Chapter Text
“The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.”
9-year-old Draco woke with a start.
Heart pounding, he wiped some of the sweat from his face while trying to control his erratic breathing. He rested both his palms against his eyes to expel the images still flashing before him, futile though he knew it to be. How could he ever forget those scenes?
Seeing his proud father cowering in fear before a hooded figure, watching his wand snapped before him. Seeing his fearless mother, spending her days slinking in the shadows of her own home and avoiding the eyes of those around her. And seeing others, too. Seeing children no older than himself, fighting that darkness and emerging triumphant. But not without losses. Never without losses.
But the worst of all seemed to be Draco himself. He watched himself from what felt like the eyes of a third party, catching glimpses from the outside. Watched as he attacked the weak and mocked the less fortunate, or even worse, the worthy, for their courage and their convictions. He watched himself wither away to a spineless wretch while allowing his home and family to be overtaken by no better than common criminals and genocidal psychopaths. He seemed to do all this in the name of being a good “Malfoy”, but from the outside, it seemed clear that none of the noble traits he was hoping to exemplify were evident in his behavior. He looked like a coward, and he woke after every dream trying to dispel the feeling of dread in his chest.
He had been having these dreams for weeks, ever since he had exhibited his first signs of accidental magic. Draco was considered something of a late bloomer magically, only showing signs of his magic at 9, and even then, doing no more than changing the colours of the lilacs in the garden to flash different shades of blue and purple. But that hardly seemed to be the strangest thing about Draco thus far, so his parents hadn't paid it much mind.
A naturally inquisitive child, Draco had already read his way through half the manor library and was already eager to help his parents in their endeavors around the property. His mother, an avid magical researcher, often had her son read through some of the more arcane archives to locate the passages that would could prove important to her latest work, while his father would quiz him on the layout of the estate and the contracts of the tenants while they would make their daily rounds. He was bright and tenacious, and they couldn’t be more proud.
But that did not mean he was without his quirks. It was long passed the days when Lucius or Narcissa would react with more than a quirked brow at their son’s attempts to fashion clothing for the garden gnomes that “befit their station as Malfoy Gnomes”, or at his codified plans to test their house elves’ specialized magic and see just where its limits might lie (“Perhaps they should try apparating into a Gringotts’ vault for instance?”). This was part of his charm, and his parents treated him with the indulgence that the only child and heir to an illustrious house would expect.
But the dreams were not usual.
That first night, he woke screaming after watching an older version of himself face a wizened wizard with a long white beard in some kind of tower while speaking nonsense and threatening to murder him. He was saying he had no choice - that he needed to do this or he would be killed, along with the rest of his family. It made no sense, but it felt so eerily real, and it worried him.
His parents had arrived quickly on the scene, but he had been too afraid to explain what he had seen and too nervous to explain the feeling in his chest. After administering a calming draught along with a dreamless sleep potion, they stayed with him until he had settled for the night, but they found they could not help but worry when the scene repeated itself for the next 3 nights. They watched as their friendly and self-assured son seemed to recede before them as the days passed by. He became less confident and more skittish. He seemed to flinch at shadows these days and spent what felt like an unhealthy amount of time writing things down in his journal.
He was incredibly protective of said journal these days. He had used some of his birthday money to have the goblins at Gringotts place several powerful privacy charms, as well as a never-ending extension charm on the book, so it would last indefinitely. But what did he imagine he would need all that space for, they wondered?
While his parents watched and worried, Draco was trying to make sense of it all. These were dreams, and they still retained the hazy quality of a dream when he woke. He started recording as much as he could remember of the dreams to commit their memory to posterity and try to gain some clarity on what he was seeing before it would inevitably fade from his mind.
Many of his dreams seemed to focus on the tenets of light and dark: Good and Evil. He was having a hard time reconciling what he was seeing with his current reality. From what he was seeing, his actions seemed pretty set on the dark side of events, while he watched visions of others on the light, fighting those he loved at every turn. People he had never met, or perhaps would never meet? They filled his nights as he tried to understand what placed his family so firmly on what he could only describe as the ‘wrong’ side of things. But how could that be?
Were these memories? Visions? At worst, they felt like horrible premonitions or maybe even signs of his own madness.
Desperate for answers but terrified of what he might find, he receded further and further into his shell.
Lucius and Narcissa watched on in helpless frustration until they could no longer hope that things would get better without further intervention. After 3 weeks of watching the dark shadows grow under their son’s silvery eyes, they sat him down in the study to try and uncover the source of his newfound terrors.
Draco had always felt a sense of peace in the downstairs study. While his father and mother had their rooms designated for their own individual research and solitude, it was in the downstairs study that the family would gather to spend time together. The dark mahogany interior was lit up by the three magical fireplaces, each settled in another corner of the room and charmed to exude soft light, and only enough warmth to stay comfortable instead of unbearable. The noticeable absence of any family portraits on the walls lent an air of privacy that the rest of the manor might have been lacking, and the shelves were enchanted to retrieve any book in their possession or from any property linked to their own.
It was there that the trio would meet every Christmas to open gifts, settled together on the warm navy hearth rug before one of the fireplaces. It was at the the eastern corner, that Narcissa would spread her latest research project on the large baroque desk that had once belonged to Alberta Black, revealing the newest details of her research and regaling the men in her life with tales of the incompetence she faced in procuring any records from the more than usually inept ministry record officials. It was where Lucius read the daily prophet each morning, without fail, while Draco would sit on the plush stool at his feet and pester his father to take him to his next meeting, not always without success.
But that evening, Draco was looking pinched and drawn as he looked up at his parents’ worried faces. It was well past the time he should have been asleep, and while he was dressed for sleep, the ruffled state of his hair showed that he had been up for some time, unconsciously running his hands through his hair as was his habit when anxious.
“Darling,” Narcissa began softly, “We understand that you feel like you cannot tell us what these constant nightmares are about. But I am afraid we will have to insist.” The soft quality of her voice was firm but comforting. She made eye contact with her husband before he crouched down to be at a level with Draco, who was seated in a too-big armchair and desperately trying to avoid eye contact.
“Dragon,” He coaxed quietly. This had Draco snapping his eyes up in attention. His father had not called him Dragon since he was no more than 6, and he had insisted that he was too old for such childish nicknames. “Perhaps if you explain the nature of these dreams, we can do our best to help you feel better about them, even if you feel you cannot give us all the details. We cannot help you as things stand, and we cannot continue in this state - it is not healthy.” He held eye contact with his son and tried to pour every ounce of his fatherly feeling into the gaze. Lucius was not always the most sensitive of men, but he did love his son, and he could not stand to see him suffering the way he was. With Narcissa’s hand resting on his shoulder, he tilted his head to the side, trying to convey their unity in this matter while encouraging Draco to open up.
The 9-year-old was the first to break eye contact, letting out a shaky breath. He then seemed to start and stop himself, not quite sure where to begin in explaining.
“Well, you see… No, you won’t have seen, will you? But I can see - that is, I think it is what I have been seeing. It's not always so clear, and they aren’t written in stone, I think…” His voice was gaining frustration as his little boy hands began swinging around his face, seeming to bat away imaginary flies or unnecessary thoughts. Lucius and Narcissa shared another troubled glance before she dropped down to her knees beside her husband. This in and of itself would usually cause a general stir, as the lady of the manor was not in the habit to allow any of her garments to be sullied, but these were extenuating circumstances. Narcissa took a hold of one of his hands, pausing their manic movement, and looked him directly in the eye while taking slow breaths, encouraging him to do the same in response.
After a moment, Draco calmed enough to gain more control over his speech. Unfortunately, as he tried to explain his recent dreams, his parents’ worries were hardly laid to rest. He explained about the shadowy figures, in dark robes, that he saw inexplicably ruling over the manor. He told them about some of the figures fighting for the side of light he could see, even if he could not recognize having seen them before. He spoke of the overarching darkness, and he shivered as he tried to describe the way it felt to be shrouded in that darkness.
He did not tell them about his weakness or the times he had seen them cowering before that hooded figure. He could not breach his shame and fear to tell them about those.
“I can’t tell if these are things that are going to happen or might happen or just things that could happen! But then why am I seeing people I have never met? And how can I tell what is real now? I look around, and I see what is there in front of me, of course, but there are moments… It's hard to explain, but it's like-
“You can see the shadows of your dreams, shading reality”. Narcissa’s voice had taken on a curiously controlled tone, and Lucius's head snapped, turning in time to take in his wife’s ever-paling demeanor. Quirking an eyebrow in surprise, he missed the immediate change in their son, who was watching his mother with a surprised but hopeful expression.
“Yes, exactly!” He seemed almost desperate for answers in the face of his hysteria, but his mother stood quickly on what seemed to be shaky legs before she turned and faced the wall.
“Have you heard of this happening before?” Draco tried to push her into explaining, his childish voice retaining his innocence but still fraught with the frustration of his earlier statements.
“Just once.” Narcissa woodenly responded.
Lucius knew that tone. It was the voice his wife used when confronting difficult truths, usually rooted in a past she hoped to forget. He knew that nothing more constructive could be discussed with Draco still in the room, but not wishing to worry the boy, he stood quickly while he snapped his fingers for one of the house-elves. With a CRACK, one of his older and more trusted elves appeared.
“Draco, thank you for explaining. Your mother and I will discuss this further in private for now. Blinky, please take young master Draco to the Planetarium for some evening instruction as a treat.” It was one of the only things that seemed to take Draco’s mind off his troubles these days, and he would spend hours not journaling in the East Wing, learning about the movements of the celestial bodies and charting future courses.
Blinky, one of the more ancient elves in the Malfoy’s service, was very helpful in this pursuit as she could remember many of the more notable astronomical movements first hand. She nodded in acceptance and took hold of Draco’s small hand before he found he could dissent, apparating loudly out of the study with another CRACK.
Lucius turned to face his wife while considering her now rigid posture, as she held her arms and surveyed the room around her with an expression that bordered on broken. He could not remember ever seeing her like this. Not since they had married, anyway.
“Darling?” He asked, while approaching her quietly. It was only when he touched her shoulder that Narcissa suddenly faced him, her expression unreadable as she read the questions on his own.
“When have you ever heard of these kinds of dreams before?” He asked. “ I have never heard anything of the like described in any texts or archives and -”
“That is because your family has never been cursed with The Sight.” She interrupted, before clamping her mouth shut again. Now it was Lucius who began to pale in understanding.
“Who?” His voice was unbearably quiet for a man used to pushing ahead to get his way. The room was silent aside from the soft crackling of the flames in the fireplace as he watched his wife grappling internally before she finally relented.
“My cousin, Regulus.” Lucius drew back as though struck, but once she had begun, Narcissa found she could no longer stay silent.
“They say that The Sight can be traced in the Black family back to our first conception. Some have called it a gift, but we have always known there is an equal measure of curse about it. My Aunt Walburga is certainly evidence of that, although the madness only struck her in her later years.”
“Madness?” Lucius interrupted. Not much was known in Magical society about The Sight, only that it was one of the rarest displays of magic for any user to exhibit and that eccentricity invariably seemed to follow in its wake. Or worse in some cases. Narcissa nodded almost absently while she continued, not seeming to hear him.
“Regulus was not so young when we began hearing of his dreams. It started in Hogwarts. I remember some of his roommates complaining about how his nightmares were keeping them up, and he seemed to become sickly and more withdrawn throughout his fifth year. I thought at first it was the growing distance between his family as Sirius moved out of the ancestral home, but he confided in me that summer. He was having visions.”
She shivered here, remembering that conversation all those years ago, still hearing the desperation in her favorite cousin’s voice as he tried to explain his night terrors.
“He tried to suppress them. He took Dreamless Sleep potions until they stopped working altogether. Then he decided to try and ignore the premonitions, to act in spite of them. I knew they were pressing on him more each year, and he would go curiously quiet sometimes, especially when discussing the Dark Lord’s plans for the future. It almost seemed like he knew something was going to prevent those events, but then, he probably did.” Lucius remembered the fate of the younger Black brother and swallowed nervously before asking,
“What happened?” His wife’s expression became cloudier, darker somehow, before she answered.
“I think it all became too much for him. Trying to ignore the warnings. I never wanted to admit it, but I could see that same curious expression every time he looked at the Dark Lord, and I knew he had lost confidence in his purpose. Whether that was because of the visions or despite them, I could not say. But I think his final acts are evidence that he could not outrun what he was seeing. He could not ignore the warnings any longer.” She closed her eyes in remembrance of all that was lost in the war, while Lucius watched her with trepidation, trying to understand what all this might mean for Draco.
“What do you mean by ‘Warnings’? Why should that invoke such pain if they are merely visions of what is to come?” Narcissa opened her eyes, turning to face him more directly.
“It is not that simple. The Sight is not so kind. One is not just shown what is destined to happen. Rather, one is shown only that which can be changed." She paused, trying to explain it more clearly. "They are premonitions more than windows into the future. But while you may know that what you see can be changed, you can never know what is needed to change the events.” She hugged her arms more closely to her body as she continued. “All you can do is place your trust in the warning and hope you can ultimately do what is needed to better the future, while relying on your own intuitive feeling to guide you, rather than your understanding. That is what makes it a curse, and “ Here she turned again to face the wall, “That is what causes madness in so many who have The Sight. People like my aunt and -” she closed her eyes again, looking like she was trying to shield herself from what she had to say next, “my sister.”
Lucius was stunned.
“Bella had The Sight?” He tried to remember what he could about his wife’s vibrant and vicious older sister. At one time, she had been meant for his bride, but that had been before he and Narcissa had met and come to their own understanding. Bellatrix had always frightened him a bit, and her time at the side of the Dark Lord had done nothing to calm those fears. Narcissa shook her head in response.
“She only had glimpses. Feelings. Never anything close to what Regulus described, but it is not uncommon in the Black family. Unfortunately, she could not reconcile those feelings with what she thought she had to do. In many ways, I think she overcompensated, becoming fanatical in her devotion to prove herself, despite her feelings. It is the contradictory nature of one's feelings and thoughts that leads to madness. Regulus had not committed himself the same way as Bella, so I don't think he ever faced madness the same way. But Lucius,” She faced him again, the worry never more evident in her eyes than at that moment. “Even Regulus, who was the strongest seer in our family in over a century, did not start having dreams until he was 16. And that is only the first manifestation before a seer begins to have waking visions. Draco is having them at 9!”
Husband and wife stared at one another, trying to reconcile their tenacious, persistent, curious child with a seer more powerful than any seen in over 100 years.
“We can keep him on the potions. Maybe some healers could suggest a regiment to help suppress the visions?” Lucius desperately supplied.
“No!” Narcissa was wild in her denial. “Suppression is what exacerbates the madness! The only known cases of a seer healthily maintaining The Sight is when they embraced it, heeding its warnings. But Lucius,” She bit her lip, trying to make him understand Draco's dreams meant for them. It took him a moment, but then he did.
Lucius could not help the hard swallow and the cold sweat he could feel forming at his brow as he considered their options. Draco had only told them a little of his dreams, but just from the barest hints, many seemed to revolve around their service to the Dark Lord. Of his returning and the war beginning anew. But if these dreams were premonitions, boding ill tidings…? If he could only see that which could be changed?
“Narcissa,” He took a hold of his now shaking wife with both hands supporting her at the arms as he called for her attention. “If these truly are warnings, then we will do what is needed to circumvent these events from transpiring. And if that means'' He swallowed again, glad that there were no family portraits present to react to his next admission. “That we forgo the dark arts to keep our son whole, then that is what we will do.”
He held his wife’s steady gaze while controlling his breathing, trying to exude an aura of calm before she seemed to fold into his arms, obviously relieved. He stroked her shining hair, eyes closed while she whispered,
“Thank you,” her voice trembled but gained strength as she continued, “I have seen what the Dark Arts have done to those members of my family who embraced them, especially the ones touched with The Sight. Draco’s dreams just confirm my worst fears for a future where the Dark Lord returns, and we are cast back into that darkness alongside him. “ She stepped back, still holding onto her husband for support as she looked him directly in the eyes. “Promise me, Lucius. Promise me that Draco’s well-being will always come before any other allegiance. Swear it to me.”
Lucius met her gaze before he held out his wand hand in the position of an oath. There was no third party to witness an unbreakable vow, and they could not risk inviting someone else into this secret, so the verbal oath would have to do.
“I swear it. Should it mean that I take up arms with blood traitors and mudbloods, to preserve my son’s well being, so shall I do.”
Narcissa repeated the oath, holding her wand hand out in agreement and promising the same. “Although, “ she allowed herself a small smile, ”We might have to put a little effort into not falling back on those kinds of slurs in the future should we hope to maintain this change of heart.” Lucius grimaced in acknowledgement, causing a small laugh to bubble out of her chest, the first of the evening. He allowed himself to quirk his lip in response before asking,
“What shall we do about Draco now? What is the best way to handle his visions?” Narcissa considered this before answering.
“I will have to do some more extensive research, but knowing a little already about some of the prominent seers of the Black family, we should encourage him to let us know when he has a dream or vision. He will not always feel comfortable confiding in us, especially if we are featured in his visions, but the action of discussing his feelings will help him establish his intuition more firmly, which can only help him in embracing The Sight.” She shook her head before continuing. “The fact that he is already having dreams at 9 points to the fact he will be a very powerful seer, so I would not venture to guess when he will begin predicting full prophecies. We might want to encourage him not to broadcast this fact about himself to others, but he will hardly be able to hide it forever.”
It was well known that any who purported to have The Sight faced a mixture of scorn and disbelief. This was in addition to those who sought to abuse that power for their gains. The news that such a powerful seer had presented could prove too tempting to many a wizard to ignore, especially at the Ministry, where they were always on the lookout for powerful magic users.
“Do you think we could avoid telling him he has The Sight? Perhaps he need not know?” Lucius proposed but immediately shrank back from his wife’s withering stare in response.
“We can hardly hide this fact from him. Knowledge is power, you know that, and not knowing what is happening to him can only hurt Draco in the long run. We must tell him, and hopefully, as he becomes more aware of his Sight, he will be ready to deal with his visions as they come. We must tell him - it is what is best for Draco.” She ended decisively while her husband sheepishly nodded in agreement.
“For Draco.”
—-
His parents found him in the planetarium, charting a new worrying course that Mars was setting across the heavens. They watched him with indulgence before interrupting his work and suggesting he join them back in the study to discuss his dreams and explain what they thought was happening.
He looked between his parents and noticed a newfound resolve and understanding that seemed to exist between them. But more than that, over the last few weeks, a feeling of unsettled caution seemed to lodge in his chest every time he looked at his parents. He was hardly conscious of the feeling, but it was only now that he could recognise it for what it was. It was the same feeling that would agitate and quiver within him every time he thought about the darkness or the hooded figures of his dreams.
It was only now that he could recognize the feeling because as he looked between his parents, both returning his searching gaze with one of profound understanding and love, he realized that the feeling had disappeared.
He was once again feeling safe and secure in his parents' presence, and so he knew without any doubt that things would be alright moving forward.
He just had a feeling.