A/N: Reviews=love.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Quote by Albert Camus.
You know what charm is: a way of getting the answer yes without having asked any clear question.
Draco supposed if he was grateful for anything his father had taught him it was this, charm, tact, manipulation; all of which Lucius Malfoy had mastered under his father and thought important enough to instill it in his son in turn. He nearly snorted, but instead bit his tongue.
The action was not lost on his father, who shot him a look from his seat to his left.
He ignored the questioning gaze and drilled his gaze forward.
Meetings was too tame a word to describe these gatherings. They were practically as vicious as the battlefield. Every member constantly manipulating and looking for opportunities to hedge in their opinions, to earn favor by demonstrating their own cunning.
"….and we believe it to be a safehouse of sorts, though recent activity suggests that it may be a smaller, but operational base."
His eyes darted toward Dolohev, who was speaking slowly, as though to make his words carry more weight than what they were actually worth. He forced himself to listen as Dolohev droned about information he'd come across.
This wasn't the first time Dolohev, and by extension McNair, had delivered reports about possible Resistance safe houses and bases. They'd been wrong more times than not. Lately though, the information and locations were frighteningly more accurate. He had only just managed to warn Andromeda in time to prevent the massacres. He was becoming suspicious that the Order may have a leak.
"And you're sure of your information this time?" Draco finally spoke, feigning disinterest as he bent his head examining his nails. "After all." He lifted his eyes to meet Dolohev's, "We wouldn't want a repeat of all your previous attempts."
If he could discredit Dolohev enough, perhaps the Dark Lord would ignore the information.
Dolohev tightened his jaw, but pasted a thin smile on his face.
He forced himself not grimace at the sight.
"I assure you the information is completely reliable."
He was about to ask how Dolohev could be so sure when Voldemort tapped his wand against the table. It was funny how all heads at the table turned together to look at him.
Like trained dogs.
Voldemort let his eyes wander around the table before settling on Dolohev.
"Young Draco presents a valuable point. Your information has not always…rung true."
"My lord," Dolohev said stiffly, "The information is true. In fact, it falls in line with our own suspicions."
Voldemort waved him to continue.
He watched as Dolohev straightened before continuing. "Godric's Hollow."
He felt a sharp pain in his head, and he resisted the urge to rub the tension from his temple.
He was vaguely aware of the table erupting in murmurs of both disbelief and agreement.
The pain in his head throbbed making his heart race. His vision blurred from the scene around the table to a large home lit up in colors. He took a breath and willed his heart to calm, while focusing on pushing the pain back along with the images.
Not here. Please not here.
"It is true." Dolohev spoke above the murmurs, "That we've previously visited Godric's Hollow, but this time instead of the whole town, we will only be focusing on one particular place."
Draco watched Dolohev produce a folded parchment and hand it to Voldemort.
The chilling smile that spread across the Dark Lord's face was enough to quiet the pounding in his head for a moment.
"Interesting. Most interesting." Voldemort murmured.
Draco felt his stomach tighten. Whatever Dolohev had proposed had the Dark Lord intrigued, and that alone was concerning. That fact combined with the intensifying pain in his head was enough to make him think he was moments away of being sick right on the table.
He looked down at his hands, focusing on taking slow and steady breaths.
It felt as though his head was about to split in two.
"…Strategies of course. We will need the best…"
He blinked and looked up to find the parchment that Dolohev had given Voldemort before him.
"Tell me Draco." Voldemort hissed, "what do you make of this?"
He swallowed, wincing at the dryness of his throat.
He glanced down at the parchment and examined the rough blueprints before him. It looked like a residential home, but with several floors and what looked like an extensive basement.
He licked his lips.
"Will there be anyone of importance that we want?"
The Dark Lord laughed, and he resisted the urge to shiver at the hissing sound.
"Always a delight Draco."
He plastered a smirk on his face, that for once was not completely manufactured. It was somewhat amusing, how easy it was to fool the Dark Lord. Charm. He wondered what his father would think if he knew just how he was employing the lessons that had been drilled into him since birth.
He bowed his head respectfully. "Well then my Lord, collapse the building. Make an example of them."
He could feel the other's stares. "We can make it so that nothing remains. Erase them."
He felt the mood shift as others around the table nodded, following his logic. Though, he caught expressions of dissatisfaction with his idea. It was not bloody enough. Of course, that was his goal. Minimize damage. Ensure that Death Eaters weren't set on a locate and kill mission.
He let his gaze travel slowly to the head of the table. Voldemort looked thoughtful. "Yes. I see the appeal." He mused before turning to Dolohev. "Prepare your plans. Submit them to Draco when you are confident in your strategy." He blinked, unsure if he'd heard correctly.
It wasn't that he hadn't led missions before, but he'd avoided it. It would be suspicious if too many missions failed as he was leading them.
Dolohev pinched his lips, his anger radiating off him. He willed his gaze to the other and allowed a small smirk to grace his lips before bowing his head to Voldemort to show his acceptance.
Dolohev's anger intensified, and he honestly found the entire situation hilarious, in a deranged sort of way. They were fighting over who would lead the enfolding massacre. It was sick.
Just like that, the churning in his stomach resumed.
He tuned out the rest of the meeting, barely able to follow the line of discussion in order to deliver his obligatory opinion. He was much more occupied in trying to calm the raging pain centered on the back of his head and between his brows.
When it finally ended, he rose slowly, his body begging to Floo home and collapse in his bed. He stepped from the room only to be stopped by Dolohev.
He waited patiently. When Dolohev said nothing, he felt his patience flare with another sharp pain in his temples.
"Is there something you need Dolohev?" He said, not bothering to hide the annoyance from his face. Dolohev scowled and twisted his lips into a sneer.
"You will not ruin this mission."
Draco shot him a look. "I don't think you understand. If the Dark Lord thought you capable of giving out orders, he wouldn't have essentially given the mission to me. As it is, he doesn't seem to trust you to even atone for your past failures."
"Failures." Dolohev growled. He stood tall, his wand having made its way into his hand. "You forget your place amongst your elders. Don't be so quick to also forget your own failures. I still remember how that night ended. Care to repeat it Malfoy."
Draco resisted the urge to draw his own wand, but he refused to give Dolohev the satisfaction of having angered him.
If anything, his silence infuriated Dolohev more than any hex he could have sent him. The man's wand was shooting sparks as he stepped closer to him.
He wondered if he ought to now draw his wand.
"Now Dolohev, I think that's enough terrorizing my nephew."
Rodolphus stepped between them. Dolohev scowled, but after meeting the other senior Death Eater's gaze, he shot Draco another sneer before shoving them both away as he disappeared toward the Floo.
Draco waited for Rodolphus to follow, but when it became apparent that Rodolphus had no intention of disappearing, he snapped back to face him.
"I am not your nephew. You just happen to have the misfortune of being married to my aunt." He said, letting his façade of boredom slip over his face.
Rodolphus matched his icy gaze. Though he saw it, a single crack in the mask, a twinge of anger fleetingly pass in his eyes.
"You would do well Malfoy to remember just where you were not long ago, and how easily it would be for you to fall once more."
His anger flared. He was tired of the threats, and he would not allow himself to feel fear from either Rodolphus or Dolohev; not when he'd stared evil incarnate himself in the eye and lied to his heart's content for nearly 4 years.
His wand was immediately in his hand, and he shoved Rodolphus into the opposing wall. His 'uncle' scrambled to his feet, but before he could retaliate, Draco was beside him, his wand drilled into Rodolphus's neck.
"You are too focused on the past my dear Uncle." He spat, before relieving the pressure of his wand on the other's neck, though not removing it completely.
"You saw me as a broken boy before, but aren't you frightened of what I've become? Others are." He mused, moving his wand to Rodolphus's head. "Aren't you worried what this broken boy could do to your mind?"
Rodolphus made a strangled sound, but otherwise did nothing.
"Shame." He clucked his tongue, "I'd have thought you'd be warier at the possibility of madness, being married to my Aunt Bella and all."
He watched as the older man struggled to quench the fear that was settling in his eyes.
When it was apparent he'd made his point, he dropped his hand in disgust.
"I think I've had enough petty threats for today." He sneered before stalking toward the Floo.
He may have squashed Rodolphus's threat now, but he couldn't help the uneasiness wash over him as he lifted his wand to the mantle to activate the Floo. That was two threats today, coupled with the warnings from his father. Were they plotting against him?
He threw in the Floo powder and called out for his flat.
It was possible, in fact, it was probable. The encroachment of the new Death Eater generation rattled the senior members. Their own usefulness was threatened with each young member that rose in rank. It had been part of the reason he'd tried to dissuade Theo to begin with. It wasn't enough, the horrors that came with branding yourself with the mark of a madman; no, you also had to fight against his senior brainwashed followers.
As the Floo's magic pulled him away, he wondered if maybe it had been a mistake to rise so drastically in the ranks. The visibility had made him vulnerable, and not for the first time his thoughts drifted to Hermione.
He could not afford to be vulnerable now.
He was almost surprised when he stepped in the room and found it empty. Though when he took into account how late it currently was, he couldn't fault Hermione for not wanting to wait up for him. He loosened his collar and stepped into the hall toward his bedroom when he caught sight of the light on in his office.
A thin smile creased his mouth and he re-routed to the study. He propped open the door and silently took in the scene before him.
There were a couple of rune texts scattered at the desk, though they'd seemed to have been abandoned by Hermione, who was now perched at the piano bench.
She still hadn't noticed him, and he, for a brief moment, wondered what it was like to be that relaxed. To just fall peacefully into your own world. Be free from the surrounding.
He cleared his throat, and she snapped her head up from the book currently in her lap, giving him room to catch which tome had occupied her interest.
"I didn't think you liked Quidditch all that much to be reading an entire book on it."
She shot him a thin smile. "I don't but Harry and Ron love this book..." she trailed off.
Ah. nostalgia.
"It's heavy isn't it, the burden of this war?" she murmured before shaking her head with a snort, "Well of course you know, you told me all that time ago. War is paid for by children."
He said nothing, instead perching himself next to her on the piano bench. He slipped the book from her hands and placed it beside him.
He was tired, frankly all he'd wanted to do was go to bed, but for some reason he'd never been able to be completely selfish when it came to Hermione. this, at least, was one thing that he could actually help with now.
"I know you miss them," He murmured, "and I am going to figure out a way to get you out of here."
She looked up with bright eyes, and he was struck dumb at the sight. The whiskey color that he was so familiar with seemed to only be enhanced with the green that was now present in them. He'd asked her about when the change had started to happen. When she muttered dark magic and remained quiet, he easily put two and two together.
Bellatrix.
Merlin, how he wanted to put that woman six feet under.
Hermione was looking at him intently. When he couldn't formulate a reply, she took in a breath.
"You're later than I thought you'd be."
He nodded.
"I was held up by Rodolphus."
He grimaced, trailing his fingers lightly over the keys of the piano.
She bit her lip, and opened her mouth to ask. He quickly cut her off with a shake of his head.
"I have an idea." He said then, pulling her up with him as he led them back out to the Floo.
"Draco?" she stumbled after him.
"I want to take you somewhere."
She stopped, tugging at his arm.
"What about curfew?"
He smirked. "I don't think that will be a problem."
He pushed her into the Floo, before grabbing a bit of powder and activating it with a tap of his wand.
He murmured the destination, not wanting Hermione to overhear, lest she guess where they were going.
When they stumbled out of the Floo a second later, she shoved him. "I can't believe you just tossed me into the Floo like…like a rag doll."
He grinned, and let her unwind from her rant.
When she quieted, she blinked up at him before turning to look around the room. Her jaw dropped before she whirled back to face him.
"Are…are we in a library?"
He forced back the laughter that immediately rose at her astonishment.
"Something like that." He said walking passed her and trailing his hand across the spines of the books.
"It's a bit of a blend between a book shop and a library." He continued, looking over his shoulder back at her.
She stood firmly rooted in her spot, and he smirked before turning back and grabbing her hand to lead her into the store.
"How is being here not breaking curfew?"
"We're a bit deeper in Muggle London, enforcement is a little weaker," He began, "and this shop is connected to the flat, in a way."
She furrowed her brows, but dropped his hand and went of her own accord to explore the shelves.
"How is it connected?" she asked as she pulled a book from the shelf to browse through.
"I'm sure you've noticed the enchantment on the bookshelf in my study."
She looked up and blushed slightly before nodding.
He cracked a thin smile and waved his hand in the air to tell her he didn't mind her looking through his texts.
"Yes, you pull out a book and it's replaced with another."
He nodded and then spread his arms wide. "Well, they all come from here." He bit his lip, "took me quite a bit to figure out."
She laughed and hugged the book in her arm close to her chest. She shook her head, but the amusement was thick in her gaze.
"So you own a book shop in muggle London."
He stepped closer to her.
"It was a good investment."
She hummed in agreement.
"It's perfect." She murmured stealing a quick kiss from him before darting off toward another shelf.
He smiled watching her dart through the shelves, before stealing a glance to take in the entire shop.
He'd opened it recently, as a way to funnel some of his funds and possessions away from the wizarding world. Though, a stray wizard or witch had made their way into the shop, it was primarily catered toward his muggle customers, complete with muggle employees that he'd hired while he'd been polyjuiced. The Floo he'd brought Hermione through was to a floor above the shop that he'd magically expanded into a library of sorts filled with books he'd wanted to save from the Manor and his mother's family home.
He had wanted to save more, but under his father's inquisitive gaze, he'd hardly dared take more than this.
He followed the sound of Hermione's footsteps and found her amongst the genealogy shelves.
"These are amazing." Hermione breathed with a book in her hands from her position on the floor. He glanced at the title and felt his stomach clench.
Unraveling the Lines: The History of the Sacred 28 L. Martel
She'd currently had the book opened to the Weasley family tree and was tracing the names she was no doubt familiar with. "It updates with each birth." She murmured.
She looked up at him with a thin smile before turning the pages until she came to abrupt stop.
His breath caught.
His family tree.
She flipped from the Black family tree that was entwined with the family on the next page, the Malfoys. Her mouth moved as she read the names of his ancestors before stopping at the bottom.
She traced his name on the page before looking up to meet his gaze.
"I always wondered about that nickname, Slytherin Prince. I suppose, in a way, it is deserved."
He shook his head, dropping to sit beside her. He sighed as he glanced at the page.
"I used to love it." He whispered, "All the attention, but as I grew up…I hated it, how they all took me for royalty and used it to measure their opinions of me."
He took the book from her hands and traced the line from his name up to his father's. He let his fingers move to the side and stop at his mother's name.
"I always wondered about that." Hermione said softly, "About how two notoriously powerful families had never connected except for this one instance."
"My father always told me it was a gamble to wed a Black. That you never quite know which side of the scale they're going to tip." He murmured.
Hermione furrowed her brows.
"But he married a Black."
"Who wouldn't have back then?"
He pursed his lips, "They were powerful in their own way, when they weren't warring with themselves. Old family. Old wealth. Their blood practically ingrained into the ground of the very wizarding world. There was a lot of people who wanted to ally themselves with them."
"But that wasn't the reason for your mother," she bit her lip, "was it?"
He thought about the expression of utter defeat on his father's face when his wife, his mother, had crumpled to the ground before him. No. It wasn't about an alliance then.
"No." Draco whispered, voice thick with emotion, "No. He loved her." He was lost in the throngs of his memory then, flashes of his parents running through his mind. "More than anyone thought him capable of." He continued, more to himself than to Hermione.
She nodded before dropping her head to rest on his shoulder. Her arm reached over his to trace the page again. This time though she stopped at his grandfather's name.
"What's this?" she asked moving her hand from Abraxas Malfoy to the lines of his progeny.
He followed her fingers as they moved first to the line that led to his father's name and the other that stretched from Abraxas and blurred, making it impossible to tell the name of who the line connected to.
"The Blacks aren't the only ones to turn their back on certain members of their family." He said, laying his hand on top of Hermione's as she continued to trace the blurred line.
"My aunt." He murmured on, "though she wasn't exactly disowned, the family distanced themselves from her."
"Why?" she whispered.
"I don't know specifics." He admitted, "But it involved some sort of accident that happened to her. The rest of the family felt she no longer represented the ideal image of a Malfoy." He let his bitterness at his ancestors drip from his tongue. How many people lost because of the rampant idiocy of his forefathers?
"That's awful." Hermione muttered tracing down from the blurred name as the line continued.
"She had children." She said softly following the line.
He nodded. "Another cousin I never properly knew."
Without a word, she threaded her arm under his shoulder and pressed closely into him. He took the book from her and closed it before sending it off back to its place on the shelf.
"Enough of that." He said, "I brought you here to cheer you up, not darken the mood."
She cracked a smile before darting to her feet and dragging him with her through the shelves.
They spent hours just walking amongst the books until Hermione would settle on one to flip through for a while.
It was well into early morning before they stumbled back through the Floo into the flat. They barely had energy to strip and change into sleeping clothes before falling onto his bed. After that, it was all too easy to close his eyes and immediately drift to sleep.
He felt the warmth of the sun washing over his face and the feel of a warm breeze ruffling his hair. He peeked through his lashes and then immediately opened his eyes completely.
He was standing in the midst of the familiar Manor gardens. Only unlike how they were now, nearly barren and filled with overgrown moss, these fields were trimmed and properly maintained.
He lent down and let his hands graze the flower petals of the tulips beside him.
It felt so real.
In fact, he already felt his nose itching at the onslaught of pollen from the plants all around him.
He heard voices and immediately drifted toward the sound, pausing at the top of a hill at the sight below him.
Below him was his mother playfully chasing a blonde toddler back and forth amongst the flower beds.
Him.
A memory.
He felt his stomach churn and was unable to stop himself from edging closer to the pair.
"Come on now Draco. You know you're not supposed to come down here while the flowers are blooming." His mother called before dashing after the platinum haired child.
His younger self darted away from his mother and passed where he was standing not far from them both.
"But Mum." The young Draco began before being cut off by a soft sneeze. He rubbed his small hands on his nose before wrinkling it. "I want to stay outside." He managed before he sneezed again.
Narcissa came up behind him and swung the child up in her arms and spun around.
He bit his lip as he recalled the sensation. Twirling round and round and round in his mother's arms. At the time, it was better than flying.
His mother planted a chaste kiss to his temple and parted his messed hair from his forehead.
"Why don't we get your broom and go over by the clearing?" She compromised before setting him down on the ground.
The child's head bobbed up and down before he dashed up the hill toward the shed that housed all the brooms and Quidditch supplies. He heard his own voice call back that he would beat his mother to the brooms.
He stood dumbstruck beside the memory of his mother watching his platinum head dash up and disappear down the hill.
He could remember how the rest of this memory went, and the subsequent hours that his mother had spent teaching him to fly, while stopping him from sailing higher than she'd deemed safe.
But why? Why was he remembering this now? After spending the nearly two years since her death trying to push back any semblance of a memory relating to her into the dark recesses of his mind, what had brought this on?
"I'm sorry."
He stumbled before turning his head to look at his mother. She stood with her face still trained up the hill that he'd disappeared on.
"I'm sorry." She repeated, "I'm sorry I had to leave you alone."
Before he had a chance to determine if she was actually speaking to him, the present him, she'd drifted away and was halfway up the hill.
"Wait. Wait" he said running to catch up with her,
"Mum."
He sat up, blinking at the immediate darkness around him. His eyes adjusted to the dark, and he recognized the edges of his bedroom furniture.
He sat back, and felt Hermione stir beside him before nestling into his chest and drifting back to sleep.
He blinked again unsettled by the contents of his dream. He shook his head before closing his eyes and tightening his hold around Hermione.
He didn't nod back off to sleep until the first rays of sun were seeping through his window. It was still ringing in his ears though,
I'm sorry I had to leave you alone.