The Task, Part Two
"Souls tend to go back to who feels like home." N.R. Hart
Malfoy Manor was a dark silhouette against the August sunset. Draco panted as if he run from Granger's house to his own but there was no time to collect himself; so with every brisk stride he made toward his front door, Draco wadded the chaos of the past four days into a flaming nebula that could implode at a later time of his choosing. Preferably never.
His hand was only slightly trembling when it grabbed the cold, iron doorknob. At the last second, he used his wand to swing the door open, reminding himself that his wand served as an extension of his own arm even if he had been without magic for days.
He crossed the empty entrance hall, hastily depositing his clothes on a suede chaise. The twin journal sat snugly against his back, tucked into his trouser waistband, before he traveled up the stairs to the massive drawing room. The slightest flicker of wariness paled his overly flush face when he was greeted by a welcoming committee arranged in a half moon. The unexpected company conspicuously blocked the dining table and doorways that led off the room.
Folding his hands behind his back, unconsciously securing the journal further, Draco's eyes flicked cautiously over his parents and Voldemort. Beyond him, his Aunt Bellatrix stood to the right of the Dark Lord, vibrating from the strain to not lean in towards him. The other shock was the statuesque form of his godfather, Severus Snape, swathed in his usual black robes and flanking Aunt Bellatrix's other side.
The silence pressed upon Draco's ears as he tried to orient himself but the welcoming committee grew restless.
"We're so pleased at your return, Draco. Although it was questionable…" Voldemort glided forward, the inquiry hanging in the air like a swaying noose.
Draco demurred accordingly. "Apologies, my Lord. I believed an opportunity to glean more information was imminent and I wished to retrieve whatever information possible for the good of the cause."
In the background Lucius' stance straightened, suffused with pride. Draco waited for his father's newfound delight to warm his insides but the thought of what was still to come froze his blood instead.
He pulled his eyes away from his father, entirely ignoring any contact with his mother lest he slip. Looking back at the face of his darkest ambiguity, he inwardly cringed at the greed coloring the skin a pallid pink. Draco retreated to the sanctuary of his thoughts and intoned, "Granger was very solitary in her daily movements. Other than her parents, she only traded contact with Potter and Weasley- Ron- based on the owls that visited the house."
He pulled in a breath refusing to even blink and fracture the truth-tinged fabrication. "She spent most of her time just reading," pausing to snort disdainfully, "but the two times she left her residence, I was able to sneak in and pull information from a journal she kept." The half circle audience leaned forward in anticipation, Voldemort sifting closer in such eagerness that he left a mere half meter between them. His ashy exhalations of excitement filled the short distance and Draco would have gagged if he wasn't so deep in his mind.
"She mentioned Order names." Draco heard a gasp that he attributed to Bellatrix, knowing his mother wouldn't betray an ounce of emotion. "Most we already know but a few were linked to the Ministry. They were Theodore Knowles and Felix Fugazi. Also a woman, Bethany Moros."
The air hummed with possibility and Voldemort, without moving an inch from Draco, ordered over his shoulder, "Severus check on these names."
"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied as he briskly moved toward the stairs, taking a moment to drill Draco with a stygian stare of suspicion.
A problem for tomorrow, if I live to see it. He briefly basked in the memory of thinking those same words a few hours ago but instead of being burdened by predatory stares, he had felt bolstered by a piteous, brown one. His inner view widened to include a bottom lip, trapped between straight white teeth. The feel of her brown curls still tickled his fingertips; before long, he felt his focus tumble into the frenetic sea of memories accumulated over the past four days and he struggled to resent this over-emotional reaction.
Draco forced his steely gaze outward, mentally gasping for air and the clarity required to push forward through the interrogation.
He noted the two remaining men in front of him and eschewed the pawn-like role he served in both their lives. Then there were the women- of the same blood but split beliefs; one's only expectation was his happiness while the other would settle for nothing less than blind following.
And then again, her face crystallized in his mind's eye, one he would have expected by now to have no bearing on his self-esteem. Yet, he felt trapped by Granger's last words to him, echoing his present turmoil.
"Do whatever he expects of you. There's no escaping that…"
The words had been released into the air like little Pandora boxes, there for him to do with as he liked. He wondered if she expected anything from him.
He wondered if he cared.
In terms of the rest of the world, he supposed they expected either everything or nothing from Draco Malfoy.
Particularly the two red slits and twisted mouth that re-entered his line of sight… it wanted most certainly everything. Draco wasn't sure if he had anything left to give.
But, he pressed on. "I found something else in her book. She was researching what would cause wands to connect; the entry was dated around the summer after Triwizard Tournament." He felt his eyes glaze over with practiced blankness, knowing that this information was important to the Dark Lord but refusing to openly acknowledge that he knew such. He didn't know how it was possible but Voldemort's eyes narrowed further as he contemplated Draco.
"Bellatrix?" he questioned, again not bothering to turn and face his follower. Bellatrix was nothing but enthusiastic to be called upon. As Bellatrix tried to catch Voldemort's focus she moved into Draco's line of vision, her wild black hair in a tangle of curls which made him a bit sick with guilt.
"You heard Draco. You know what to do."
She preened, "Yes, my Lord. Right away, my Lord." Then his aunt strode forward and much like Snape, paused to acknowledge Draco. "You've done well, nephew."
He choked on his own bile in response. Soon, only the Malfoys and Voldemort stood in the drawing room. With no windows to the outside, Draco couldn't gauge if night had fallen. His body was stiff from the stress of the interrogation which felt to have carried on for hours. Evidently, the Dark Lord wasn't done. He started to circle Draco almost idly, Voldemort's wand draped casually in his hand as he rotated around and subtly prodded Draco's mind.
Instantly the young Malfoy mentally seized up, blurring the hours with Granger to resemble the static of sleep- not a stretch for Draco as those days together seemed more like vivid dreams.
"Draco," Voldemort whispered, the syllables slithering over Malfoy's shoulder, "You have yet to provide any concrete information about Miss Granger herself."
His heartbeat drowned out his fear. With his parents' eyes intent upon him, Draco spilled the poison he'd been brewing for this moment in hopes of infecting someone else.
"It's like I said, my Lord. She's a bookish brat. A mudblood know-it-all. She hardly did anything but take trips to the library and read." He exhaled and shrugged his shoulder, even though the movement felt rigid, rusty. "She seemed actually distant from Potter as I only observed the trading of one letter and most of what she wrote back to him was lies."
Though he could not see it, Draco could feel Voldemort allowing a rare grin to grace his face. "Perhaps the mudblood already accepts the inevitability of her fate," Voldemort ventured.
Draco nearly swayed on the spot. His mother's eyes had widened minutely at the remark, the unspoken promise it contrived caught in the confines of the group.
It was always those gaping holes of silence that, if not careful, one fell into with no hope of climbing out.
The insanity of the last couple weeks on the task suddenly pressed upon Draco like a crushing weight and although he knew it foolish he asked, "With all due respect, if there is nothing else my Lord?"
I would like to retire to my room. Take a fucking shower. Perhaps face a roomful of boggarts to unwind.
He reconsidered that notion as he thought of all those Luciuses standing off, some berating Draco for his shortcomings while others praise him for his malicious feats. It made Voldemort look a touch more bearable.
But then he shifted in front of Draco and spoke. "There is something else Draco, my loyal recruit." His whole ghostly face radiated evil intent, all the more horrifying by the grin that still stretched across his lips. Draco suddenly felt that yawning grave created by the earlier silence would be immeasurably better than the words Voldemort was about to hiss.
"All of my loyal followers must complete an ultimate show of loyalty. You, Draco, will prove a most valuable weapon indeed." Voldemort paused, a real professional at dramatics. "You are tasked with a vital death, one that will irrevocably shift the course of the coming war."
Draco gulped to clear his throat and thus force the question from his shivering frame.
"Whose death, my Lord?"
The coffin lid slid neatly into place. "Albus Dumbledore."
oOo
The name that would be his downfall beat in his head as mercilessly as the hot water rained upon his body. Draco had been standing in the shower for a good half hour, waiting for the water to cleanse him. After the interrogation, he felt blacker than fear.
Draco closed his eyes as the steam billowed around him; in the blurred enclosure, he half-expected to reach out and close his hand around that sinful soap of Granger's.
The extended exposure to the hot water started to chafe at his skin so Draco turned the knob and stepped into the large, marble-filled bathroom. He tied a towel around his waist, the cool air kissing his still wet skin. He deftly moved through the drawers of the sink's cabinet; everything was exactly where it was meant to be.
Then why isn't the thought comforting?
Slamming the drawers savagely, Draco stalked into his room that was dark save for the candlelight on his desk. He had tucked the journal between a few old school books once the Dark Lord dismissed him. Now that he was alive to see another day and completely clean from the rigors of the task, Draco's hands itched to examine his prize.
He slipped seamlessly from plush towel to even plusher robe and approached the desk with his accelerating heartbeat roaring in his ears, so much so that the gentle rap on his bedroom door initially went unnoticed. Draco spun around, flushed with guilt, when he heard the door crack open.
"Draco? May I come in?" His mother's murmured request traveled through the opening. He cast another look toward the hidden journal and sighed. "Yes, Mother."
Narcissa was a shadow, flitting from the semi-darkness of the hallway to the impenetrable black of Draco's room. She wordlessly lit her wand although Draco stood backlit by the desk candle light's soft glow. He kept his eyes cast downward while his hands braced his backside on the desk, covertly protecting the journal.
As the adrenaline from the interrogation receded, a new kind of anxiety fluttered in his stomach; if anyone could get the truth out of Draco, it was his mother.
Fierce, cunning Slytherin she is, that would have Granger weeping in envy.
"I'm pleased that you are back from the task safe," she began, creeping forward so the lumos would illuminate Draco. "Although that safety seems short-lived."
Draco snorted. "Bit of an understatement." His gray eyes swung upwards to meet their likeness; for a brief moment he felt the cynicism in his thaw as his mother openly stared with abject fear.
"I will find a way, Mother." He soothed, uncharacteristically running his fingers along her hairline.
Narcissa shuddered from the contact before pulling her frame stiff again. The smallest of smiles turned her lips as she replied, "Of course you shall, and with help."
Draco quirked his eyebrow. She had stepped back so that the darkness could crowd between them.
I'm not going to like this.
"I will be asking your godfather to provide assistance, should you need it, once you are at Hogwarts." Draco shifted forward, propelled by irritation that even in his descent to hell he required help.
"Mother," he started, not attempting to hide the aggravation in his tone.
Her wand had blacked out as she reached the door to the hallway. "There will be no discussion, Draco. You are my son first, a Death Eater recruit second. I will help where I can."
Narcissa then ghosted out the door much like she entered. Damn meddling women.
Draco's hand connected hard with the books on his desk, reminding him of his initial intent before his mother barged in to vex him. His overeager hands unearthed the journal and opened it; the solitary light in his room flickered over the text and despite the meticulous nature of Granger's penmanship, he could not discern it in the dark.
Draco pulled his wand from the robe pocket, still relishing the feel of being reunited with it. He cast a Lumos as he flipped through the pages, appallingly interested to see if Granger had written since he left the house.
Draco wasn't sure if he was uplifted or uneasy when he reached a hastily scrawled entry dated today. He slowly inhaled; then, after imposing a cool and clinical mindset, he started to read.
Aug 14
~I don't think I will be able to find the right words to articulate the chaotic tailspin I now find myself in. All at the hands of Draco Malfoy.
He was sent to spy on me for reasons unknown at present, although I could hazard a guess. After what happened in the Department of Mysteries, I doubt Voldemort is leaving anything to chance.
At least, that is to say consciously. Would he have expected mudblood Hermione Granger to have outwit and caught Malfoy?
Would he have expected the rest that occurred after said capture? I didn't. Even now, I'm not sure what to expect. That lying snake wasn't actually lying- he could perform magic and obviously without any fear of consequence of the trace! Now I can't help but wonder if it really was just a game for him since he had nothing to fear…
And I also wonder why I even care! It's just Malfoy. Cranky, condescending Malfoy. Malicious Malfoy the git. But then, didn't I also see hesitantly curious Malfoy? And dare I say it- dark and mysterious Draco?
Oh Godric! I'm not sure what to think! Rambling on like this isn't helping either. For now, I shall stick to the facts. Malfoy is a Death Eater in the making. There is no knowing if what went on during our time together has any basis in reality, which means whatever conflicting feelings that arose from it cannot be considered.
Perhaps I will be lucky enough when we end up back at Hogwarts that I can corner him and claim my grand prize. That is, if we both end up back at Hogwarts.~
Draco traced the last word as if the movement would reveal more of Granger's writing. The uneasiness from earlier had solidified like a rock with every word he read. It sat heavy in the pit of his stomach; Draco wished he could just get sick and remove the unfamiliar sensation from his body but a creeping thought prevailed over such impulse.
This feeling is here to stay.
Draco stripped from his robe and padded over to his bed. Lifting the enormous mattress, he slid the journal onto the bed frame before dropping the mattress back into place and climbing between cool sheets.
Draco tossed, then turned. Despite the intensity of the day, his body resisted relaxing into the soft mattress, as if he would sink in and not be able to climb back out.
He vaulted from the bed, grumbling tiredly, before bundling the bed things in a ball and throwing them to the floor. Draco added his pillow to the collection and burrowed into the nest of expensive fabric.
Can't even sleep in a bed now. Bloody Lion...
