There was always a plan. Always.
When Lucius Malfoy came to visit his son in his exceptionally dark robes, he had a plan. He didn't care whether or not his son would want to do it, because in the end he would force his son to do it. Either by using imperio to puppeteer Draco to do the job, or inflict as much pain on him as possible until he gave in, Draco would end up carrying out his father's wishes.
He wasn't an ideal father.
When Draco arrived home from the bar, early that night for some reason, he noticed his father sitting disdainfully on Helena's couch. It was funny how he characterized everything in that apartment as Helena's, like constantly using her name allowed her to be alive.
"What are you doing here father?" Draco asked. His voice was monotone. Lucius tapped his black cane on Helena's table before he stood up, his pointed face accentuated with the black of his robes casting a shadow upon them.
Lucius' face upturned in a smile, a scary one at that, before he answered his brooding son. "I have a job for you. It'll take some time, I expect, to be carried out, but I have faith in you Draco."
Draco shook his head. "I'm not doing it Father." He walked past Lucius, avoiding his gaze.
"Crucio."
Only a foot into the bright kitchen, his world went dark. He crumbled, screaming, as intense pain hit his body. Suddenly thousands of invisible knives were plunging themselves into his skin. His body writhed in pain for what it seemed like hours until the pain faded away. He lay gasping on the kitchen floor, seeing spots where his father should have been standing.
"Are you sure you don't want to carry out this little task for me? It won't cost you anything," Lucius said in a sickly sweet voice.
Draco gasped in breath to calm his racking body. Heaving himself up, he leaned on the kitchen counter staring angrily at his father. He noticed Lucius had taken his wand out of the stick, his hand clasped over a horrible looking snake.
"I won't do it, not after what you did to—"Draco was cut off as another flurry of knives hit his body. When it ended he stayed on the floor, hating that he showed this small sign of weakness to his father.
"You haven't even heard my proposition dear Draco." Lucius smirked the same smirk that so often found its way onto Draco's face.
Draco rested his forehead on the cool tiles of the kitchen, hoping to cool down his burning body. "I don't want to hear it," he said furiously.
Lucius pretended as though Draco said nothing. "Ah son, it is the most brilliant plan yet. The Dark Lord is gone, which is sufferable enough, but now mudbloods are walking Diagon Alley as though they own it. The other day I saw one bushy haired girl buying one of Borgin and Burkes objects! She looked quite delicious, but I knew right away whose side she was on. I believe her name is Granger." Lucius tapped his cane roughly on Draco's shoulder, a movement that told Draco right away to stand up. He got up grudgingly.
"So? What is this supposed to do with us if Granger was in Knockturn Alley?"
Lucius sighed impatiently. "What if she is getting an object for Harry Potter? Who knows what he is planning with the Dark Lord gone?" He snarled. His wrinkled white hands tightened on the snake head of his cane.
"Then Potter has a dark object. Who cares? I certainly don't anymore."
"Of course you do Draco. You know how those three imbeciles work together to bring down other higher powered wizards."
Draco chuckled darkly. "It's not those three anymore. Weasel and Potter don't speak to Granger anymore." Suddenly he hated that he had given Lucius Malfoy this vital piece of information.
Lucius' eyes lit up at the sound of this. "So…" He stopped, trailing off to think. Whatever he was planning, it surely involved dark magic, just the kind he had seen Hermione Granger looking at.
Nonchalantly Lucius changed the subject. "The Manor has been given back to us. The Ministry deemed it safe and without dark magic."
"I'm not moving back." Draco said darkly.
"I wasn't expecting you. No, I'm expecting you to use the family dungeons. Now listen to me—"Lucius paused again, putting it into order in his head. His voice became harsh, every word seeping deep into Draco's flesh and bones. "I swear I'll use the Imperius curse on you if you do not obey me. All good sons obey their fathers. Now, you will get as close as you can to that Granger girl. Use as many means as you want to; just get her to trust you. Then, following this, you'll place her in our dungeons and slowly kill her until the Potter boy comes to rescue his little friend."
Draco looked confused, an emotion he was not used to displaying on his thin face. "Why would I do this?"
"To get rid of them of course. It doesn't really matter if the Weasley boy comes—"Lucius spat the name at the remembrance of how they betrayed the pure-blood wizards, "—just make sure Potter is there. Then you'll kill the mudblood in front of him. That should still his heart."
Draco swallowed a lump in his throat. Did he really have a chance not to do this? No, unless he wanted to do it against his will. "I…" He stopped.
"Draco, you don't want to because of what happened to that poor Helena girl. I promise that will never happen again." Lucius smiled that sickly sweet smile again and turned away from him. "You start getting close to her today." With a spin, Lucius Malfoy was gone.
Draco stared furiously at the spot where his father had stood. Old memories came up to haunt him.
Lucius Malfoy had killed Helena Teaming.
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On Thursday, Hermione moved out of Jensen's apartment with her many bags full of clothes, tea sets, jewelry and the odd vase of daffodils, her favourite flower. Jensen wasn't there to see her go, but Hermione wasn't really expecting him to be.
Stepping out of the house, she ran into a tall man pacing on the porch. His hands were tucked into his jean's pockets as he bit the side of his lip.
"Oh sorry!" Hermione said hurriedly as she dropped a bag full of her teacups on the ground, many smashing upon the stone of the porch. Sighing, she ignored the man and pointed her wand at the cups.
"Reparo," The man said, quicker at casting than she was. The cups quickly repaired themselves and righted in the bag. Hermione looked up to see who had helped her and found herself staring at the face of Draco Malfoy.
"What are you doing here?" She asked him, scoffing at the sight of him, his muddied jeans from the rain, shirt askew, half tucked in, and rain boots. Rain boots! On Draco Malfoy!
Draco shrugged. "I could ask myself the same thing."