Hi! I know, I'm back. I know, it's been forever. I left Wattpad because the fandoms here got really toxic and I didn't want to be a part of that, so I moved to greener pastures. I still write fanfiction, I just mainly focus on the next gen now, so writing this will be very interesting. People really wanted me to continue this, I got so many emails about it, so I will. Not super often, but often enough. I did have a full plot figured out for this, and I do somewhat remember it, but yeah. I'm back-ish. Enjoy!

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Draco opened his eyes to find a rather suspicious sight. He was inside a house. But, it most certainly wasn't the Manor. And if he was being completely honest, he didn't know whether he should be terrified or thankful that he wasn't at the Manor. On one hand he was away from Lucius, but on the other hand he had no idea where he was or how he got there. 

He tried to think back to the last thing he remembered. He had been dragged out to the garden, and thrown into a hole after a body binding spell had been placed on him, and Lucius started to bury him alive. So, if he was supposed to be suffocating in a shallow grave, why wasn't he? His first thought was that he was in the afterlife. Maybe he'd be sent to Purgatory and could repent for his sins and make it to Heaven? Doubtful, he was more likely in Hell. Except, Hell didn't usually smell like chocolate.

"Good, you're awake," Draco jumped when he heard the voice of a man. "Sorry, your house-elf brought you here. You've been passed out for a while."

Draco turned to see a man around Lucius' age, with salt and pepper hair and grey-blue eyes. He placed a tray of chocolate biscuits on the coffee table, and offered Draco a kind smile.

"Would you like something to drink?" He asked. "A shower? Maybe a change of clothes?"

Draco looked down and noticed he was in fact caked in dirt and soil. Ordinarily he would have been disgusted and appalled by the mere thought of being in this state, let alone being seen in such a state, but something told him he should trust this man. This man was being kind, even if Draco looked like a homeless man days from death.

"I'm sorry, are you mute?" The man asked. "Hard of hearing?" He raised his voice a little, before pointing to his ears. "Deaf?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak but he couldn't will himself to say anything. He sighed and shook his head.

"Mute?" 

Draco frowned and went to speak, but ended up just coughing violently. The man offered him a tissue, and he coughed into it until the onslaught subsided. Turns out there was dirt in his lungs, yay.

"How did...?" The man looked at Draco in wonder. "What happened?"

Draco folded up the tissue and shrugged. The man had offered him a shower, and he wanted to take him up on that offer. He was disgusting, and filthy, and he desperately needed a shower if he even hoped to feel anywhere close to himself again. Maybe once he was showered and changed he wouldn't feel so strange, and he might be able to explain himself at least a little bit to this man. He had technically just showed up unannounced with the assistance of a house-elf, apparently.

Draco went to open his mouth but still didn't seem to be able to speak. He sighed. This was going to be embarrassing. He lifted his arms and fluttered his fingers in an attempt to convey that he wanted to shower, but he wasn't sure how easily that desire came across.

"Of course," the man stood and gestures for Draco to follow. "You can borrow some old clothes of my wife's that she was going to donate. Do you have a preferred colour?"

Draco looked at his own clothes, and gestured to himself. He may have been covered in dirt, but it was pretty clear that he almost exclusively wore black and grey. 

"Right," the man nodded, and opened a door. "This is the bathroom. Let me get some clothes for you, and then you can put your old clothes in the washing machine. Or, give them to me and I'll put them in the washing machine, if you don't know what that is."

Draco nodded. He felt patronised. Sure, he legitimately had no clue what a washing machine was but he could make a pretty good guess. A machine, that washed your clothes for you. He didn't know much about muggle machinery, and how all of that worked, but he knew it was a thing that existed. And why was this guy using machines instead of magic anyway? The house-elf clearly knew this guy, so he had to be some kind of pureblood. Or was he like the Weasley's? Ew.

The man appeared a few minutes later with some clothes in hand. "These were about the only black clothes my wife had in the donations box," the man placed them in Draco's hand and Draco finally looked at him. Actually looked at him. With his grey-blue eyes. That's how the house-elf knew him. "If you need me I'll be in the kitchen." 

He left and closed the door.

Draco swallowed. He was probably being ridiculous. Lucius had told him the man was dead, there was no way he could have survived unless he wasn't a muggle. And he was married! Draco's biological Father was supposed to be dead in the ground with no way of contacting Draco. Not living a blissfully ignorant life with a new wife and barely an acknowledgement for what his son might be going through! This man ... he couldn't be Draco's biological Father. He wasn't Draco's biological Father. Draco refused to believe it.

Draco decided to distract himself. He got out of his filthy clothes and got into the shower. The water was nice and warm, the soaps helped him feel much less disgusting, and he could finally start to process everything. Lucius wasn't his father, some dead muggle was. He was a halfblood. He ... he didn't know what to think. He felt ... he didn't know how he felt. It would have been one thing if his Mother had cheated with a pureblood wizard Draco had never met, but a muggle? It was a lot. He lost the prestige of Malfoy, but Malfoy didn't have much prestige anymore anyway, but now he wasn't even a pureblood. He was filthier than the Weasley family. Filthier than the Longbottom's. Filthier than the Macmillan's. He was on the same level as Finnigan.

He knew in a logical sense that technically none of this was supposed to matter. Technically blood status was about as important as hair colour. But he still sort of, deep down at least, believed that he had something. He had something making him better than everyone else around him. Something making him superior to those that had hurt him. But none of that was real. It was all an illusion. It was all a lie. He didn't have anything anymore. He was nothing, a nobody. And he'd once been revered as one of the purest of pureblood's, a title he'd been proud of not too long ago. It just ... it was a lot to suddenly have that all ripped away from him.

He washed his hair, almost screaming in disgust when he found some small bugs had taken up residence there. He wanted to be sick. The water that dripped off him looked dark and murky, almost like it was mud and not just dirty water. It took a long time for the water to turn colourless, and he couldn't help but still feel filthy. His purity seemed to be something he was being consistently robbed of. And Merlin he hated how much it hurt. He hated that finding out he was a halfblood hurt. He was supposed to be a better person, he'd been trying to be a better person, but he wasn't really any different was he? Not if he still cared so much about his own blood status.

He got out of the shower and dried himself off, before looking at the clothes he'd been given. Some damaged muggle trousers and a shirt that didn't look like it had been made properly. Where were the buttons? How was he supposed to wear a shirt if he couldn't got it on? It wasn't like a sweater or turtleneck, the fabric wasn't stretchy. How was he supposed to put this on? He put the jean trousers on first, which were a lot more snug than he was used to trousers being. And also damaged only in the front, with giant rips at the knees and some on his shins and thighs. It was strangely symmetrical. The shirt still baffled him. He tried to put it on like a sweater, which did work somehow, but he had been very scared of ripping it.

He grabbed his dirtied clothes and stepped out into the kitchen, where he saw the man filling a kettle to make some tea presumably. Draco sat down on one of the stools beneath the kitchen counter, and watched as the man placed the kettle on the stove and lit the fire. There was no way this man was Draco's biological father. Draco's biological father was dead. But ... he wanted to understand. He was curious.

"How did you find out about wizards?" Draco cleared his throat, having not used his voice in a while.

"You can talk," the man smiled. "I dated a witch something like sixteen, maybe more, years ago."

"Does your wife know?"

"She's a squib," he man tapped an image of the two, with some other people in the photos.

"You have kids?" Draco didn't know why that thought made him want to cry.

"Two girls, twins," the man looked at the picture of them with a gentle smile and such paternal love in his grey-blue eyes. "Lizzie and Ollie."

Draco swallowed. "You said you dated a which something like, sixteen years ago?"

"My memories not the best, could have been longer," he shrugged. "Why?"

"Was her name Narcissa?"

He finally asked. He felt like he already had pretty solid evidence that this guy was his biological father, but he needed to ask. Needed to hear this man say it. He needed to be certain.

"Yeah," the man looked at him confused before something seemed to click in his head. "Are you her son? I didn't think she was ever going to have kids. She said it wasn't something she was planning to do."

"You don't," Draco swallowed, "you didn't know about me?"

"No, why would I—" his eyes widened. His grey-blue eyes. The ones that looked just like Draco's. "You ... you're ... oh my God."

Lucius was a fucking liar. He said this man had known. In fact, he'd said that the muggle Narcissa had cheated on him with had been disgusted by what she was. Lucius had said he threw Draco's mother out and cast aside the child she was carrying as soon as he found out. Lucius had said this man didn't want him, hadn't wanted anything to do with him. He had said this man was dead, Draco had seen Lucius stab him, and yet ... none of it was true. He was right there, and he knew what Draco was, and he wasn't scared. But he hadn't even known Draco existed.

"What's your name?"

"Draco."

"Hi, Draco," the man swallowed. "I'm Jacob. Did she tell you anything about me? Why have you only now appeared?"

"She didn't tell me anything," Draco jumped when he heard the kettle start screaming and Jacob pulled it off the heat and started preparing some tea. "I figured it out on my own. My F...— the man that raised me, told me you were dead when I confronted him."

"The blond guy that Narcissa was planning to run away from?" Jacob asked solemnly. "She never escaped? You had to live with him?"

Draco felt his hands shaking as Jacob pushed a cup of fresh tea towards him. His eyes were stinging. Fuck, he really wanted to cry.

"Are the two of you okay?"

"She's dead and the last thing a remember before waking up here was him burying me alive," Draco blurted out before started to tremble. He was trying so hard not to cry. He also felt like he was possibly failing.

He couldn't meet Jacob's eyes. Why was he even telling this man? This was ... this was meant to be his biological father and he just ... he didn't know what he was feeling. He wanted this man to look at him the same way he'd looked at the picture of his twin girls. He wanted this man to look at him the way Lucius had never. This was meant to be his biological father and Draco looked at the picture of this mans family with envy. They were smiling. Real smiles. They were a big happy family. It was all Draco had ever wanted in life.

Draco reached down to grab the cup of tea and felt a hand touch his shoulder. He jerked away from the contact in fear and knocked the cup over in the process. Piping hot tea spilt across the counter and splashed into his lap.

"Shit!" Draco got up and pressed a hand to his thigh. He so desperately wanted to cry now. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...."

"Hey it's okay," Jacob rounded the counter with some paper towel and started to clean the mess up. "It's okay, I'm not mad. No need to apologise. It's just a knocked over cup. I spill my tea all the time."

Draco felt his heart pounding in his chest and his breath kept getting caught in his throat. His thigh had been burned and now his trousers were wet. He felt like his eyes were turning into pools. Fuck! He couldn't cry over something as stupid as spilling a cup of tea!

"Here," Jacob stepped forward with some paper towel and went to help dry Draco's thigh off.

"No!" Draco swatted his hands away and jumped back, hitting the wall and his head. He finally let some tears start to fall and slid down the wall.

"You want to know where babies crime from?"

Draco practically screamed when he heard the voice of Lucius in his ears. He fucking hated that man with every fibre of his being. How could he do this? How could he possibly do any of this and not feel any remorse?

"Hey, it's okay, I'm not going to hurt you," Jacob had his hands out and slowly seemed to take another step forward.

Draco had to press a hand over his mouth to stop himself from screaming and scaring any neighbours. Unfortunately he couldn't hide that from Jacob. Jacob froze in place and slowly lowered his hands. He didn't seem to know what to do.

"Here's a demonstration!"

Draco screamed into his hand again and squirmed in place. He could feel Lucius' phantom hands and phantom mouth and he hated it. Why was this happening? What was this? It had happened before in the bathroom with Potter too. But it's wasn't a memory coming back to him. He was just re-experiencing it. Why? What was going on? Why was his brain doing this? Was he hallucinating? Had he finally gone mad?

"Draco, hey, focus on me," Jacob's voice was so sincere it hurt. Why did he have to be so nice? Why couldn't he have been horrible? It would have been so much easier if he'd been horrible. Draco wouldn't have to deal with all of the what if's of what his life would have been like if he'd known of this man. "Draco."

"Don't!" Draco screamed, he didn't know why. "Don't ... touch me."

"I won't, okay," Jacob lowered himself to be sitting on the ground like Draco. "I'm not going to touch you. But can you focus on me? On my voice? On my face?"

Draco looked at the man and he smiled lightly, but there was a sadness in his eyes. And ... pride? That was something he wasn't used to seeing on adults.

"Good," he nodded. "Do you want to tell me a bit about yourself? What's your favourite colour?"

"...Black. Or, maybe green."

Jacob's smile widened. "I quite like green myself. It's very nice colour. What about music? Do you have a favourite genre?"

Draco shrugged. "I quite like ... goth metal."

"Interesting. I never got much into alternative music, I much preferred country when I was younger. Although I do much prefer jazz nowadays. Do you have a favourite goth metal band?"

"I like ... The Closeted Boggarts. You won't know them, they're witches and wizards."

"Sounds interesting. Do like to read, write, draw, do sport?"

"I like reading," Draco took a deeper breath than he had been able to, which wasn't that deep admittedly, but it was something. "I got really into an author that wrote about the unknown horrors at the bottom of the ocean."

"Horror books," Jacob nodded. "Much braver than I am. I can't read horror otherwise I get too scared. Especially psychological horror. That stuff messes with my head. Props to you for being able to get through more than fifty pages without freaking out."

That sounded like praise. Something Draco hadn't received since he was, what? Fifteen? And he was eighteen now. And it was coming from his biological father. The man his mother had been planning to run away with him for. The man that almost ended up raising him. He could have had this the whole time? That ... that hurt. Why did it hurt? Receiving praise wasn't supposed to hurt.

"If you're really into horror I recommend H.P. Lovecraft," Jacob interrupted Draco's thoughts. "He's really famous for it. Invented a whole genre and everything."

"Sure, yeah, I might pick that up," Draco swallowed. 

"Any other interests or hobbies?"

"I play the piano," Draco added, thinking of the hobbies he'd actually enjoyed very much. "I'm also apparently quite skilled in fencing according to my instructor."

"Oh, that's cool," Jacob answered. "I play the piano too. Actually, I'm the music teacher at a local primary school, so I know a bit more than that, but piano has got to be one of my favourites. What's fencing like?"

"It's fun, I guess," Draco shrugged. "I did one time go to tap my opponent and accidentally hit them hard enough to cause a bruise. Guy deserved it though, he was being cocky about going undefeated his whole life."

"That's awesome," Jacob nodded with approval. "Did you ever do anything else like that? Archery, maybe?"

"Yes, but my instructor hated me."

"Why?"

"Missed the target and shot him in the foot."

"Oh, yep, that'll anger your archery instructor."

Draco couldn't help but laugh a little. Jacob rather seemed to like him. That made Draco happier than he thought possible. He was happy. It was a strange thing to realise. But that couldn't last. Because soon, Jacob's wife came home.

"Hey sweetie," she stopped and looked at Draco with surprise. "Who's this?"

Shit, was she going to kick him out? She might not like the son of Jacob's ex-lover coming here and invading her home. And her family. Should he leave?

"This is Draco," Jacob stood up and Draco followed suit, feeling self-conscious all of a sudden. "Draco, this is my wife, Gloria."

"It's lovely to meet you," Gloria held out a hand for Draco to take, still giving Jacob a confused look.

"It's nice to meet you to," Draco shook her hand and instantly regretted it. She wore a look of horror and grabbed his elbow.

"What is this?"

Draco was wearing short sleeves. His arms were out on display. Gloria was a squib. She'd know what the Dark Mark was. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

"Aren't you a bit young for a tattoo?" Jacob asked. "Oh, maybe not. Don't know the laws on that actually."

"Jacob," Gloria's grip and Draco's arm tightened as he tried to pull away.

"I can explain."

"This is the Dark Mark."

"Sounds ominous," Jacob shrugged. "But, Gloria, there are few things I think I should tell you about—"

"Jacob! The Dark Mark is the mark of Voldemort's followers! He was a wicked man that would kill people like me, and wanted people like you gone as well."

"That...," Jacob looked confused and stared at the arm for a moment. "But ... that doesn't make any sense."

"I want you out of my house," Gloria pushed Draco towards the entrance of the house.

Draco stumbled back and clinched his now free arm to his chest. Gloria looked angry and terrified. Suppose she had every right to be. Voldemort may be dead, but that didn't mean she had to forgive him for siding with the Dark Lord. She didn't owe him anything actually, even if she was married to Draco's biological father. She was scared because ... well, because he did side with the people that wanted her and everyone else like her dead. He'd made the wrong choices and this was just part of the consequences for that.

"How did you even get into my house?" Gloria turned to Jacob.

"A house-elf brought him here," Jacob tried to explain. "He was unconscious and covered in dirt. Gloria, I think we need to take him to a hospital, but he's also—"

"I don't care!" Gloria shouted. "I don't want Death-Eaters in my house or around my family. I had family die in the first war! Get out!"

Draco went to leave without question. 

"Draco, wait," Jacob went to grab Draco's arm but then yanked away as soon as he made contact.

Draco yanked his arm away from the touch and in a state of panic perhaps did the worst thing he could have done in this situation. He punched Jacob in the face and stumbled backwards to get away from him. He realised his mistake when Gloria stood in front Jacob and started trying to back away from Draco with a very similar sense of fear. 

"You are to leave, and not go anywhere near my family ever again!"

Draco nodded and ran out of the front door. 

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So, first chapter in something like ... three years? Maybe less, maybe more. I'm not actually all that certain of when I left things off here. But I hope this chapter made those that really wanted me to continue this happy. Thank you!

      - Turtlefreakakw2 <3