A Whole New World: Draconian Chapter 1

Sequel to 'A Whole New World'!

Since the Hogwarts Battle, three years ago, Octavia would be lucky to call somewhere her home. At present, she resided in an abandoned abbey in the English countryside, but it was temporary. It always was. She, and the rest of the Order, travelled from place to place, unable to stay for longer than a few months at a time, never settling, always fighting, always scared. At least, Octavia was always scared. Scared that they would lose, and the world would fall at Harry Potter's feet. Scared that Draco would find her and do Merlin knows what with her. He wasn't the boy she had once known and loved; he was a man now, and a powerful one at that. Cruelty and evil were just two of the words attached to his name. But mystery surrounded him.

Despite having captured several prisoners over the years, the Order of the Phoenix were unable to increase their knowledge as to Draco's position within Lord Potter's ranks. Their information was scarce, but they knew enough; Draco was feared by his own people, and highly respected. The prisoners never talked about him, as though they were far too terrified to do so. Octavia never talked about him either, but not out of fear; out of heartache. The years hadn't soothed her broken heart in the slightest, and she was constantly consumed in a blanket of misery. Especially when she thought about him and their time together.

A boy, no longer, but a man she did not know.

Draco hunted her to this day. That much was clear by the very little that the prisoners spoke until torture. On the odd occasions that they were found and attacked by Snatchers, Octavia was never harmed. They merely attempted to restrain her, bringing her as little pain as possible. It had to be due to Draco's orders, for the Snatchers showed no hesitation in harming others. How they loved to harm people.

Octavia felt somewhat to blame for the injuries and deaths that surrounded her. She felt responsible for the death of Seamus Finnegan, who had tried to remove her restraints in the chaos of the latest attack. Seamus and Octavia hadn't been close over the years, but he had an opening to help her, and that he did. But the moment that he released her from the ropes that had bound her, he had paid for his assistance in blood. He was just one of the many that Octavia felt responsible for. Responsible for their premature deaths.

No one else seemed to blame her, though. They welcomed her into their ranks, despite who loved her, and who she loved in return. Well, she loved the boy she knew, not the man who struck fear into those who followed him. He struck fear into her as well, truth be told. But she tried not to think about that.

She tried not to think of what the world had become under the rule of Harry. Or, 'Lord Potter', as some called him these days. She was not one of them. He would always be 'Harry' to her, even though he was no longer the boy she had shared a friendship with.

Harry had taken Voldemort's dormant place as dictator of the wizarding world. According to the prophecy – that they still didn't fully understand – Harry was part of the Dark Lord that had once lived and died. He embodied a piece of the defeated monster in his soul, and took his place on the throne. His 'birth right', as some would say. Just like the Dark Lord before him, Harry was a half-blood, but unlike Voldemort, Harry embraced his dual heritage. His rule and authority was not one of racism, where muggle-borns and half-bloods were to be eradicated. It was about magic and power. The weaker magical folk – like Octavia, for example – were the scum in his world order. The inferior, who were to be little more than slaves or corpses if Harry had his way.

But he wouldn't have his way if the Order had anything to say about it. They would fight until the very end to defeat the rogue saviour. The boy who had defeated the Dark Lord, only to take his place at the throne.

At present, Octavia occupied the dining room with Pansy and Hermione, the three of them standing in a circle, their hands connected. Pansy was attempting – for the countless time – to harness their magic through the physical contact, concentrating on her Sight. It was what had kept them alive over the years, and massively assisted their mission. Due to Pansy's sight, the Order of the Phoenix still existed, resisting the authority of Lord Potter and his minions. With Pansy's sight, they were able to foresee attacks on occasion, but it wasn't consistent. It didn't always work.

The art of divination was not dependable. It wasn't the math of transfiguration, nor the science of potions. But it was an advantage, and they would use it as best they could. Especially since they no longer had Sybil Trelawney in their ranks to dissect the prophecy, Merlin rest her soul. They had to make do with Pansy and her unrefined gift.

"I'm sorry," Pansy sighed heavily, dropping her hands to her sides. "I can't see anything."

Hermione pressed her lips together in mild disappointment, though they had expected such an outcome. Pansy's gift didn't come on command, but whenever it chose to do so itself. Mostly, that happened to be whilst she slept, likely due to the fact that her mind was clear in those moments of rest.

Hermione sighed and walked over to the kettle, switching it on to employ the pretence that she was doing fine. She wasn't, though, and Octavia knew that. Hermione wasn't fine; how could she be when her best friend and lover, Ron, was out on a high-risk mission?

Ron, Sirius, Remus and Neville had taken the guise of three recently captured Death Eaters in the dungeons, by use of poly-juice potion two days ago. With the disguises, they had ventured out to the rubble that was left of Hogwarts. The castle was under constant surveillance by lower-ranking Death Eaters, but no one inhabited it, for there was nothing left to inhabit. Only wreckage and debris remained of the magical school that had served as the home to so many over centuries. But in that wreckage and debris was something they needed. At least, Pansy's sight claimed that they required it.

The Gryffindor Sword had been amongst the wreckage, according to Pansy's sight, and they needed it. For what? They weren't sure. But they set a mission to four worthy Gryffindors to retrieve it regardless. Hermione had only stayed behind – despite her incessant refusal – due to her injured shoulder. A splinching accident that had caused a chunk of her skin to be gouged out during apparation. She was still recovering from the incident that occurred on a grocery-trip one week ago, and was denied permission to join the Hogwarts operation as a result.

Since Dumbledore had fallen at the hands of Harry and Draco during the Hogwarts Battle, a select few had taken his place as their unofficial leaders. The surviving members of the original Order were in charge; Sirius, Remus, Mad-Eye Moody, and Molly and Arthur Weasley. Despite the group of authority predominantly consisting of men, Molly was undoubtedly the most influential voice.

Octavia was yanked from her thoughts as the door to the dining room swung open, revealing Sirius and Ron entering, blood and dirt smeared over their robes. But they had returned, and that's all that mattered.

"What happened?" Hermione gasped, forgetting the kettle and rushing over to Ron, checking for any signs of injury.

"We got ambushed," Rob grumbled, but allowed Hermione to fuss over him. "There were more of them that we thought. It's not our blood, so don't worry."

"That's not possible," Pansy shook her head, Octavia perching herself on the kitchen counter. "I saw it very clearly; a total of eight guards set up around the perimeter."

Sirius seated himself at the dining table, reclining in exhaustion and heaving a heavy sigh.

"We don't know why, but there was at least a dozen of them." Sirius said, exertion evident in his weary tone.

"You retreated then, yeah?" Octavia asked, swinging her legs leisurely as she sat on the kitchen counter. There was no panic or worry in her tone, for there was no reason to be concerned; if anyone had died in the mission, they would know it by now.

"No," Ron said. "They barely even noticed us. When we were leaving, though, more of them arrived and … well, things went sour."

"How sour?" Pansy asked, pouring the two men a hot cup of coffee each.

Supplies were low for the Order members, and rations had been assigned, but they were evidently in dire need of the bitter brew, so Pansy dismissed the rules momentarily.

"Pretty sour," Ron said, dropping into the seat beside Sirius. "Neville broke his arm, but Pomfrey is seeing to him now, so he'll be alright."

"Did you get it?" Hermione asked urgently. "Did you get the sword?"

"We did," Sirius nodded. "And something else, potentially equal in value."

Hermione waited for him to enlighten them, but Sirius paused and shared a look with Ron before the two men glanced at Octavia.

"What?" O frowned, her gaze darting between the two. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"We captured someone," Sirius said after a moment, his tone hesitant. "He's in the dungeons."

"Who?" Pansy whispered, Octavia already suspecting the identity of the prisoner.

Her suspicions were confirmed, her heart plunging down to the twisting and churning pit of her stomach.

"We captured Draco Malfoy."

Absolute chaos surrounded her. The long dining table was at full capacity with shouting Order members, others leaning against the wall and offering their input as aggressively as those at the table. Everyone and their familiars seemed to have an opinion. No one was heard though, for the insane shouting match drowned out all voices of reason. Octavia didn't shout. She didn't speak or participate. She just sat there, hands folded in her lap, hazel eyes glassy, vacantly gazing at the decaying table in front of her.

Her mind was a blank buzz of nothingness. No thoughts penetrated the abyss in her head, for she was simply in a state of shock. How could she not be? The man she loved and hated, adored and feared, was in the very same building as she. The man she hadn't seen in three years was within reach, and she had no desire whatsoever to go to him. Perhaps that was merely due to the fact that she was unable to desire anything in that moment, for her mind was nothing but white noise and static. Not even the heated exchange of voices and opinions around her penetrated the nothingness of her mind.

"How could you do this?" Molly screeched accusingly at Ron. "How could bring him here?"

"We need him!" Sirius declared, slamming his hand on the table impatiently. "He has information that the Order requires to succeed, Molly!"

"He's a cold-bloodied killer!" Hermione shouted. "He possesses no value to us, and is better off dead!"

"Now he knows where we are, you irrational child!" Molly bellowed at the red-faced Ron. "Now he knows where she is!"

Still in a trance of shock, Octavia continued to gaze blankly at the table, unaware that Molly had pointed right in her direction, and now all eyes were on her. Some eyes shone with pity, others were calculating, evaluating the risk posed to her by Draco's presence in the abbey. Octavia didn't realise any of this, for the table held her complete numb focus.

"You brought him right to the only thing he wants!" Molly continued, Ron having the decency to look ashamed. "Whatever happens from this foolishness, I promise you Ronald Weasley, it will not be in our favour, nor hers!"

Still, people were looking at her, and still, Octavia did not notice. She noticed nothing. For she felt, saw and heard nothing.

"Listen," Sirius demanded sternly. "Malfoy is a valuable prisoner to have for many reasons, Molly, whether or not you wish to acknowledge them. His high-rank in the Death Eater hierarchy means that he will be in possession of knowledge that could give us the upper hand. Not only that, his close relationship with Harry" – Sirius grimaced at the name of his godson, as he did each time he spoke or heard it – "ensures that he is privy to information that we need."

"Assuming that he cracks under interrogation," Molly spat. "But we all know that he won't. The only thing you've done by bringing that man into our home is endangering us all, and that poor girl."

Again, everyone glanced at Octavia, but she remained still and vacant. Blank. Barely existing. Nothing more than a shell of a person.

"Molly," Remus reasoned. "I do share your concerns, but you have to understand Sirius's motives. While he and your son acted on impulse, we can use this to our advantage."

"How did you catch him?" Pansy piped up, derailing the entire conversation.

It was a question that no one had asked, but most pondered internally. An important question. For Draco Malfoy was a powerful wizard, adept in the darkest uses of magic. So how Ron, Neville, Sirius, and Remus were able to capture the dark wizard, whilst being outnumbered, was quite the mystery.

If Octavia wasn't so numb and void of awareness in that moment, she would have undoubtedly perched herself on the edge of her seat in anticipation of the response.

"Everything was fine," Sirius said. "We got the sword, and none of the guards paid any attention to us. When we reached the edge of the Dark Forest to apparate, Zabini shouted out to us."

"He was calling out Blackthorn's name," Ron interjected. "The prisoner I changed into with the poly-juice potion."

"Ron stopped and I stayed with him," Sirius continued. "But Remus and Neville kept going; in case we were attacked, we had to make sure Neville came back here with the sword."

"Before we could reach the apparation point," Remus added, "Malfoy and Nott came out of the forest."

"We were attacked from both sides," Sirius explained. "They must have known that we were going to be there, or had already realised that our prisoners had disappeared from their duties. Zabini was closing in on us, but we were pretty far into the grounds so most of their curses missed. Nott managed to get the sword from Neville, that's how he broke his arm, but Remus took him out."

"Took him out?" Pansy whispered, horror shining in her eyes. "You mean … you killed him?"

"It was him or Neville," Remus said admittedly. "I had no choice."

Pansy swallowed thickly, her eyes prickling with tears that she should never shed for a Death Eater. But it wasn't so black and white. Nothing ever was. For Theodore had been her friend since her early childhood, long before Hogwarts. She mourned for her friend, not the Death Eater he had become.

"Neville disarmed Malfoy," Remus continued. "He surrendered."

"Ron knocked him out, and we apparated out of there before Zabini and the others could catch up to us," Sirius finished.

"What if he surrendered to get to her?" Molly suggested, her tone dangerous.

"No," Ron scoffed. "He's a Slytherin, mum. He acted purely out of self-preservation. Four on one aren't the best odds, even for him."

"He could have stalled until Zabini reached you lot," Arthur countered sternly. "But he just surrendered?"

"Yeah, maybe he could have stalled us," Ron shrugged. "But he would have died trying, and he knew that."

"None of this matters," Mad-Eye snapped. "What matters is that we have a dangerous prisoner in the dungeons, and we need to agree on the best course of action. I vote we kill him."

A few murmurs of agreement rippled through the occupants of the dining room, some nodding, whilst others shook their heads. Some didn't respond at all, seemingly still deciding.

"All those in favour of killing prisoner Draco Malfoy," Mad-Eye gruffed, raising his hand.

Scattered arms raised around the room, a dozen Order members supporting Moody's suggestion. But it wasn't enough, for sixteen people kept their hands down, voting against the option.

"That's settled," Remus said, glancing around the room. "We'll post a guard at the dungeon door for our protection, and alternate shifts between us. Interrogations on the prisoner will commence tomorrow."

"Don't you mean 'torture'?" Octavia croaked, speaking for the first time since the news of Draco's capture had reached her.

Everyone snapped their stares to her instantly, some filled with pity, others obviously uncomfortable, and a few filled with outrage.

"It's nothing he hasn't done to countless people," Ron spat, Octavia perfectly motionless as she gazed at the table.

"It doesn't make it right," Pansy whispered. "Do as your enemy does, and you are no better than who you fight against."

"Spare us your fanciful philosophies," Moody bit. "This is war, and we need to win."

"You've never voiced any concerns regarding our methods before," Sirius said, assessing Pansy coolly. "Maybe this is too personal for you, so I'm ordering that neither yourself or Octavia will be allowed access to the dungeons."

Pansy's expression of outrage was obvious, but she didn't respond. She bit her tongue and turned her gaze to the blonde seated across from her.

Octavia kept her head bowed, her body still, her hazel eyes gazing at the table. Tight curls curtained down the right side of her face, her cheeks hollow and face gaunt. The weight loss from years on the run whilst fighting a war was evident in her face alone. But the same could be said for every person seated at that table, so no one made a fuss over it. Pansy only noticed it, however, as it appeared to add to her miserable expression.

Slowly, Octavia placed her hands on the edge of the table and rose from her seat. The sound of the wooden chair scraping on the harsh ground caught everyone's attention instantly. They watched in silence and pity as she exited the dining room without a word, a miserable aura surrounding her.

Only Pansy seemed to notice the slight burn on the table where Octavia's hands had been a moment before. Pushing herself from the table, Pansy excused herself and quickly went after her friend. She didn't have to search the abbey for Octavia, for she had an educated guess as to where she would have gone.

From the singed wood of the table, Pansy knew that Octavia had experienced a rush of fire through her body, likely due to the overwhelming circumstances. Octavia had developed a ritual of sorts in dealing with the surging fire that dared to escape her over the years.

As predicted, Pansy quickly found Octavia in the bathroom on the third floor, by the sink.

Octavia stood in front of the sink, water pouring out of the rusted old tap and down onto her hands. Her hands faced upwards, water dousing the stubborn flames that danced on her palms, the groaning of the pipes drowning out the sound of Pansy's arrival.

"You should tell someone about this," Pansy said, announcing her arrival.

Octavia didn't flinch at the sound of her voice, keeping her head bowed as she watched the water attempt to fight the flames on her hands.

"It's getting harder to control," Pansy continued, stepping toward her silent friend. "I know you don't want to, but I think you should talk to Hermione about the fire."

Pansy could have sworn that Octavia shook her head, but the movement was so slight that she couldn't be sure.

"I don't need anyone thinking I'm some kind of freak," Octavia croaked feebly.

"You're not a freak," Pansy frowned, approaching her by the sink.

"Yeah, 'cause normal witches and wizards just have fire bursting from their hands all the time," Octavia mumbled, turning off the taps with her soaked hands.

"It's going to be ok," Pansy hushed, standing beside her friend, gazing at her in the reflection of the mirror. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but it will be."

"How can you say that?" Octavia whispered, her voicing cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. "How can you lie like that?"

"Because it helps me believe it," Pansy muttered after a moment.

Octavia scoffed, raising her head, meeting Pansy's gaze in the mirror. And then it happened. The moment that Pansy had been waiting for with emotional dread.

The moment that Octavia broke down.

Her face scrunched up in absolute anguish, a wretched sob ripping through her pink lips as she dropped to her knees in total defeat. Pansy wasted not a second before joining her agonised friend on the ground, wrapping her arms around her shaking body as her sobs swiftly turned into screams.

Pansy just held her. She held her in her arms as Octavia screamed at the top of her lungs, her head thrown back as she released everything she had ever felt in her entire twenty years of life. Everything could be heard in that gut-wrenching, blood-curling scream. Everything from the love she felt for Draco, to the fear, the heartbreak, the affection, the betrayal, the horror. Every little thing that Octavia had ever felt tore through the bathroom, scraped off the walls, rang through the abbey. If the dungeons hadn't been silenced, Draco likely would have heard the horrendous defeated screams of the one he had destroyed.

Blue in the face, Octavia kept screaming, on and on, not stopping, not even when her lungs constricted, begging for air. She continued, pouring her heart and soul into the wretched noise, only stopping when she was on the brink of unconsciousness. A lengthy and gravelly gasp tore through her shaking body as Pansy held her, a silence between them before she burst into a fit of sobs.

"It never gets easier," Pansy whispered, holding her sob-wracked body in her arms. "Knowing what they've become, but still loving them."

"I do- don- don't!" Octavia blubbered through her sobs, lying horribly. "I d-on't lo-ve hi- him!"

But she knew that she did. She knew it in her broken heart and shattered soul.

What did that make her? What kind of person could love a man like that? A man who violated her trust and took advantage of her love. A man who helped destroy the world, and saw to it personally that she was a broken pathetic excuse for a person.

A man she loved to her core, dreamt of every night, yearned for every minute, and most of all, despised with every fibre of her being.

It made her a monster.