InsaneJournal

-x-

The brown haired man walked into his flat and dropped the shoulder bag he was carrying on the floor. He placed his keys on a side table near a dark blue sofa, took off his coat and sank into his favourite armchair. He breathed in deeply, and then let it out with a relieved sigh, grateful that this day was over. His students had been positively hellish today.

Refreshed, after a moment's rest, the slightly aged man pulled himself out of the cushioned chair and went into the kitchen to prepare a light dinner and soon lost himself in the familiar process. A knock came at the door just as he turned off the oven. He wiped his hands on a nearby dish towel and left the kitchen to answer the door.

He held his breath momentarily and released it slowly as he opened the door, then forced a small smile as he greeted his guest.

“Hi, Mark.”

Mark was a tall, dark haired man who looked to be in his mid thirties. His blue eyes sparkled as he presented the other man with a bunch of vibrant blue flowers.

“Evening, Remus” Mark leaned forward to plant a light kiss on the lips of the man he’d been dating for the last month.

Remus returned the kiss as he accepted the flowers. He pulled back to smell them, “Anemones, my favourites,” his smile now genuine.

Mark grinned, “Of course," he replied as if receiving one's favourite flowers were a daily occurrence, "I remembered.”

Remus moved from the doorway to let the other man into the living room. “Have a seat, make yourself comfortable,” he said pointing in the general direction of the sofa, “Watch some telly, I’ll just finish up dinner.” Without waiting for a response he went back into the kitchen.

Remus put the flowers in a vase with water and smiled as he breathed in their scent again. His smile turned wistful, almost painful, as he lightly touched the petals of one of the flowers a last time and turned to set up dinner. As he gathered plates and some cutlery, Remus thought back to when he’d met Mark.

After Sirius’ death, Remus needed to escape. He had gone to Dumbledore who suggested that maybe he should take a little time off from the Order to deal with his grief. Remus saw a chance to try and forget and since then, with a couple of magically falsified documents, he’d been living in the muggle world as a teacher at a local primary school.

Remus could still remember how his breath hitched when he first met Mark. The dark-haired man had come in for a parent-teacher meeting with his nephew Brian, who’d been giving Remus a bit of trouble. Mark had introduced himself as Brian’s uncle and apologised for the boy’s parents who were unable to make it, explaining that they had sent him in as their replacement. Remus had just smiled back, and tried not to think of the other man’s resemblance to Sirius. He still didn’t know how he managed to get through the meeting in a somewhat professional manner, considering he had to fight the urge to cry and flirt at the same time. But he must have done something, as Mark had called him later that night, confessing that he’d gotten the number from Brian’s parents. Since then, they’d been together almost all the time. Remus had lost himself in this new interest, steadily ignoring the growing nagging feeling in his gut telling him he was a complete fraud.

Remus sighed as he moved a covered dish of chicken fried rice into the dining area. Unfortunately, as nagging feelings go, they tend to keep nagging until one does something about them. After the last full moon - thankfully with Wolfsbane that Dumbledore had Snape send - Remus had decided to end their short-lived relationship. Mark deserved someone who was completely honest and truthful to him, someone human. He definitely didn’t need someone running from himself. Remus promised himself again that he would break it off tonight, during dinner; maybe after.

A pair of strong arms embraced him from behind and Remus had to force the grimace off his face. He shrugged out of the hug and circled the table placing the spoons and plates and ignoring the hurt and confused blue eyes staring at him. He sighed inwardly and lifted his head to look up at Mark.

“Sorry,” He smiled in what he hoped, was a placating manner, “I’ve had an off day. The kids were crazy today.”

Mark smiled back, but the concern lingered in his eyes, “It’s alright,” he held out his arms and Remus, reluctantly but not showing it, sank into the embrace and let himself be held, “You’ve had a rough day.” Remus felt a soft kiss placed on his hair, “I can’t imagine doing what you do and actually liking it.”

Remus chuckled dryly, “Well who says I like it?” He pulled back and gestured at the table, “Have a seat.”

The dark haired man moved to sit down and Remus went to sit across from him. “I don’t think you like it, I think you love it.”

Remus looked up from serving the food at the other man’s words, “I don’t see how you can make that assumption. I’m stressed most of the time, and the kids rarely give as much effort as they should. How can I possibly like that?”

Mark just smiled, “Because I’ve seen you talk about them, and I said you love it, not like it. Teaching is your calling Remus,” he reached for the sandy-haired man’s hand; “You and I both know it.”

Remus forced a smile and tried to ignore that nagging feeling again; maybe he would tell him after dinner.

-x-

The pillow over his head was not working. Neither did sleeping upside down, on his back, on his stomach, on his side; nothing worked. His only other option was to gouge his eyes out, see if that killed it. With his luck, it wouldn’t. Just a painful experience he was to relive; an eternal nightmare.

He removed the pillow from his head and flung it to the floor. He sat up and placed his feet firmly on the floor, as if to ground himself, then with a deep breath he pushed himself off the large bed and went to stand by the large window in his room. The gardens were peaceful and the fairies flitted in and out of the bushes, making it seem like little balls of lights were bouncing from flower to flower.

With a sigh the young man put a silk robe on and left his chambers. He made his way to the East Wing of the large manor house nodding to portraits of his ancestors on the way. His walk became a brisk stride as he realised he'd unconsciously gone towards his father’s study.

He stood in front of the door, his hand on the knob, but not turning it. There were no locking charms, as Lucius Malfoy didn’t really expect any of his family to intrude on his privacy. This thought caused a snort from the young man, Lucius Malfoy probably didn’t expect to be placed in Azkaban, but there he was.

He turned the knob, entering and closing the door behind him. He was immediately faced by a pair of steel grey eyes piercing down at him. He recovered himself and nodded curtly to his grandfather’s portrait. The blond looked around at the familiar surroundings; the study was decorated in variations of exotic dark woods accented with dark greens. He breathed in the light scent of rosewood as he circled his father’s large desk. He sat in the comfortable chair behind it and leaned back, placing his arms on the arm rest. Closing his eyes he tried to picture his father behind the desk - his deliberate cold and subtle movements. Draco pictured his father reading various important documents, saw Lucius at his desk plotting his way into the recesses of the Ministry and trying to rule world. The blond smirked at the thought of his father ruling the world, doomed was the word that came to mind; for the world or his father, he couldn't decide.

A voice, like cold platinum, so much like his father's interrupted his musings.

“Young Draconis.” The young aristocrat opened his eyes with a start, and looked around the room. After a moment’s thought, he turned in his chair to look up at the portrait.

“Grandfather,” He replied with a respectful bow of his head.

The man in the painting nodded in response, “My son, he is still in prison?”

Draco nodded, “Yes, sir.”

The elder Malfoy shifted his gaze to a corner of the room. Draco inferred that to be the end of their conversation. He closed his eyes trying to block the thoughts of his father in Azkaban, but it seemed that his grandfather wasn’t finished.

“What are you doing about it?”

The blond opened his eyes again and turned back to the painting. “What am I doing about it?” He tilted his head, “What can I do about it? My father, Lord Malfoy, is in prison; for being a Death Eater. No,” he raised his finger to interrupt whatever his grandfather was about to say, “No. Not for being a death eater, otherwise he’d have been imprisoned long before, but for getting caught.”

Abraxas Malfoy narrowed his eyes, the only movement on his otherwise stoic face, “You didn’t answer my question.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “What am I supposed to do about it?”

The older man lifted his head slightly so it appeared as if he was staring down an inferior being, “Malfoy's have a duty, an obligation to family and name.”

Draco bristled at the tone, the same his father often used to scold him for some un-Malfoyish action, “My father ...” Draco began but was cut off.

“Your father forgot. In his quest for power he forgot his upbringing, in spite of his arguments to the contrary. From what he told me of this man who fancies himself a Dark Lord,” Abraxas Malfoy spat the name, “he wasn’t serving his better interests. While he was bowing and groveling to this imbecile, the Malfoy name was losing its prestige.” His eyes narrowed again. “You will recover the name Malfoy. You will restore this family to its former dignity.”

Draco just stared at the painting. “And just how do you suppose I do that?”

Abraxas smirked, “Well you are a Malfoy, aren’t you?” Draco nodded wondering where in the world this was going. “Remember your upbringing. My son is not a fool, and he must have taught you the Malfoy way, even if he did act a fool in his decisions. Family above all else, young Malfoy.” He nodded curtly to his grandson and left the painting leaving an empty study, much like the one Draco was in now.

“Family above all else,” he repeated his grandfather’s words to himself. He breathed out lightly through his mouth, placing his hands on the varnished surfaces of the desk. He closed his eyes again and muttered the words to himself like a mantra as if clarity would come from repetition.

Surprisingly, it did.

An icy calm washed over him, he could feel it freezing all the doubt and fear he had, like a well aimed Malfoy gaze sweeping a crowd into submission. He knew what he had to do, it's a shame it took a painting to remind him.

He opened his eyes; an onlooker would say they were dead and cold, but if one knew him well they would see the mercury moving in his eyes, calculating and deliberate.

He stood up gracefully, the full weight of the Malfoy name on his shoulders and strode to the door. Before leaving he turned to the empty room. “Family above all else.” He paused, as if waiting for an affirmation from the room, but none came. He nodded at no one in particular and left his father’s study, closing the door behind him.

HD

The scorching sun blazed baking his already tanned skin. He ignored the heat focusing on the softening earth as he moved through it with strong fingers, tucking the little green seedlings into their new home. His mind began to wander as the task became repetitive.

The young man thought of the past year; how much he'd grown, how much he lost. The pain was still fresh. In some ways losing his godfather was worse than being orphaned as a toddler. As much as it hurt, he had never known his parents - save from snippets he got from those who knew them, and that was all subjective and biased on their part. His godfather on the other hand, had been there for him when he could, had talked with him, laughed with him. Harry had just found him; but with all good things that happened to him, fate - currently playing the role of the batshit bastard named Voldemort - either tainted them or snatched them away.

With his godfather had gone whatever was left of his youth, with it had gone a lot of the light he once had. Harry remembered the feeling of possession by ultimate evil. Yes, he'd fought it, even weakened it, but for a moment past the pain, he almost gave in. If his friends hadn't been in danger, he'd have let it win. Let it take over; sink into the dark power, obsolete emptiness, free from humanity, pain, guilt, love.

And as he dug his fingers deeper into the warm soil, Harry wished he could meld with it completely, disappear into a brown nothingness, and kill the pain he felt with every breath. He realised what he needed to get himself out of that particular funk, he just didn't know how to get it. How did one find direction in life anyway? Do you pick up a muggle compass and head north, or do you swish your wand and perform a Point Me charm on your soul?

Harry growled angrily to himself, at his pointless thoughts. He was stuck in yet another boring summer with the Dursley's and irregular polite communication from Ron and Hermione, not exactly life changing - epiphany inducing stuff, but it was his. Hoping for something greater was pointless and only served to cause more pain for what he didn't have and more for what he lost.

-x-x-

A/N: I apologise for the Gary Stu, he won't show up again, I promise.