"You are never destroyed by anyone except yourself." –Friedrich Nietzsche

*

     "This has got to be one of the worst ideas I've ever heard," Darcy grumbles as Draco and she walk up the path leading to her parents' house. She's never been more nervous for something—not even a trial, perhaps because she knew the outcome to those—so she doesn't know what else to say.

  "Worse than trying to melt all the candy in Honeydukes to make a, what did you call it, 'sugar stream'?"

"That was one time! And it didn't even work!"

Draco squeezes her hand as they stop in front of the door. "It'll be alright. I'll be with you the whole time."

Darcy raises her fist to knock upon discovering the doorbell is broken. Snow falls lightly around them, coating their jackets and hair with fluffy snowflakes. The wreath on the door is bright and glittery, the same one they've used for years. Darcy, for a moment relieved because no one is coming to the door, starts to breathe again.

  "I don't think they're home," she says, feigning disappointment. "We should come back December thirty-second, I know they'll be home then."

Draco shakes his head at her, and then she hears it. Footsteps approaching the door. Sighing, she braces herself for the worst.

Her mother answers the door in a similar fashion as she had four years ago. She's obviously been cooking—no doubt her endless supply of pastries—as her apron is slightly crooked and dirty. Once she sees Darcy, her expression turns blank.

  "Oh," she says monotonously. "It's you. Have you run out of money?"

  "No, mum," Darcy says. "I—"

"She wanted to introduce me," Draco interrupts, extending his arm politely. "Draco Malfoy."

Her mother shakes his hand reluctantly. "I know about you and you're family. They're very—"

  "No need to elaborate, mother," Darcy cuts in. "We came here to find out whether you were going to treat me like your daughter again, but given your tone, I doubt it, so we'll be going."

  "Honey? Who's at the door?" At the sound of her father's voice, Darcy stops. He comes up behind her, a tall man with large glasses and thinning hair. The burns and cuts that Draco saw in the photo are still there but less pronounced. He sees Darcy and freezes.

  "Hey, dad, it's me, remember? The family disappointment?" The last time Darcy had spoken to him, that was how the conversation had ended. She sees her father tense at her words. "Let's go, Draco, I've had enough."

But Draco doesn't budge or descend the stairs with her.

"Don't you want a relationship with your daughter?" he asks sourly. "What's wrong with you? Shunning her because of a lifestyle that would stain your reputation? I'm helping her with it the best I can, but you shouldn't kick her out of your life simply because you're afraid of what it'll do to you. You didn't even try to help her, to get her out of the stupor of crime. You just watched it happen and scowled. How could you?"

     Only after these words have been said in the most Slytherin-istic tone does he follow Darcy down and out of their garden, Apparating immediately to Malfoy Manor.

Upon landing in the walkway leading to the Manor, Draco senses Darcy's solemn mood. He regrets taking her there; it'd been a stupid idea.

  "Darcy, I'm sorry," he says, stopping them in front of the doors. "I shouldn't have done that. I should've listened to you."

Darcy smiles at him, but her eyes are glassy. "I'm glad you said that to them." It's raining, but they're protected by the roof of the porch. "I'll drag them to hell with me someday." Tears fall from her dark eyes; Draco has never seen her cry about anything before. He wraps his arms around her, whispering reassurances until she calms down.

When she pulls away, wiping at her eyes impatiently, she grins. "I haven't cried since before Azkaban. Couldn't bring myself to. I forgot how much I hate it."

"Crying is medicine," Draco tells her, taking her hand to lead her inside. "Take it once in a while."

     Draco finds his own parents in the dining room. They've been floating around the house ever since the end of the war, unsure if the authorities were going to come for them. It was an almost definite yes, but so far, no one has shown up to their door. So they've simply waited.

  "I realize I haven't properly introduced you," Draco says to them and Darcy. "Mother, Father, this is Darcy. Yes, the same one you see in the paper all the time." His mother seems unsure until he adds, "She helped me fix the Vanishing Cabinet all last year. Without her, I'd probably be dead." At this, Narcissa's features warp into gratefulness and she rushes to envelope Darcy in a hug. Darcy tenses again, not used to so much affection, but hugs her back nonetheless.

Lucious still looks suspicious, his eyes flickering between the two. "Draco, may I have a word?"

Draco follows him out of the room into the hall. "If you have something rude to say—"

"No," Lucious insists. "I just wanted to ask if you're committed to her."

Draco lets out the breath he was holding. "Entirely."

A flash of a smile crosses Lucious' broken features. "Then she's welcome here."

When they walk back into the dining room, Darcy and Narcissa are at the table with tea, talking. Darcy appears more comfortable now; Draco smiles and sits next to her, taking her hand under the table. Lucious sits by Narcissa and engages himself in the conversation, which is steering towards Darcy's discoveries.

A thought occurs to Draco that is more of a realization.

At the beginning of his sixth year, he felt completely hopeless for a majority of the year. When he didn't feel hopeless, he felt empty, and those were his two emotions for the year. When he was with Darcy, though, he was still hopeless, but he felt his ambition grow more and more. She made him feel more like himself, but a better version of himself. She filled the empty void of his body.

And now, after all the strife of the Wizarding World is over once and for all, he's sitting in the same room with this parents and his best friend. There's no arguing, only tame conversation. Draco isn't hating himself or thinking of how much he hates someone else—he's thinking about how much he loves Darcy, and how much he'd like to have the same love for his parents someday.

He thinks of how Darcy will hopefully never go to Azkaban again. He thinks of how he won't let her go. She's done sufficient time for one life.

That night, after Darcy is asleep, Draco slips out of bed quietly and Apparates very quickly to Borgin and Burke. His shop has been shut down since most of his customers won't be visiting anytime soon. He struts right in, wand ready, to the back of the shop. When he sees it, he shakes his head and burns it to the ground with a single swish of his wand. He leaves the fire unattended, not caring if it burns down the rest of Knockturn Alley.

When he gets back to his room, Darcy is awake but still lying down. Her eyes find his as he lies next to her.

  "You burnt the other one, didn't you?"

Draco smirks. "Of course. It's ashes and dust now."

Darcy suddenly straightens up. "Draco, come here." She leaps out of bed and runs to her pile of clothes that she has yet to hang up and searches the pockets of her garments until she finds it what's she's looking for.

"What's that?"

"They're someone's memories," Darcy explains. "I found them in the couch in the Room of Requirement. I looked at them, and it showed a girl I didn't know. But the last memory had her talking to someone who was working on a Vanishing Cabinet. I thought I'd keep them and show you if we ever needed more help fixing it. We didn't, so I forgot to show you, but I still wonder if you know who they belong to."

Draco takes the vial and empties it into his Pensieve. As he watches them, Darcy looks closer at the vial. The middle has no trace of ownership, but on the bottom are two letters, PP, with hearts in the holes of the Ps. When Draco comes up, he explains.

  "These are Pansy Parkinson's memories," he starts. "She was a girl in my year. The boy in the beginning and towards the end was Blaise Zabini, another kid in my year. The blonde one was me when I was eleven or twelve. The last one, the man fixing the Vanishing Cabinet, was her father. Her family wasn't involved with Voldemort in any way. I'm wondering if the Death Eaters put him under the Imperius Curse and told him to fix it. That's what he did for a living. He worked in a sub-department, the Department for Damaged Magical Articles or something. That's why she looked worried."

Darcy feels satisfied to know the story behind it. "Without him, we'd have had our work cut out for us, having to fix both. Was that really you? I didn't even realize."

Draco nods. "My hair was a nightmare those years."

Darcy laughs. "You were cute. You're still cute."

  "Thanks, I know." Draco takes her hand and leads her back to bed, where they both sleep soundly, something they haven't done in years.