberty. Once the witches reach adulthood, they are done transforming. Yet, males only start having changes around the time they reach magical maturity, more specifically their seventeenth birthday. Females transform over a long period of time; it is both less noticeable and less straining on the body. Males, however, have a series of sudden physical changes, a second puberty if you’d like, over a much shorter period of time. It is far more dangerous to the wizard in question the longer the changes occur.”
“Is Draco...?” The witch gasped with a slight tremor in her voice.
“That depends on how long the transition period lasts. Most known cases describe it to be less than three days. It’s been two days for young Draco, correct?” The healer scanned Draco’s file and looked up at the couple.
“Yes.” Lucius nodded, and the quill sprung to life and began furiously scribbling.
The healer made a humming noise and delved into his notes before peering up at the couple. “There is something you should know. Even amongst Magizoologists, the theory exists that male Veela present sporadically due to the gruelling nature of the transformation. There are a handful of known recent cases of wizards suddenly falling ill on their seventeenth birthday, only to never recover.”
Looking straight into the eyes of the couple, the healer conveyed his sympathies. “My apologies Mr and Mrs Malfoy, but I cannot guarantee Draco’s recuperation. It is wholly dependent on his resilience and magical prowess, not to mention...” Narcissa couldn’t hear the rest as she slumped unceremoniously into the plush seat and stared into the nothingness.
She felt numb, deaf and blind to the world. She felt her throat constrict, yet no tears came. Not that she would have allowed to them to fall but she felt oddly unfeeling at the moment.
Was this denial? Or had she moved to acceptance already?
She wasn’t certain. She merely existed in a state of limbo, utterly oblivious to the unfolding events around her. She didn’t take note of Mipsy popping in to announce that Healer Erfidy needed to leave. She didn’t respond to the healer excusing himself after shaking her husband’s hand. She didn’t register the two tomes regarding Veela that were left behind on the table. She simply had her gaze locked at the opposite wall, spiralling down into further turmoil.
She would break. She wouldn’t survive if she lost any more family.
First, she had been forced to turn her back on Dromeda, the sister she had once hold dearest to her heart. She then had had to stand by and watch as his eldest sister’s mental health deteriorated and later incarceration. Her mother had literally died of shame subsequent to the first Death Eater trials, followed closely by her father’s passing. Both of whom she had been left to bury with only Lucius by her side. The death of Bellatrix shook her the least as Narcissa had long lost the sister she had grown up with, yet it still stung.
But even amidst her losses, she had had her husband to rely on, to fall back on. If she lost Draco too, she feared her husband wouldn’t be enough to stop her from ending it all.
Narcissa only registered being pulled into her husband’s embrace. Encircled by his arms and put at ease by his scent, she felt safe to let it all out. She buried her face into his firm chest and sobbed.
The tears finally came.