A slow burn Dramione full of what-if's.
What if Draco was saddled with an unforgiveable task against a certain blonde haired muggleborn? What happens when he fails? What happens when Voldemort discovers he failed? What happens when Hermione is stuck at Malfoy manor instead of apparating to Shell Cottage with Dobby? What if Draco is ordered to look after her? Bait her to get to Harry? What would he do?
What if?
The freshly burned mark ached against his pale skin, itching against his black robes as he tugged on the sleeve slightly, paranoid that someone might see the swirling black ink around his wrist. Before he had gotten branded with the skeletal dark mark, he'd for sure thought he would be beyond anxious to show it off the moment he got to school. However, after navigating through Kings Cross with his parents, nose pointed in the air as they dropped him off, looking down at all the other students and their parents as if they were scum, a common occurrence amongst the Malfoy's, he was hit with a wave of uncertainty that would pain him for the coming months.
"Now, Draco. Do us proud," his father said, his sunken features were hidden behind his long blonde hair albeit poorly so. The last year hadn't been so kind to the Malfoy family and it was displayed across all three members of the prestigious family. He sneered at what appeared to be a fourth year brushing past him before his mother was now up, placing a hand on her son's cheek, a flash of fear and sadness hiding behind her green eyes as she peered down at her, silently bidding him adieu. He barely remembered boarding the Hogwarts Express, Crabbe and Goyle grunting about Merlin-knows-what next to him as they made their way to their usual compartment. The only thing to penetrate his sullen mood was the gloom hanging in the air, a much different aura than every year previous. Instead of the laughing and commotion, students running up and down the corridors, there was awkward silence and order, a penetrating chill clinging through the air. The laughter that was unmistakably absent was replaced with hushed whispered and gasps as the glass windowpanes of the compartments began to creek and frost over signaling the oncoming Dementor, roaming through the hall, hissing at students left and right, causing more than a few to burst into tears.
Even he was affected by the sight of this situation, the feeling of the Dementors causing a permanent chill to attack his spine. Even Potter and his insufferable trio's absence was palpable but for that, he was ever-so-thankful. Through his grogginess and bitter thoughts, he had still been on the lookout for a certain bushy mane to solidify his tasks' completion. Good thing he had his own wretched thoughts to consume him for the next few months.
His task, a task he was saddled with by Voldemort himself in order to receive his Dark Mark was unlike anything he could have imagined. He had asked to be taken more seriously. He had asked for an assignment, something to prove his worth. But never in his wildest dreams would he be expected to kill someone. A someone, however annoying she was, that didn't deserve said fate. He would never forget the conversation with Voldemort when he dealt out his unforgiveable task.
"Harry Potter is only as strong as those around him. I think, maybe, it's time to pluck them off… one… by… one," each word flowing slowly from his thin, pale lips, each as calculated as the next. "Lets start with that wretched mudblood everyone is so fond of. That shouldn't be too hard, should it?"
That's where the stem of his confliction began. Sure, Granger was exceptionally annoying, but still. Maybe he didn't believe the things his parents bore into his brain from such a young age. He struggled, all summer until Voldemort finally confronted him.
"It's done," was all he said. And before he knew it, he was being branded, congratulated, and shipped off back to school the next day in which he hoped, he prayed that she wouldn't show. Harry Potter would be foolish to show his Undesirable number one face at school and he would've bet his life that ranger and Weasley would be wherever Harry was. He tried to think of back up plan after back up plan for when Voldemort would find out he failed because he would eventually find out. Draco wasn't stupid and neither was Voldemort. And he didn't fail. He didn't even try.
The anguish, self loathing, and fear had done a number on him as the days turned into weeks, his physical and mental state both deteriorating as the days dragged on.
Breakfast Christmas morning, before he would leave for Malfoy Manor, his all time favorite holiday, couldn't have started off on a worse note. A red envelope sat upon the empty gold plate at the table from where he sat every day and his stomach dropped. Who would send him a howler? What had he done?
Or not done?
Surrounding eyes were already peering in his directions, bulging with anticipation. He rolled his eyes, annoyed on the outside, panicked within. He let a thumb slide open the wax seal and the letter popped to life, shaking itself open right in front of him. The unmistakable voice of the Dark Lord seeped out of the envelope, leaving a chill down his spine and a prickle up his arm.
"My dearest Draco," the Dark Lord began, voice calm and collected, an eerie aspect in and of itself. "This isn't to reprimand you but to congratulate you in front of all your peers for successfully knocking an annoying peg off of Harry Potter's support system. My condolences to Miss Granger's peers but perhaps this will serve as a message to those who feel inclined to side with the… wrong team," he concluded, each word more menacing than the next. The Howler closed and ripped itself to shreds before turning into ash and disappearing altogether.
But now it was all coming to fruition. In front of the entire school. There was no hiding it anymore. But this was worse. This was his punishment, he was sure of it. Convince his classmates that he had killed "one of their own". None of his plans told him what to do in this instance. He could feel all eyes, students and teachers alike, all turn towards him, glaring daggers into his skin. Thankfully, his poker face would be one of his greatest strengths. He merely quirked an eyebrow and held his head up high as if he was not ashamed of working so closely with the Dark Lord, spooning a mouthful of oatmeal into his mouth nonchalantly. But they had no idea.
The train ride home was a long one, a difficult one, a great sense of impending doom flooding within him. Along with that, the feeling that he would never return to Hogwarts also nagged at him. How could he return after that? Would it even be safe for him? Would those students retaliate or would no one care?
He arrived at Malfoy manor at the most inopportune time. Just in time for his Aunt Bellatrix to grab him by the scruff of the neck and practically throw him at a horribly disfigured Harry Potter, barking questions at him left and right. His wand was knocked out of his hands and he heard someone shuffled to pick it up but he was too distracted by what was being presented in front of him so suddenly.
"It's him, innit Draco? It's Harry Potter?" his aunt hissed emergently in his ear.
"I-I can't be sure," he said even though it was glaringly obvious. He couldn't commit either way. If he confirmed their suspicions, it would surely be a death threat for Harry and he didn't need that to ride his conscience for life.
"Well, look closer!" she hissed, slamming him down to his knees so he was now face-to-face, nose-to-nose with a badly beaten Potter. His eyesight, however, went right over the unruly black hair to see a restrained Granger staring right at him and he froze, mouth slightly agape. He let his eyes wander quickly around the room, taking stock as to who was there and thankfully, who wasn't. Voldemort hadn't arrived yet. Maybe they still had time to prevent him from being called.
Unfortunately, his dad came forward, yanking him up to a standing position. "You know what this would mean for us, don't you, Draco? Our family name could be restored if we were the ones to return Harry to the Dark Lord," he whispered frantically.
"L-look, look. This is that Granger girl, right?" he asked, both full of fear for his son's life for failing his task but also full of excitement that putting two and two together meant that one blonde, one redhead and one blacked haired boy with a squiggly, possible scar meant the capture of Harry Potter.
Hermione locked eyes with him the moment the words left his dads lips, fear flooding through both of them but he was helpless. He didn't have time to answer because Weasley had thrown off McNair who was holding him back, knocking Bellatrix over, her wand sending a sea of red sparks right at Hermione, hitting her right in the face. The muggleborn dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes and all hell broke loose.
Until his tattoo began to burn. He was coming.