Into the Woods

by: darklydraco*

Summary: Draco's side of Half Blood Prince - Dark Marks, Death Eaters, and learning to cast Unforgivables. Featuring mentor!Snape.

Pairing: DM/HP, with a little SS/RL.

Warnings: slash, violence, angst (oh my!)

*Disclaimer: The potter-verse belongs to JKR, all hail.

Prelude

Draco ran blindly, pulled by Snape's iron grip on his arm. It should hurt, but he couldn't feel anything. He stepped over a body… oh gods… but he didn't have time to look back. Ahead of him, already though the front doors, Greyback howled and Bella carried on a maniacal sing-song chant about Potty and the Dark Lord.

Panic surged in waves as he stumbled to keep up on the down hill slope toward Hagrid's hovel. Someone lit it aflame. Behind him, Draco heard someone call his name, and he turned. Harry! He wanted to call out. Wanted to run back. Everything had gone wrong. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. But Snape turned him around with a violent jerk of his arm and growled, "think of your mother," and Draco nodded, swallowing hard. And when Snape released his arm, he ran into the woods after the others. He would get her out, and then they could leave. But if he deserted her now, there would be no chance for her. It's almost over. Then I'll come back.

When they reached the clearing, Snape was still lagging behind. As soon as he stepped into the clearing, Snape caught his eye and he nodded curtly, and Draco accepted this to mean that Harry was still ok. Good.

Snape started issuing orders and the others began to disapparate. Draco waited until they were all gone to turn to Snape.

"Is he –"

"Forget about him, Draco. You can't help him. He can't help you. It's over." What? No. This is wrong. This is all wrong.

"I'm going back to him. I'm going to get mother and I'm going back."

"You're Marked, Draco. You can never go back."

Chapter 1: Arrest

Fucking aurors everywhere.

Waiting on the platform when the Hogwarts Express arrived in London. Crawling all over the manor, grubby, peasant hands on centuries-old family heirlooms. The house elves were freaking out about the china and the good silver because the aurors had pulled out every drawer and emptied every closet, the contents littering the floors and hallways.

Draco's mother was completely beside herself. Someone evidently gave her a calming potion and put her to bed after she watched them shred the cushions of her great-grandmother's chaise.

Then Draco had been flooed directly to the Ministry by two of the larger aurors and taken to an interrogation room. Draco tried to say as little as possible.

That worked for about the first twenty-four hours.

They put him in a chair in front of white table in a small room flooded by lights that seemed to get gradually brighter and hotter with every passing hour.

The voices speaking to him from the shadows changed periodically and almost every one seemed to have a particular injury or grudge to air about Draco's father. All of these remarks were veiled, of course, and he couldn't hear names or see their faces. Malfoys can be knocked down, but never out, and none of them wanted to become future targets. But everyone wanted to take the chance to kick them while they were down, it seemed, and with his father in prison, Draco was the dog to kick.

He asked after his mother over and over, but never could get a reply. He was alternately worried for her and furious with her for leaving him in this hellhole.

By the end of the first day, exhaustion began to truly overtake him. That's when he discovered that every time he put his head down on the desk, it would send up a stinging hex and he would jerk back up. He also hadn't eaten since the train. And, of all the stupid things to be worried about, he really needed to pee. In fact, he'd needed to pee for the last several hours.

"What's wrong, Malfoy?"

Draco reddened under the ever-brightening lights, and knew he was squirming. He crossed his legs and his arms and refused to speak. His eyelids were more-or-less permanently closed now, but the light shone through them anyway.

"Look, just let me use the loo and have a rest and maybe I'll be able to remember something useful," Draco offered, trying to sound perfectly relaxed.

"I'm afraid I can't do that."

"But –"

"Yes?" asked a cruelly suggestive female voice from the shadows. Draco frowned and squirmed. The questions continued.

He tried to make sense out of what they were asking him now. Something about a house-elf, and Death Eaters, and Father, but pretty soon he couldn't concentrate on anything but his bladder.

And then, suddenly, Draco felt the inevitable spread of wet warmth in the crotch of his pants, and he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. With a deep breath, he let it flow out unconstrained. He felt the hot urine begin to spread across the seat of his pants and run down his trouser legs, dripping into a puddle on the floor under his chair.

The relief was unbelievable, but Draco held his head high and acted as though nothing as all had happened. He blocked out the laughs, the jeers. They could treat him like a dog in a cage but Draco would never, ever give them the satisfaction of behaving like one. And so he sat, red-faced but proud, while he peed in his pants like a child.

They waited until the third day before employing the "enhanced interrogation techniques."

The table he had been trying not to lean on vanished and he found himself alone in the white room on his hard chair, when suddenly leather straps burst out of the sides and legs like fast-growing vines, wrapping around his ankles and tying his wrists behind his back, another strap extending to hold him upright in the chair.

Then he heard a hard, quiet voice pronounce "crucio," and his whole body spasmed as searing, blinding pain shot down his spine and out through every nerve of his body. He felt himself writhing, and heard someone screaming, but didn't recognize it as his own voice until the pain suddenly stopped, leaving behind a bone-deep soreness and overwhelming exhaustion. Draco was panting, his throat hoarse, and he looked up into the bright white lights but he couldn't see anything but a vague shadow at the edges. The white light was blinding him, burning into his brain, white heat searing into him.

They started firing questions at him – it sounded like a circle people - people, male, female, young, old, he couldn't tell. The room was spinning, or maybe Draco was spinning.

Another round of crucio, and another. They weren't even asking him questions anymore. Or maybe they were, but he couldn't understand them through the buzzing of the hot white lights overhead. Draco's head lolled, his eyes wouldn't focus.

Eventually they grew bored, and turned to muggle techniques.

Draco was bruised, bleeding, and barely conscious when the tall shape with dark blue robes and a long white beard strode in calmly but forcefully. He swooped him out of his seat with a strength he wouldn't have expected in such an old man. Draco's eyes were swollen shut, but he felt one of his arms thrown over Dumbledore's shoulders. With his felt dragging and trying to hobble along, he peered through the only eye he could manage to open, and saw a gnarled, blackened hand curled around his forearm as Dumbledore led him out of the bright room. Warm arms wrapped around him as he was shuffled down long hallways, whispers all around, but Draco was so disoriented, he couldn't understand anything except how glad he was to see Dumbledore and be out from under those lights.

Finally, he found himself in a cool, quiet, and blessedly dark sitting room with a low-burning fire in the hearth. Dumbledore deposited him onto a couch, where he promptly lay down. Through his throbbing headache and screaming limbs he was vaguely aware that he smelled like sweat and stale urine. His own urine. But he couldn't muster the energy to care. The Headmaster seemed to want to talk to him, but Draco couldn't make his mouth work; his throat was dry and sore and his lips were cracked, and one of his eyes simply wouldn't open at all.

But through the other eye, he could see Dumbledore looking thoughtfully at him, and Draco felt a surge of gratitude that he could not find a single hint of pity in the old man's face. That would have been just too much. He closed his eye again. The pain in his skull was unbelievable.

Finally, a voice spoke to him, but it wasn't Dumbledore's. It was Professor Snape.

"Draco, can you hear me?" Draco tried to nod, but wasn't sure if he'd managed it. "Draco, we are going to take you to St. Mungo's, but first Professor Dumbledore would like to speak with you." Despite his grogginess, Draco could hear a tone of disapproval in Snape's voice.

He opened his good eye again and peered at Dumbledore, who took this as a yes and proceeded to speak calmly but seriously.

"Mr. Malfoy, thank you for meeting with me. As you are, I'm sure, aware, your father is and will remain in Azkaban following his arrest last week. You mother has been placed under house arrest. You will be released from ministry custody in twenty minutes, which is why I was obliged to remove you so suddenly."

Draco managed a grunt of thanks.

"Do not thank me for freeing you, you may thank your mother's lawyers for having you released into the care of the Healers at St. Mungo's."

Draco frowned. That certainly made more sense then Dumbledore freeing him, but then why was he here.

"You are no doubt wondering why I am here. As soon as you leave, you will in all likelihood be taken back to the Death Eaters. Your father has fallen out of favour but he will be safe in Azkaban." Draco snorted, but Dumbledore continued unfazed. "You and your mother will be in considerable danger. You may be expected to pay for his mistakes."

Draco closed his one eye. He knew this. He'd known this the morning he'd received the owl from his mother telling him that Father's mission had been compromised and that there would be repercussions. Dumbledore pressed on, "We can help you, Mr. Malfoy. We can protect you, and your mother."

Draco frowned. His father might be in prison, but that would no reason to give up. No, Draco had not just endured three days of hell at the hands of the goddamn Ministry to give up and turn himself over to whatever pathetic excuse for a resistance Dumbledore was trying to lead. The War was coming, and Draco knew damn well he wanted to be on the winning side.

"No," he croaked.

"Mr. Malfoy, I know you are scared-"

"I'm not scared. You're the one who should be scared," he began, trying to sit up. "The Dark Lord is back and he's leading a Revolution, and you cannot stop him," Draco tried to rise, but faltered slightly. After a moment, he rose against to his shaky legs and continued, "and the Dark Lord rewards his loyal servants," he spat out, looking pointedly at Snape.

Dumbledore had a sad look on his face, and now Draco saw that contemptible, infuriating pity oozing out over his half-moon spectacles.

"Your days are numbered," Draco announced boldly, and made for the door. Snape caught up to him but didn't try to stop him. Instead, he offered Draco an arm, and helped him manoeuvre slowly through the winding corridors until he was out in the Lobby. Flashbulbs went off when someone recognized him and called out his name, but Snape swiftly moved them to an open floo. It had taken all his effort to walk this far, and before he knew it he was collapsing into the darkness again.

When he woke up, he was lying on a warm, white hospital bed at St. Mungo's.

Draco's respite was short-lived. A haze of medics, lawyers, and aurors came and went, though Professor Snape seemed to be a fairly permanent fixture at his bedside throughout. Draco was unsure whether he was there on Dumbledore's orders, or on the Dark Lords', but he felt sure it was in neither party's best interest to leave him in the hands of the Ministry again. Draco learned from eavesdropped conversation that Fudge was on the way out. His replacement, Rufus Scrimgeour, was spoken of in hushed tones. Apparently, it had been his orders that the auror office employ "any means necessary" to obtain information about suspected Death Eater activities.

Thanks only to deep family pockets and official noses nervous about changing winds, and the fact that Draco was still a minor, the Malfoy lawyers were able to secure Draco's release following his stay at St. Mungo's, though on condition of house-arrest. Great.

"But what about school?" His mother fretted beside him. She had been granted special leave to visit him in the hospital and was really start to get on his nerves.

"Madam, I understand you concern, but we have an interest in keeping our wizarding children safe in these dark times."

"And what about my child?" Narcissa asked, her voice cold. "Does he not also deserve to be safe?" The official snorted viciously. Draco couldn't remember his name just now, just that it was a muggle name, so he was probably a mudblood. Maybe a half-blood.

"Madam, it is the opinion of the ministry that your son is an imminent threat to the other students."

"I was not aware," joined a new voice from behind the ministry official's, "that it was in the ministry's jurisdiction to withhold education from any student who has obeyed the law and wishes to learn."

"Professor Dumbledore…" Draco started, and peered up from his hospital bed. His mother turned, too, surprised. The ministry official looked ruffled.

"Mr. Malfoy is an alleged colluder with You-Know-Who," the official stated flatly.

"I have not yet seen evidence that Mr. Malfoy's loyalties lie anywhere other than with his family, his friends, and his house," said Dumbledore patiently.

"A house full of snakes," hissed another official-looking woman, peering down at Draco disdainfully.

"Unless Mr. Malfoy has been convicted of anything," said Dumbledore, ignoring her, "I do not see why he should not be permitted to return to Hogwarts to resume his education." He said this with an air of finality, and then strode out like he had someplace else to be.

The ministry official looked more ruffled than ever and blustered something about "policy" and "procedure" and finally turned to Narcissa and informed her curtly that Draco was under house-arrest until the 1st of September.

"I'll need to buy my things for school," Draco added, emboldened. The official reddened visibly and ground out,

"Very well, one excursion to Diagon Alley." And swept out before any further requests for special treatment could be made.

During the end of his stay in Hospital, Narcissa made clear her intent to make the house arrest stick. Standing by his bedside she had even said something about what Azkaban was sure to be like for someone as young and… delicate… as Draco. The aurors had chuckled cruelly and Draco had bristled at her implication. Delicate. Pfft.

Two more days in the hospital, and Draco was returned home by yet another pair of nosy, self-righteous aurors and reminded sternly to remain on the grounds.

No sooner had his escorts left, did Snape sweep in through the fireplace and announce ominously, "you are summoned."