A/N: Hi all, I've joined the International Wizarding School Championship writing competition, and this story is my sixth entry. To readers of my Harry/Draco series, this is NOT part of that universe. Also, I'd like to take a moment and send special thanks this round out to my amazing betas, DrarryMadhatter, Ashenmoon42, Hemlockconium, and Paceso. You always do outstanding work, but this round, you took my story and helped me make it into something special. The amount of time you spent with me on this story is so very appreciated. I'm sure if there are any errors in this story to be found, they are solely from my final few edits made before posting. You guys are awesome.

IWSC Competition Information:

Story Title/Link: When Needs Must

School and Theme: Beauxbatons, Shyverwretches Venoms and Poisons (Explore characters that use evil in the pursuit of self-healing or revenge.)

Main Prompt: [Genre] Horror

Additional Prompts: [Character Type] Turncoat, [Spell] Imperio

Year: 6

Wordcount: 3255

A/N: This story is canon through the end of book seven, but ignores the epilogue and diverges into an alternate universe at that time where Harry and Draco are in an established relationship.

Warnings: Homophobia, Violence, Suicide

When Needs Must

Draco Malfoy took a fortifying breath as he walked toward his father's library, past the whispering portraits of long-dead ancestors, each having added prestige and power to the Malfoy name, each having made difficult decisions for the good of the family. Always for the family.

He stopped outside the door, behind which laid the next stage of his life. Draco hated dealing with the old man, but sometimes, needs must, and he'd let this need go on too long already—out of fear, out of complacency, out of apathy. But no more.

Ignoring the impulse to hesitate, he entered the room he'd always been barred from. "Draco," his father would say, his voice devoid of emotion but full of threatened malice, "a man's library is his sanctuary. You are never, under any circumstances, to enter this room uninvited, or you will reap the consequences."

And he never had. He never entered—not when, at the age of five, he broke his arm falling down the stairs and Mother was not home; not when, seven years later, he couldn't find Dobby and thought the house-elf might be leaving the Manor without permission; especially not when, following the end of his sixth year, he came home after failing the Dark Lord's impossible task. Draco had always feared his father's retribution more than any alternative.

Until today. At twenty-two, Draco Malfoy was no longer a child. He was no longer afraid of entering this room. Instead, he was finally afraid of what would happen if he did not. He was making the difficult decision that had to be made, like all Malfoys before him.

He walked quietly into the unfamiliar room and looked around at its rich leather furnishings and walls lined with books and dark trinkets and art. One painting caught his eye—a Medieval portrait of a Muggle man being flayed alive while robed wizards stood around in idle conversation, the magical painting replaying the man's thankfully silent screams. Draco felt the last remnants of his nervousness and hesitancy calm. He lifted his chin and spoke.

"Father."

Lucius Malfoy had been sitting near the window, his back to the door. He was so assured of his privacy that his son's unannounced entry caused him to whip around with a look of shock on his face; yet another sign that Draco was indeed making the correct decision. A Malfoy never showed an emotion he did not want to be seen.

Lucius stood quickly, his eyes narrowing in rage as he reached for his wand. Draco was prepared for this and already had his drawn. "Petrificus Totalus."

His father froze and fell stiffly back onto his chair. Draco nodded, then approached solemnly. "You don't need to speak, but you do need to hear what I'm going to say." Lucius's eyes blazed in crazed fury. Draco sat calmly in the armchair across from his father and leisurely crossed his legs. He wanted to convey calmness and civility. He proceeded to conjure bindings, securing his father to the chair, then released the petrification spell. His father immediately tried to regain the upper hand. As expected.

"Draco, how dare you come into my library? How dare you use magic against me? Do you—"

Draco cut him off with a silencing spell, letting the man continue his rant with no sound. Finally, Lucius stopped and glared.

"Father, you shall listen, and I will not allow you to move until you have. And don't think you can summon any of the elves to help you; I've already put them under sleeping spells for the time being. Mother is with Aunt Andromeda for the day, and nobody knows I'm here. So you will listen, for you have no choice."

Lucius glared but nodded reluctantly.

Draco sighed. Needs must. "It's over, Father. I've let you go on too long already." He watched his father's eyes flash, widening from a moment of panic. It didn't matter. "You're not fit to continue as head of the family. Your insistence on continuing in your old ways is dragging us down, and your refusal to adapt to this new world is unacceptable. I've tried reasoning with you; I've tried working around you."

Lucius squirmed, mouth moving in an attempt to speak. Draco raised an eyebrow in warning, then lifted the Silencing Charm.

"Reasoning, Draco?" Lucius asked in an overly-controlled tone that once would have turned Draco's bowels to water, but now just made him exasperated. "Is that what you call your behaviour of the last four years, going against everything our family stands for? Working with the Ministry against us? Refusing to marry and continue the family line? Do you think you are fit to be head of this family when you won't even consider bedding a woman to sire an heir? You are a traitor to the Malfoy name."

Draco suppressed a hiss at the reference to his sexuality, but it only reinforced his plans. He'd never be free to live his life if he didn't do this. "A traitor to everything our family stood for during your lifetime, perhaps, Father, but it wasn't always that way. Power and prestige are important, but there are ways to achieve them which don't involve dark lords and torture. My consulting for the Ministry on cases involving Dark Arts has kept our family from being completely ostracised, yet you continue to resist the change."

Lucius snarled. "You don't give a damn about my 'resistance to change'. This is about Potter. You want me out of the way so you can go freely about your deviance and fuck that half-blood with no interference. Do you really think simply removing me as head of the family is going to shut me up and allow you to go about your perverted ways?" He paused to catch his breath, but then the realisation dawned, and the veracity of his words brought fear to his eyes—fear that Draco hadn't seen since the trials after the war; Lucius Malfoy looked scared.

Draco nodded. His father was catching on. The younger man allowed the words to hang in the air like a miasma.

"Draco—"

"No, Father, you're right. Simply removing you as head of the family will do little. You'll continue going about your life, buying your way out of trouble, and ruining our name. You'll continue to treat Mother as a possession, there to serve you, preventing her from having any sort of happiness. You'll continue to do whatever it is you've been up to in your hidden rooms—things you think are completely secret, but which justify my decision here today. And yes, you'll continue to interfere in my relationship with Harry. So, simply removing the headship ring from your hand and taking over is not enough."

All the blood drained from Lucius's face. "You—you wouldn't. You couldn't. You're far too weak to overcome anybody. Just look at Dumbledore."

Draco felt the rage bubbling within him but ignored it. He needed to remain calm. "Yes, a situation for which I was ill-prepared, and in which I was only placed as a punishment for you. But you're correct; I'm not an assassin."

Lucius's shoulders sagged in relief, and Draco drew his wand. "But I am willing to do what's best for the family and for myself. Imperio."

Harry approached the doors to Malfoy Manor at half-past three in the morning, his hand in Draco's. He watched Draco with concern and squeezed his lover's hand in support. "I'm here as long as you need me, okay? They're probably going to want to question you, and I won't be allowed to be present for that, but I'll be right outside."

Draco met Harry's eyes, and Harry knew that only he'd see the flash of pain and nerves in the man's gaze. "Will you check on my mother, please? I'll be with her as soon as I can."

"Of course."

They opened the door to the Manor and he watched longingly as Draco was escorted for questioning by two of Harry's Auror colleagues, wishing he could be there with him for comfort. Suicide. Who would have thought Lucius Malfoy would have the guts to commit suicide?

Harry proceeded through the Manor, finding Narcissa in her sunroom, impeccably dressed despite the hour. She was accompanied by two Aurors Harry knew well, and he approached the scene authoritatively. "Auror Thompson, Auror Perry, I'm here to keep Mrs Malfoy company as a friend of her son's."

The men shot each other knowing looks, and Harry wanted to roll his eyes. It'd been over a year, and his connection with Draco was accepted but not openly acknowledged within the department. They'd come together on the job, after all, with Draco consulting on one of Harry's cases, and work fraternisations were generally frowned upon.

Harry looked at the woman calmly drinking her tea. "Narcissa? Is there anything I can get you? Draco's being questioned right now in the dining room."

She gave him a small smile and gracefully held out her hand. He took it and sat next to her, appreciative of her eventual acceptance of the relationship between him and her son. It had always been Lucius who had been the barrier between anything more serious proceeding between them, and now—Harry cut off, not allowing himself to think about how a man's death could benefit him. That was disgusting.

"No, thank you, Harry. As I was telling the gentlemen here, I was at Andromeda's the entire afternoon. I came home, Lucius and I had dinner together, then he said he had business in his library for the evening. That's all I know until I was awoken about an hour ago by Pinky in hysterics." She met Harry's eye and took a deep breath. "Lucius was dead at his desk. He"—she swallowed—"he used a Bombarda to his throat."

Harry immediately regretted allowing the picture of that to materialise in his mind, of the house-elf entering and finding the remains of Lucius thus. He fought the urge to gag, having witnessed a scene similar once before on a case. "Oh, Merlin, Narcissa. I'm so sorry." Harry looked to the Aurors. "His wand?"

The men nodded, and Thompson spoke. "It came from his own wand, with his own magical signature." He looked to Narcissa for permission to share more, then continued. "And he left a note. It was clearly a suicide."

Harry stared at the flickering flame of the lamps, feeling pain for Draco and Narcissa, a rush of gratitude that there'd be no criminal investigations, and a sliver of relief at what this meant for him and Draco. Again, he felt the guilt at that thought but was interrupted in his musings by one of the Aurors.

"Potter, he left details in his note."

Harry's head shot up. "What? Details?"

The hardened Auror's face looked pale. "Regarding his deeds since the war and how to get into the private rooms off his private library."

Harry looked to Narcissa, and she gave a stoic nod. His mind quickly ran through all the information, and he felt a chill run down his spine. Lucius Malfoy committing suicide felt unlikely, but he could shrug that off. But a note with details of his exploits? The man had probably never felt a drop of regret or empathy in his life. Why would he leave a note with particulars? He—

"Potter, he kept a playroom."

Harry lost his train of thought as his stomach sank. A playroom. Merlin. They'd come across one or two after the war, hidden in homes of Death Eaters. They were torture chambers, and Harry still had nightmares of what they'd found. "Have you been through it yet?"

"No, we're waiting on a Curse-breaker or someone who knows what they're looking for." The man cleared his throat. "Since it's not a criminal investigation, we were rather hoping you'd lead it. If there's someone down there—" Thompson didn't finish, but Harry could complete the thought anyway. If there was someone down there, they shouldn't wait.

Ascending into the secret rooms off Lucius Malfoy's blood-splattered library, Harry murmured a quiet word of thanks that Draco didn't have to see this. The Aurors had finished questioning him about his knowledge of his father's recent activities, then allowed him to rejoin his mother. Draco had given Harry a look of appreciation as Harry left to explore the hidden passage.

Stomach churning in dread, and wand out, Harry slowly made his way up the creaking stairs to a long hallway, pausing every few steps to trigger a trap or unravel a deadly ward. The floor looked well-worn and dirty, as though it'd never been cleaned—unsurprising, as Harry doubted Lucius permitted house-elves in here. Still, there were no cobwebs and little accumulated dust, so it appeared oft-used.

The Aurors passed several smaller rooms, one with shelves full of items—most of which were illegal—and where Harry was sure he noticed at least a few jars of dismembered human body parts. Another room had shackles attached to the wall but was currently empty, though the nail gouges striping the wall and the blood painting the floor assured him this had not always been the case. They'd return later to examine these chambers more closely and clear them out, but for now, Harry pushed them out of his mind and continued.

The smell of putrefaction met them as they approached the room at the end of the darkened hall, and Harry's dread grew. A large wooden door with a small window stood before them, wrought-iron bars covering the hole. They heard a slight scuffling from the other side and paused. He glanced at his companions, then cast a one-way transparency spell at the door.

A young girl, no older than fourteen, was chained to a bed on one side of the room, a small window above her head casting the only light from the moon. She was gaunt, dirty and terrified, huddled into the corner. Another bed stood across from her in the other corner, with a heap of rags piled upon it. A small tap with dripping water and a drain below stood between the two beds, obviously meant to be a source of water for the girl, but preventing a means to pool water and drown herself.

Harry looked at the other Aurors, then pointed to the one farthest back and motioned for her to fetch a Healer. Light from the hall spilt into the room as he opened the door. He pushed down his rising gorge from the stench of blood, rotting flesh, and urine that permeated the room, instead focusing on the girl on the bed.

She seemed smaller, up close, and gave a terrified whimper as he entered. Harry mentally kicked himself for frightening her. "It's okay! We're Aurors. We're going to get you out of here."

The girl started crying. "Wha's an Aura?"

Shit, Harry thought to himself. Of course, Lucius would take a Muggle. He stepped into the room, his wand palmed so that it was hidden but accessible. He kept his voice gentle. "I'm a police officer. I'm here to take you to the hospital and get you help." He paused. "Can I come closer?"

She whimpered and nodded. "Am I going home? I want to go home." She started to cry, and Harry stepped forward.

"I'm going to take you to a doctor, then we'll call your family." The crying turned into full sobs, and Harry gave her a moment as the others still stood in the doorway. "What's your name? Can you walk, or should I carry you?"

The girl tried to catch her breath. "I think my leg is broken. And I'm Jessie. Jessica Hughes." Harry picked her up gently, wrapping her in a blanket someone had conjured in the hallway and passed to him, but she grabbed his shoulder in alarm. "Wait, what about Danielle?"

Harry froze. "Danielle?"

The girl began crying again and pointed at the other bed. Harry's stomach sank, and he nodded to Thompson at the door to search the bed. The pile of rags covered another girl, this one long dead. This child in his arms had lived in a room with a corpse for who knew how long. Harry wanted to be sick, but he just held the girl tighter. "We'll help her, don't worry. Come on, let's get you to the hospital."

Jessica nodded, then rested her head on Harry's shoulder as he carried her out of the room, back along the creaking hall, and down the worn stairs. Emerging into the library, Harry saw Draco waiting at the door, watching. His anguished misty-grey eyes met Harry's, but Harry couldn't tell who the sorrow was for; for himself for losing his father; for the girl; for Harry? Does it matter? Harry asked himself.

As Harry moved to pass the girl to the waiting Healer, Jessica caught sight of Draco and began to scream. "Master Lucius! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to leave the room!" She scrambled, sobbing, kicking and pushing in her need to escape so that Harry had no choice but to lay a gentle sleeping spell upon her so that he didn't drop her.

The Healer nodded and took her from Harry, then left, leaving Harry temporarily alone with Draco—well, alone if they ignored the other Aurors coming in and out of the room and taking records of the scene.

Harry approached his lover and leaned in to give support and to be supported. They remained that way for several minutes, then Draco spoke.

"Will you be horrified if I tell you I'm not sorry he's dead?"

Harry relaxed. "No. No, I won't be horrified. Will you be upset if I tell you I feel the same, and I'm just glad he felt enough remorse, however unlikely, so we could find Jessica before it was too late?"

Draco pulled back slightly and gave Harry a small smile, his grey eyes full of regret. "No, I won't be upset at that." He stepped back farther and brushed some dust off Harry's shirt. "Go on and do what you have to do tonight. I know you'll want to be there when they wake the girl up. I'll take care of Mother, and I'll have some affairs to settle in regards to the estate. Come and see me tomorrow when it's over."

Harry nodded, then steeled himself for a long night. He hated not being there for Draco tonight, but sometimes, needs must.

Draco watched Harry leave, then looked around the room. Thankfully, his father's body had been removed before he'd been allowed into the room, as well as any mess that such a suicide had left. He stepped back into the hallway and looked up at the portraits of his ancestors, wondering silently who the traitor to the family really was: himself or his father. Telling himself it didn't really matter, and unable to stand there any longer, he set to work.

"Pinky?"

The house-elf appeared, her normally tidy tea-towel in disarray. "Yes, Master?"

Draco noticed her change of address and nodded. "Pinky, I want you to rest. You've had a very distressing evening. Please wake Sooby and have him attend to Mother, then tell him to report to me when she's settled."

Pinky gave him a small curtsey and popped away. Draco looked around, then headed to his own office. He had an estate to manage and a funeral to plan. Harry must never know, of course, nor his mother, that he had chosen the path himself. Needs must.