House: Gryffindor
Position: Prefect 2 stand-in
Category: Short
Prompt: [speech] "I know enough that I won't die. So, teach me how to do this."
Word Count: 1909 words, excluding header, author notes, and title.
Beta: Tigger
A/N: A/U! This was written for The Houses Competition, Y2R6.
Double Agent
Draco stared at his bedroom door. Night surrounded him, but the darkness didn't compare to the dark magic that was polluting the air he was breathing, thick and heavy. It filled up his lungs, making it hard to breath. He felt the heaviness settle over him, weighing him down. He could feel the Dark Lord's presence in the manor, hear the screams of his victims below, and hear the Dark Lord's laughter as it rang in his ears, taunting him.
He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to block out the noises, but instead his ears picked up the distant clacking of heels in the hallway corridor, the noise growing louder with each step.
Draco took a deep breath knowing that this was it, they were coming for him. This was the moment he had been dreading for the last week. He had been lucky enough to escape his master's notice for some time, locking himself away from the darkness that lurked below, but now he was being held accountable for his father's failure. He had been warned by his mother that the Dark Lord would be turning his sights onto Draco and it appeared that time had come.
He opened his eyes when a harsh knock echoed throughout the room. He gulped deeply and steadied his nerves before granting the intruder entrance.
"Drakey," his aunt sung at him, "the Dark Lord calls for you!"
Draco nodded slightly as he slowly stood up from his bed and headed towards the door.
"Don't be as a big of a disappointment as your spineless father, Drakey. Don't embarrass this family any further," she hissed as she pushed past him.
Draco followed stiffly. The sound of his steps echoed throughout the cold hallway, the beat of his heart drowning out his other senses. He barely saw the wooden door in front of him. He barely heard the command for them to enter. He couldn't feel his feet touch the ground as he began to slowly walk into the crowded room and he couldn't see the faces that surrounded him as he stepped into the center of the room. All he could see was the evil, red eyes that were watching his every movement; all he could hear was the loud thumping of his heart.
Draco was sitting on his bed, waiting. He was staring at the door expecting his mother to appear at any moment. As the moments ticked by, he began to rub his arm absentmindedly. The pain had disappeared a week after he had been branded, but the mark would never fade. Once he realized he was rubbing his arm, he dropped it, disgusted with himself.
He lurched off the bed and began to busy himself with packing. Tomorrow he was supposed to return to Hogwarts, but he couldn't even think of school or what he needed. It all seemed so unimportant, so stupid in the grand scheme of things, to even be thinking about what quills he wanted to bring, what robes he needed, and which owl he would bring along with him. Did he have enough parchment? It all just seemed like such a farce. He didn't care about any of it. If he had his choice, he wouldn't even go back to Hogwarts. He didn't want to pretend like everything was okay, he didn't want to see the oblivious faces of those who didn't want to believe the Dark Lord had returned, and he didn't want to see the faces of his 'enemies.' He hated the golden trio but he couldn't picture killing them. He didn't want to see the faces of his friends, telling him what an honor it was to be marked. He knew the truth—it was a curse. He didn't want to go back; if he was being honest with himself, he wanted to run as far away as he could but he couldn't. The Dark Lord wanted him back at the school and so that is where he would go. He had his mother to think about. If he failed, she would be killed.
He heard the faint knock on his door and squared his shoulders. He took a deep breath before striding over to the door and opening it to reveal his mother. Her eyes darted around the hallway before she shoved him out of the way and slammed the door closed. Her wand was out and pointed at the door. She was murmuring under her breathe and nodded in satisfaction when a ripple of color surrounded the door and then faded away. Only after all the light faded away did she turn to him. He saw tears glistening in her eyes but her voice still came out strong.
"Oh Dragon, I am so sorry, my son. I am so sorry for the position that you are now in, for the position that your father put you in. I don't have a lot of time but I want you to know that you do not have to do this!" She reached out to touch his cheek. "Draco, please don't do this. Do not turn into the man your father is."
"Mother, he threatened to kill you, of course I am going to do this."
"Draco," she stopped him, "I will be fine, I always am. This will change you, pollute your soul forever. Don't do it." Footsteps could be heard in the hallway and she began to whisper to him quickly. "Don't do this Draco, talk to your godfather."
Before she could elaborate, the doors were flung open and his father strode in, his cane gripped tightly in his hand. His eyes darted back and forth between Draco and Narcissa, narrowing with each pass between them. He calmly strolled further into the room before turning on them quickly.
"What is going on here?" he drawled. His eyes scanned the disheveled mess on top of Draco's bed, the open trunk on the floor, and the rigid form of his wife.
Narcissa took a deep, steadying breathe before meeting his eyes. "Our son goes back to school tomorrow. I was checking in on his packing and it would appear he has not yet finished."
"Oh, of course," Lucius said, his cold eyes turning to Draco, "where you will successfully complete your task and restore our family's honor."
"Yes, sir!" Draco agreed quietly.
"Good! Very good. Come Narcissa. Let's leave him to finish."
She was ushered towards the door and threw one last sad look over her shoulder before the doors were slammed shut.
Draco was sitting in the Great Hall hoping that today he would receive an overdue letter from his mother. He had been hearing from her less frequently and the letters were getting shorter and shorter. He knew it was the subtle threat of the Dark Lord. So far, Draco had been unsuccessful in restoring the cabinet and he knew the Dark Lord was displeased greatly by his lack of speediness. Every day that Draco didn't receive a letter from his mother, he grew more worried, what if today was the day that he received the news that he had taken too long? What if today was the day he received news of her death?
He blinked away the thoughts as the shrill cry of the owls filled the hall. Hundreds of owls swooped low and dropped off letters and packages to his classmates. None came for him.
He looked around the room before locking eyes with Dumbledore. His stomach lurched and he began to sweat. His mind began to reel with the images of what he was supposed to do. That was part of the reason he couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and couldn't concentrate on anything but those thoughts, that task.
Draco didn't want to see the headmaster dead—the old cook had never done any wrong to him—but his mother's life was on the line. He had to kill him.
He ran from the Great Hall, avoiding everyone's gazes. He ran up the stairs and back to the cabinet.
He could not fail.
He emerged a few hours later, frustrated and distracted. He rounded the corner and ran into someone. Draco tensed but relaxed almost immediately when he realized that it was only his godfather. He appeared to be scrutinizing Draco's appearance, which he knew was not up to the Malfoy standards, but he hadn't cared lately. He didn't care about his appearances, his grades, or even himself. He only cared about his mother.
"Follow me," Snape commanded.
Draco followed him quietly back to the dungeons, the chill seeping into his bones with each step he took. Snape finally turned and entered an abandoned classroom, surprising Draco that they weren't heading towards his office, but he entered anyway. His godfather, besides his mother, was the only person Draco trusted.
Once Draco had entered the classroom, Snape turned and waved his wand at the door, securing and soundproofing the room before rounding back on Draco.
"So," Snape started strolling further into the room, "You are struggling to complete your tasks?"
"No." Draco quickly defended.
"Do not lie to me, boy. I see you, I watch you, I observe. You avoid looking at Dumbledore but every time your eyes land on the headmaster you pale and begin to sweat."
"No, that isn't—" Draco interjected.
"Do not interrupt me!" Snape sneered. "I see your struggle. You do not want to kill him, you cannot kill him. Weak."
Draco looked up at him and opened his mouth to speak but Snape held a hand out in front of him, stopping him from talking.
"What if I told you there was another way?" Snape's eyebrow quirked up at him. "What if I told you there was a way to protect your mother without killing Dumbledore."
"What?" Draco asked incredulously, his eyes widening.
"Draco, you don't have to work for the Dark Lord."
"What? I have the Mark, I have to…"
"No, you don't. Draco listen to me, you can still work for the other side, the good guys; you aren't a killer. You don't have to become one."
Draco stared at him, his face scrunched up in confusion. "What are you saying?"
"Draco, you can be a double agent. The Order could use more men on the inside. They would protect your mother, Draco." Snape paused, watching the young man process the information.
"You're… you're…. you're a double agent? A traitor?" Draco hissed, his eyes widening.
"Draco, stop. Is this who you want to be? Do you want to be known for killing the greatest headmaster of all time?"
Draco's shoulders sunk, heavy with the truth. He slowly shook his head, hesitantly admitting that what his godfather said was true.
"There is a way. How much do you know of Legilimency?" Snape asked seriously.
Draco turned away from Snape. He walked around the room trying to determine if he should answer. He knew Legilimency; his mother had given him some lessons in the advanced skill as a child. His mother. He thought about her, about the last time he saw her. Her sad eyes bearing into his. Her reassuring touch on his cheek, her words. Talk to your godfather! Had she known? Had this been what she meant?
"I know enough that I won't die. So, teach me how to do this," Draco responded looking Snape dead in the eye. He could do this, he could still save his mother.