CHAPTER 2
The next thing he knows Alecto is barely capable of speaking. She's far worse off than she had been - he checks the clock - 2 hours ago.
He frowns, what would be the point if she died like this? He shakes his head, stepping around a smear of blood towards the witch, curled up in the fetal position.
"Well, I guess I'll have to heal you," he sighs remorsefully. No matter what he wanted to do to her, reparations were due, and Hermione Granger's death needs to be avenged.
The avenging angel. That was a fitting name. It speaks of justice, a hard, cold blade that only cut those deserving. Judge, jury, and executioner. He savours the words in his mind.
He'd had his power taken away before, when his father forced him into the Death-Eaters, and repeated every time that bastard of a leader gave him an order. He was taking his power back, taking it back and exterminating vermin while he was at it.
Win, win. RIght?
XxXxXx
An hour or so later the floor is shiny and clean again, not even a trace of blood maring the stone. A singular white hospital bed is set up against the wall. Alecto connected to several beeping machines.
He stitched her up the best he could, and applied bruise paste to almost all her body. Both her arms are wrapped in bandages, the white gauze weeping red by her hands. He fixed her knees with magic, although she would certainly never run again.
He observes her unemotionally, "Alecto, I'll give you a night to rest, to mourn."
She moans again, "wh...whoo..." The voice stumbles out from her tongue brokenly.
He leans over her, eyes glinting with maniacal light, "you," he whispers. She balks weakly, a tear sliding down her face.
"Now, now, Alecto," he relishes that name, he really does, "don't cry, you've had it coming for a long time now." He reaches for a glass of water on the bedside table, holding it to her mouth, she drinks, parched throat accepting water eagerly.
"Start thinking of last words," he advises, setting the water down with a plunk.
He whirls around, about to walk out the room. She calls him back, voice stronger now she's well-watered.
"Yes, Alecto?" he says civilly, crossing his hands in front of him.
"Why do yo..you care?" she questions, puffed-up eyes glaring at him reproachfully.
He takes a moment to respond, "Hermione Granger didn't deserve to die. Her blood was as pure as mine. And you killed her, the only person that treated me like a human being. So, i'm gonna make you pay." He asks his own question. "Why'd you kill her?" he whispers, eyes pale and glittering.
She doesn't answer, just sags into her pillows and turns her ugly face away from him, as he strides out of the room.
XxXxXX
He's in the parlour, idly flicking through a newspaper when the floo flames. He looks up. It's Pansy, she steps out of the grate, brushing ash off her perfectly ironed clothes. Pansy may have been a school friend during his Hogwarts days, but they are long gone now.
"Draco." she greets stiffly, bob of black hair swinging around her pointed face.
"Pansy," he greets back, equally stiff.
"I've come to discuss a matter of great importance." she confindes, perching on the couch next to him.
He raises his eyebrows, still leafing through the newspaper, "and that would be?"
"The Malfoy Ball, of course. It's coming up and since Narissa isn't here to handle the proceedings like she usually does, I've come to help."
The Malfoy ball was, naturally, a ball that Narcissa held every winter. It was one of the pure-blood events of the year, and marked a date in everyone's calendars.
"What makes you think I'm holding a Malfoy Ball?" he asks, finally looking up from his paper, Pansy's pinched expression is both fury and shock. He doesn't know why she's so surprised, it's not exactly his thing.
"Of course you're holding a Malfoy Ball! Why on god's green earth wouldn't you, now that you're rejoining the circles?"
That was just to find Alecto. Now that's out of the way, he can finally get away from the poison that call themselves pure-blood high society.
"Because I don't want to hold one, Pansy. Anyway, I'm regretting my decision to join again."
"why are you regretting it? It's your legacy, your childhood, it's how you were raised, for Merlin's sake!" She screeches, steely voice rising in pitch.
He stands up, she mirrors his actions, her sharp frame hunched in alarm.
"And my childhood wasn't all that great, you know, forced into the death-eaters at 16 and all!" he roars, losing his temper. "Not everything was flowers and glitter while you were away at Hogwarts, While you were sitting in classes, I was fighting a war," he hisses, tossing a handful of floo powder into the fireplace, "Goodbye, Pansy. Don't come again."
She growls in frustration. "You're practically becoming a Greengrass, Draco." She calls out her home address and disappears into in the green flames, only leaving him with one last scowl and the feel of her dissaproval.
He sighs, maybe he was becoming a Greengrass. Ashby and Cordelia Greengrass were esteemed members of pure-blood society and the Sacred Twenty Eight. Just before the First Wizarding War, the pair married quicky and without any warning, fleeing the circles. It was a disgrace, and the scandal lasted long into the war. No-one ever found the couple and eventually the name died down.
It reawakened when Daphne Greengrass inducted into Hogwarts as a First Year, the same year as him. And later when the younger sister came to Hogwarts, what was her name? Something starting with A… Abbey, Abigail, Adeline, Adele? Nevermind.
Anyway, the point is, I need to retreat, now. I'll come up with a cover story, something easy enough but not obvious. Psychotic break? No, too hard to keep up. Bankrupt? No, no, the Malfoy vaults stretch too deep for that to be believed. Move to France? Yes, that will do nicely, there are too many memories here anyway.
To France I go, he thinks victoriously. To France I go.
