Thank you Helene & Noodar! Love you ladies!
And thank you SO much, readers! Hope you are liking the story so far and can't wait to read your reviews!
P.S. I was today years old when I realized that FFN wasn't saving any of my scene breaks, so I'm going back to add them in *facepalm*
Chapter One: Notes
"Perfect!" Skeeter said.
They pulled apart abruptly.
Draco glanced up towards the door. Theo was staring open-mouthed at them, but Travers was flipping through his notebook. Draco tore his eyes away and swallowed.
Skeeter stepped up to him, touched his arm and smiled. "Wonderful work, dear." She leaned in closer, angling herself away from Hermione, though she made no effort to keep her from hearing. "I know this must be hard for you, but just remember that you are doing an important service. It's for the greater good." The woman placed her hand on his cheek, then walked away to chat with her photographer before he could shove her off.
Fucking cow.
He closed his eyes and swallowed, then looked back at Hermione. She stood there - cheeks flushed - staring down at the floor. Her brain was working; that perfect, overworked brain he had missed over the last two weeks without her.
"Hi," he whispered.
"Hi," she breathed back, looking up at him again.
He looked back and forth between her eyes. There she was. Hermione Granger. Hermione Malfoy. He had been thinking of her for weeks; dreaming of seeing her. And there she was, staring up at him as if she had been dreaming of seeing him, too.
"Alright, come on. We're done with you." Skeeter's long fingers wrapped around Hermione's upper arm, yanking her towards the door.
He held her amber gaze until she was whisked out of the office.
Travers approached him. "Great job, Draco. This will be good for public perception after two weeks without the two of you in the papers." He was flipping through his notes as he spoke. Straight to business. "Tomorrow, you two will attend a gathering in Bulgaria. I have a 9 a.m. portkey scheduled. It will take you to the Bulgarian Ministry where you will be met by Ambassador Zograf and his son. The details are here." He handed Draco a folder and nodded, turning to leave. "Oh, and one more thing." He turned back. "I've spoken to your father already, but I'll let you know, too. She needs to be a bit sexier. Reads better, you know? Men want her, women want to be her. We'll work on it." The man finally exited, leaving Theo behind.
Draco stood there glaring at Travers' back as he left.
"Welcome home, mate," Theo said. "I was worried about you for a bit there."
"I was fine."
"You almost lost an arm." Theo raised his eyebrows at him and crossed the room, taking a seat on the armchair. "Mulciber told me. Said you got all brave trying to lead your men into an abandoned warehouse."
Draco scoffed and leaned against the marble desk. He didn't want to talk about the mission at all. "How did Granger do before I got here?"
Theo smirked. "Oh, curious about Granger now, are we?"
"Professionally."
"Right." A huffed laugh escaped Theo's mouth. "You don't need to do that with me." He made a show of looking around the room. "I've been here since before you arrived. I know the others are thicker than weeds, but I saw the way you and Granger looked at each other. I felt it."
Draco tried to hide the bob of his Adam's apple at his swallow. "I don't know what you mean."
"You like her," Theo said, "and she likes you, too."
"Stop."
"I get it. She's…pretty. I mean, I wouldn't go there, but I can see how you-"
"Stop it," Draco hissed, standing up straight.
Theo stood, too. "Look, I'm not going to say anything-"
"I'll see you at the Manor tonight." He strode out of the room, leaving Theo behind. Fucking arse. The man was as loyal as they came, but he spoke far too freely.
Draco swiftly walked through the office, avoiding eye contact with everyone around. He quickened his pace when he caught Graham Montague filing paperwork at a cubicle out of the corner of his eye.
"Hey, Malfoy!"
Draco kept walking, fixing his eyes on the fireplace on the other side of the office. He stepped through, tossing a handful of Floo Powder he had grabbed from the bowl nearby, and emerged into the foyer of the Manor. Entering the hallway, he came face-to-face with his father, who was standing just outside the doors to the drawing room.
"Good, you're here. Come in." He opened the door and held it for Draco.
Fuck.
The table was surrounded with the usual high-ranking Death Eaters.
"Ah, Draco, thank you for joining us," Voldemort said. "Please, sit." He gestured to a seat at the center of the table in between Bellatrix and where his father sat.
Draco settled into the chair, keeping his back straight and his head held high.
Bella turned to him with a wicked smile. "Welcome home."
He swallowed.
"Good work, Draco," she said, running fingers down his back.
He squirmed, trying to get away from her touch while attempting to conceal his movements.
"Young Draco, here, has been hard at work for us." Voldemort gestured towards him as the others sniggered. "He spent two weeks chasing down the elusive Order base in Brussels and somehow only managed to capture one member."
His father glanced at him from the seat next to him.
Finally.
He shut the door and smacked his head back against it. He was thankful to be back in his room at the Manor, despite the horror that was downstairs. He ran a hand through his hair and slid down the door, his body still twitching from the Cruciatus.
He let the forest in his mind thaw out; let the snow slip off the leaves. The ice melted off the memories he had frozen; allowing himself to feel again, now that he was alone. His mind flashed through a scene from his mission.
Running through a stone building...
At the end of the upstairs hallway, he came face-to-face with a Belgian Order member. The man looked up at him with wide eyes as he struggled to find something in a bag. If Draco hadn't been the first one in, the man would have already been dead. But his split-second pause gave the man the time he needed to grasp whatever it was he was looking for that whisked him away.
Sebastien Perrot II - French pure-blood and descendant of Minon Lestrange - ran in behind Draco as the man disappeared. "Fuck, 'e got away?"
"Yeah. There's no one else here," Draco said. He gestured around him as the rest of his team spilled into the room. "Sweep the place. We'll regroup and head to Cantersteen in twenty."
He had been so thankful that the man got away. The fear in the man's eyes was stuck with him, though, and he had hoped that he wouldn't see it again.
It had been thirteen days since he had arrived in Brussels and he had made barely any progress other than running the Order members out of their ever-moving base.
He led his team through an underground tunnel thanks to a tip they had received from a local who had spotted suspected Order members in the vicinity.
"Zere!" Perrot shouted.
His heart was racing. No, no, no. His team members were throwing curses around his head in the direction of a group of men and women fifty paces ahead. The closest man was hit with a body-binding curse as the others bolted around a corner.
There was nothing he could do to help the man now. He had to keep his cover. "Shelling, that way! Biver to Needham, follow them!" he shouted, sending one of his men straight ahead and ordering a group of them down around the corner. Perrot stayed behind and bent down, searching the stunned man's pockets.
"'E's got nothing on 'im," Perrot said. He turned the man to his back. "Should I take 'im to ze Manor?"
Draco stared down at the man's stunned, fearful eyes for the second time. There was nothing he could do for him. "Obviously," he snapped at Perrot.
He dragged his hands down his face and shoved aside the memories. He had seen the man's frightened eyes a third and final time downstairs beside the drawing room table.
"Crucio," Voldemort said, pointing his wand at the man.
The Belgian fell to the floor as the silent screams ripped from his throat. All Draco could do was stare at the dark floor next to the man, but that was where he had just been Crucio'd; where Hermione had been tortured. He wasn't safe anywhere.
The burning behind his eyes was unavoidable. His face was hot and as his hands shook against his cheeks, they grew wet. He took the time he needed there on the floor, just letting the streams of tears flow from his eyes. There was no way to unsee what he had seen, and he knew that it would only get worse. Voldemort had killed more than one person in front of him; the terrible creature would only kill more as they continued to close-in on the growing resistance groups. He didn't know how he would hold up when they eventually caught someone he had gone to school with. He didn't know what position he could find himself in, and he wasn't prepared to find out.
After a long while of sitting, unmoving, on the floor in front of his door, he pulled himself up and made his way to the balcony. He needed the fresh air.
The cool breeze of the night air whisked across his face as he stepped outside; the wind was particularly cold on the dried streaks down his face. Draco gripped the railing and looked down at his shoes. He stood there with his eyes closed, just breathing in and out.
At the sound of a thud, he snapped his head up and to the right, looking straight into Hermione's room. She met his eyes as she clumsily stumbled to her feet, her face redder than he had ever seen it. Merlin, this witch. He sent her a playful smirk and stood up straight, summoning a quill and paper from his room.
Forget how to walk, Granger? He scrawled the words on the parchment and folded it neatly, all the while holding the lift of the corner of his mouth. He sent the note flying through his room and under the cracks of the closet doors until it hovered before her.
She had sent him a questioning look, but the embarrassment was still evident by the downward tilt of her head. When she read the words on the paper, she walked out of his view. He thought she had left for good, but she reappeared and curled up in the armchair. She smirked back at him and unfolded the paper, flattening it against the window for him to see.
He squinted, unable to see a thing. Rolling his eyes at her, Draco flicked his wand to summon the paper under the closet doors, through his room, and back to him.
Forget how to write, Draco? I can barely read your chicken scratch.
He feigned a hurt expression, making exaggerated movements with his pen as he scrawled his reply in perfect penmanship.
Hermione Granger: former reader of Ronald Weasley's abhorrent essays for years, can't read MY handwriting?
He sent the paper flying back to her. As it swirled through her room and hovered before her, he watched the corners of her mouth lift into a smile. He summoned the paper back when she held it up for him.
Much better.
Sincerely,
Hermione Granger: reader of Draco Malfoy's abhorrent notes.
By the look on her face, she was brilliantly pleased with herself. He bit his tongue and smirked as he started to write his reply, but he saw her get up out of the corner of his eye. She was back in an instant holding a fresh piece of parchment. The curls falling around her face bounced when she moved; she tucked them behind her ears without seeming to notice. It was a habit for her. She had always had her head down to read a book or write a paper, and she hadn't changed.
When she looked up, her playful nature was subdued; replaced by a solemn energy he hadn't expected. She waved the paper in the air, gesturing for him to summon the note, and he obliged.
You're shaking… Do you want to talk about it?
He pressed his lips lightly together. So bloody observant.
I'm fine, he wrote on the paper, sending it off to her. He watched, waiting for a reaction, but she was unreadable. He should have written more, right? She had been cooped up in that room for weeks without any information. He summoned a whole stack of parchment and wrote her a new note.
I don't notice the shaking anymore, but the curse wasn't the worst part about tonight. I would take being at the receiving end of one of his curses over watching it happen to someone else any day.
The impact of his choice of words clicked when he saw panic in her eyes as she read the note. He quickly wrote another one.
It wasn't anyone you know.
She nodded with relief and released a heavy sigh. It was still someone. He knew she would care about that.
He waited as she wrote for several minutes, drinking in the sight of her. She wasn't put together like she had been earlier. Her hair wasn't pulled into a perfect 'do, her face was clear of makeup, and just as it had been in the kitchen of the château, she was wearing his argyle pajamas.
Can you tell me who it was? Was it a leader in the Belgian resistance? Do they have a lot of fighters? Do you know what they're doing? Lottie started bringing me the papers, but I couldn't gather what was going on, of course. It's okay if you can't say, or if you don't want to say. I just I would love to know I'm just glad you're okay.
He read her words a few times through. She wanted to ask more. She wanted to know everything. But what could he tell her? What should he tell her?
He glanced up at her, and the briefest of looks reminded him of her purity. Purity. Not in blood - he didn't care about that - but in her outlook on the world. She believed in good and was more hopeful than anyone he had ever encountered before.
Don't worry. Yes, a man was captured, but it could have been much worse. We never found an Order member from Britain, and the whereabouts of their base is still unknown. I don't know how many people they have. I don't know how they are getting their message out or recruiting, but they're doing it. All we can do is hope I don't find out.
He sent the note back to her, immediately second-guessing his choice of words. How was he so bad at this? He watched her closely as she read. Even with the furrow of her brow - the physical manifestation of her worry and fear - she exuded understanding. She was the kind of person- no, she was the only person he could trust to see the nuance in anything, and it relieved the moment of panic within him that he ruined everything.
A knock echoed through his room behind him. Fuck. She was still writing back to him, but he couldn't wait. He wrote a final note to Hermione and sent it under the closet doors to her.
I have to go. Sleep well.
- D
She nodded and flashed him a warm smile.
He wished he could stay there all night talking to her. But he had completely forgotten that he was meant to meet Theo in the foyer. His nostrils flared as he strode through his room, using his wand to close the curtains and change into his Death Eater robes. He had dreaded this night ever since the announcement had been made that the Death Eaters would be summoned for an initiation the night before. F1ucking Perrot. The man had earned his mark and was excited about getting the damn thing. Idiot.
"Hey, I thought you were going to meet me-" Theo started when Draco opened the door.
"Yes, but I was delayed," he snapped.
"Woah, mate, it's fine. Ready to go?"
Draco nodded as he led the way down the hall to the rear staircase.
Theo lowered his voice. "Were you able to see her again?"
Draco closed his eyes and let out a sigh. The man wouldn't let up. "Yeah."
"Well, you two are going to Bulgaria tomorrow, right? That's good. You'll get some time together." Even speaking in nearly a whisper, Theo's voice carried through the staircase.
Draco stopped and turned around, facing his friend squarely. "Look, there's nothing positive about any of this. It doesn't matter if we get time together. She's a prisoner here. My mother is Merlin-knows-where and we are headed to an initiation of a new Death Eater. You've seen how Voldemort's propaganda has grown in mere weeks. You've been tracking public perception. You should know more than anyone that there isn't an easy way out of this. There might not be one at all." He hadn't said it out loud before, but the reality of it hit him as his words settled in. He clenched his jaw, holding himself together.
Theo stared back at him. He was silent for a beat. "Well, what are we going to do about that, then?"
Draco couldn't help the scoff that escaped him. "There's nothing to do, Theo. You don't understand. I won't abandon my mother. And as much as I couldn't give two fucks about that giant oaf, Hermione wouldn't do anything to put him in danger."
"What if I found them?" Theo said.
"Found who?"
"Hagrid and your mother. What if I found them? If we knew where they were, we would at least have something to work with. I could-"
The sound of a door closing rang through the staircase, and they continued down the stairs seamlessly, as if they hadn't stopped to talk at all.
Mulciber was looking over his shoulder as he ascended the first few steps.
"You are not authorized to access this area of my house," Draco said, making his tone as sharp and icy as ever.
Mulciber snapped his head forward, jolting at Draco and Theo's presence. He sneered. "Oh, is it your house now? Didn't think with mummy gone, you'd-"
Draco's vision blurred as he lunged forward, grasping the man's collar and jabbing his wand into Mulciber's chin. "Don't ever talk about my mother," he hissed. "Get out." He shoved the man towards the door and watched as he hurried away.
"Come on," he said, leading Theo to the foyer where Lottie awaited them with a portkey.
They landed under a deep shade of indigo sky just outside a cemetery on the Northeast side of Paris.
"This way," Draco said.
Walking down a stone pathway, they headed into a building, descending into the depths of the Lestrange Mausoleum. Draco's stomach turned as the rumblings of a crowd of Death Eaters grew louder.
"Shouldn't take too long, right? Mine only lasted an hour," Theo said under his breath.
"I don't know."
The two of them emerged into a burned down amphitheatre. Draco knew all about this place. He had read about it in countless history books; visited it as a child, even. But being there again in this context was a different experience.
They stood in the front near Lucius, Nott Sr., and Travers. Perrot was a few spaces away. Draco surveyed the room. The Carrows, Dolohov, Rookwood, Avery, Bella, Yaxley, Rosier, Selwyn, Greyback, MacNair, Rowle, and the Lestrange brothers all filed in and found places surrounding the stage.
Draco stood up straight, focusing on the forest in his mind. He covered the ground in snow; the trees, the branches, the leaves. Every mental representation of his most vulnerable memories was hidden under layers of white. For good measure, he added a thick layer of ice to make them impenetrable. It had taken patience and perseverance for him to get to a place where he could do it within minutes with ease. He had practiced for months with Bella. Severus had even spent countless hours with him.
"Welcome." A smooth, eerie voice echoed in the space.
To his right, Draco watched a figure in billowing robes glide to the center of the room. He stood on the stage, taking his time as he looked around the room. Nobody else moved. There wasn't a sound other than the sweeping of fabric against the stone where Voldemort stood.
"We stand here tonight in a very sacred space. Here, I do not care to call for action. I have taken action. I have defeated the so-called Chosen One and I am successfully expanding my influence through sheer wit. Who else has done this? Who else has been as clever as I? As bold? And who else has obtained the very tools that I have to ensure that no one else could possibly defeat me?"
Draco's throat tightened.
"For, as of last night, I am the Master of Death."
Bile rose in Draco's throat, but he couldn't afford to even flinch. The gasps around the room echoed in his ears, and the satisfaction that radiated from the man before him was sickening to a whole new level.
"Yes," he hissed. "I have the Cloak of Invisibility, the Resurrection Stone, and the Elder Wand: the Deathly Hallows."
The room was nearly silent, yet it buzzed with the news. Draco focused all of his energy on the melting snow in his mind. No. He couldn't allow himself to mentally crumble. As much as he wanted to worry about a girl and his future - his future with the girl - no, he couldn't. Snow. Ice. Cold. And suddenly the forest in his mind was frozen over once more, and he was standing in a room surrounded by Death Eaters, staring at the Master of Death.
"In just a few days, we will congregate here once more, though the rows will be full and the walls will be lined with supporters." Voldemort's voice boomed throughout the room. "They will spill out beyond the confines of these walls to hear about love and unity and acceptance."
The Death Eaters chuckled, smirking at each other.
"Each of you will continue to spread that message. You will continue to recruit. And you will continue to shut down any and all efforts from the Order of the Phoenix until you destroy every last member."
Murmurs of agreement rang through the room.
"You, my most faithful followers, have all taken the Mark," Voldemort said. "All except for one." He grinned and gestured to Perrot with an outstretched arm and an open palm. "Come here, my boy."
Perrot stepped forward, and Draco couldn't miss the prideful look on his face.
"You will now take the Dark Mark and pledge your life to me."
"Yes, Master," Perrot said, bowing slightly. He pushed the sleeve of his robes to his elbow and held out his forearm.
"Avery, Rookwood," Voldemort snapped.
Voldemort conjured a chair as the men hurried forward. Draco watched - his expression as cold and hard as stone - as the men pushed Perrot into the seat and held him down. Perrot didn't resist or squirm, but it was clear that he anticipated the pain.
Draco found a spot on the wall just beyond Voldemort's head to watch. In his peripheral, he saw the movements Voldemort made as he recited the spell, hissing in Parseltongue. He was swirling his wand around, slowly tracing the outline of his Mark, Perrot's screams bouncing off the walls all the while.
Holding his gaze away from the action, Draco forced himself to focus on his snowy forest. Images of his own Marking threatened to creep within his mind; the pain from that night ghosted through him, prickling his skin. The only movement he made for twenty minutes was the blinking of his eyes. He relished in the little moments of darkness; escape.
He was thankful that as the moments passed, Perrot slowly became quieter and quieter until he was merely panting through the pain. Draco didn't have to look at Perrot's forearm to know that the Dark Mark was etching itself into his skin, weaving its way through his veins until it latched onto his heart. He could feel it there.
"Yes," Voldemort hissed. He was done with the spell.
Draco tore his eyes away from the wall in the background. Fuck. He had to be a part of the next phase.
"My friends." The word was dragged out, Voldemort's pleased tone seeping through his words. "We nearly have a new member within our ranks."
Bella's excited cackle echoed against the walls louder than any other cheers from around the room.
"Sebastien Perrot, descendant of Minon Lestrange." Voldemort gestured towards Perrot as the aching man stood, holding his forearm up with his other hand. "In a few moments, you will be among the most superior beings in the world. You will be honored as a top-ranking 'Defence Enforcer.'"
The Death Eaters laughed at that, and Draco joined, embracing the familiar performativity.
"And you will answer to Lord Voldemort."
Perrot lowered his head and upper body, surrendering his autonomy to the horrific man before him.
Voldemort nodded, and Draco knew what he had to do. He moved in unison with the rest of the Death Eaters, closing in on Perrot. As he neared him, Draco lifted his right hand to his Dark Mark; the forest in his mind was as cold and icy as ever. He pressed into the brand and placed his left pointer on Perrot's new Mark, just as the others did.
Perrot's face scrunched in pain, and he held back more screams.
A searing sensation traveled up his arm and through his body, but he bit his tongue. He had been through this before with Theo's initiation, and if he had to guess, he would likely have to go through it again.
"Aligxu al ni," he chanted with the group. Join us.
When he pulled his hand away from Perrot, the pain dissipated, and he stepped back into the large circle surrounding the stage with the other Death Eaters. Perrot joined them, and as he took his spot, Draco noticed the self-satisfaction and pride that emulated from the man. What. An. Idiot.
"This has been a successful evening, my friends," Voldemort hissed. "You are now answering to the most powerful wizard there has ever been."
Gleeful agreements bounced off the walls, the effect a perfect representation as ever of the inflated response to the continued rise of Voldemort. Draco nodded in support. He always maintained the level of stoicism that he learned from his father.
"And you have a new member amongst your ranks."
Similar shouts rang through the area.
"Over the past two months, most of you have performed your duties well. Others should remember that Lord Voldemort does not tolerate those who fail to meet my expectations." The 's' slid off his tongue with ease. "Bellatrix," he called.
Bella jumped with joy where she stood, her wicked smile spreading across her face. She glided across the room with far too much pep in her step, leaving and returning with a shaking man.
Draco recognized him as a member of one of the other field teams. He hadn't worked with him, but he knew that it could not be good if he was being brought before Voldemort in such a setting. The man was nowhere near ever becoming a true Death Eater.
"Smith," Voldemort said as the man was pushed to a kneel before him.
Draco swallowed. Snowy forest. Snowy forest.
"You have betrayed me, and thus, you have betrayed us all: your fellow Defense Enforcers, your family, your country, and the entire wizarding community. By failing to enforce the ban on dark material, you have failed us all, and most of all yourself." Voldemort turned to Perrot and beckoned him over. "You know what you must do."
Perrot nodded and faced the man. "Avada Kedavra!"
Draco closed his eyes and held them shut as the cheers erupted around the room. He played his part, though, clapping and nodding to signal his support.
"Good," Voldemort said, placing a hand on Perrot's shoulder. He turned around as he spoke to the group. "This has been a successful evening. Tomorrow, we celebrate the first nation beyond the United Kingdom to adopt the Advancement Decrees. Next week, we welcome a second. By the end of July, I expect three more."
The Death Eaters nodded.
"Go."
Draco shut the door behind him. He crossed his bedroom without a moment's rest, slashing his wand through the air. The balcony doors opened, curtains fluttering, and he strode through, breathing in the night air. He searched for any sign of Hermione through her window.
Her room was pitch dark.
Next update: February 24, 2021
