Chapter 38

"Our spy deserves the Unbreakable Vow."

Kingsley, Minerva, Remus and Tonks stared back at Hermione across the table, but she held Kingsley's impassive gaze. They had discussed the morale of the Order after the vigil for the murdered prisoners and had delved into Kingsley's acquisition of funds from private donors in other countries. The meeting came to a close and Hermione didn't want to evade the topic any longer.

She had accepted Kingsley's reasoning for not performing the vow before, but now she suspected there were other factors at play that she didn't understand. Draco had endangered himself for the Order, pure and simple. Kingsley knew that. His reasoning didn't add up, so she decided to put him on the spot in front of everyone else.

Kingsley shifted in his seat without breaking eye contact. "He hasn't yet demonstrated trust–"

"That's not true," Hermione countered. "He knew about the Nott raid and said nothing."

"He himself made that point, no? It's likely he had multiple objectives in giving you the blood. He could demonstrate trust on a minor issue as well as take out someone that was a threat to him."

"Protect a friend," Hermione corrected emphatically.

Kingsley waved his hand dismissively. "Semantics."

Hermione disagreed, but let it pass.

"He also warned us about the raid," Hermione pressed. "I'd be dead or waiting for death in a dungeon if it weren't for him. As would Harry, Ron and everyone else at Paddington. Likely the spy was tortured for the failed raid. You-Know-Who punishes failure. That's not a demonstration of trust?"

Kingsley shook his head. "It's a beginning, and even then it will depend on his actions during the war."

Hermione had a sick, sinking feeling in her gut and she glanced at Tonks, who knew that Draco had come to her after he executed the prisoners, but the Auror was no help.

Murder.

Could Draco get a pardon for murder if it was done under duress? If there was no choice? If the prisoners would be killed anyway? Didn't those circumstances make a difference? Kingsley said he wouldn't pardon Lucius because his crimes were too extensive. What about Draco's?

She didn't know. She wasn't familiar with the legalities, but Kingsley would be.

"You have no idea what he'll do once he achieves an Unbreakable Vow and knows my identity," Kingsley continued. "If he decides one day that he'd rather secure his family's standing in You-Know-Who's army, he'll have the means to do it. Quite easily. We can't take that chance."

"But he knows where You-Know-Who is," Hermione retorted. "We could ambush him before that would become a concern."

She looked to Tonks for help. Why wasn't this the same as capturing the Inner Circle Death Eaters? Better even?

"And what will you do once you ambush him?" Tonks countered. "You know he can summon his army to his side instantly. We're not entirely sure how those Dark Marks work. Neither are the Death Eaters we've captured, and we don't know how to kill him. Ambushing You-Know-Who without knowing the answer to those questions isn't a good idea." Hermione opened her mouth but Tonks continued before she could speak, raising her finger. "At least, not right now. Even if we did somehow capture and contain him without suffering crippling losses on our side, his Death Eaters are still running the show. What then? How would we overthrow their rule with so few people?"

Hermione crossed her arms and looked to the side. The war depended on getting the Horcruxes. And they were stumped.

"You know what else, Hermione?" She glanced up to meet Tonks' gaze. "Let's say we do capture and contain him. I'm not even confident I'd be able to interrogate You-Know-Who at all. What then? I don't want to risk Kingsley like that."

Hermione exhaled in frustration. Draco's knowledge would only be valuable once the Horcruxes were destroyed. She didn't have any leverage to convince leadership, and neither did he.

Remus spoke for the first time. "Hermione, I'm inclined to agree with Kingsley." She made to protest but he held up his hand. "For now at least. If he was truly dedicated to the Order he would have told you about our source of funds being compromised. It's too early, but we can certainly revisit the issue later." He glanced around the table and Mineva and Tonks nodded in agreement.

Hermione surveyed them. Nobody agreed with her? "But he's changing. His motivations are changing."

"As are yours," Kingsley replied smoothly.

Hermione blushed furiously at Kingsley's insinuation that she had personal reasons for her request. As if she were some emotionally charged fool who couldn't do her job properly. She glanced at Tonks, who held her gaze but said nothing.

Did Tonks agree with his assessment of her? She couldn't tell. Maybe she was already considering replacing her as handler. She had to be more careful at these meetings.

Angry now, Hermione narrowed her eyes at Kingsley, but controlled the emotion in her voice. He'd only use it against her.

"My motivations have not changed and I don't appreciate you questioning my ability to do my job properly." Kingsley didn't react and she continued. "I'm his handler. My motivation is to ensure our spy will continue to work for us and deliver us accurate information. We've been benefiting from his intelligence for months. He's keeping up his end of the bargain and his actions have just kept us in this war." She was practically spitting her words at him. "The Order could have been finished with that last raid if not for him. He made a reasonable request for his services and put himself in danger for us."

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Kingsley said, trying to mollify her. "I simply think it's too early. If he's truly motivated to work for us and regain our trust after breaking it, he won't stop spying."

Well. That was awfully convenient. Kingsley constructed a Catch-22 for Draco. He wouldn't get an Unbreakable Vow to keep himself out of Azkaban until Kingsley trusted him. But the only way to demonstrate trust was to continue spying for the Order without the Unbreakable Vow for an indeterminate amount of time.

After watching her contemplate his reply with obvious dissatisfaction he pressed on. "Has he told you why all that effort is being targeted towards the Wizengamot?"

"He doesn't know," Hermione retorted.

"Are you certain of that?"

She exhaled harshly through her nostrils and stared at Kingsley. He already knew that answer. She was never sure what Draco knew and what he didn't, and she wondered if Tonks thought that she wasn't handling him properly because of her uncertainty. Maybe she would replace her. Not just because of her growing feelings, but because she had no sense of what Draco knew, what he was doing, or why.

"No."

Kingsley leaned back, knowing that she had made his point for him. Per usual. She admired him to no end and knew he was an irreplaceable asset to the Order, but she hated locking horns with him.

She always lost.

"String him along," Kingsley continued. "If he continues to be as helpful as he has been now, we can discuss whether the extent of his crimes will allow me to perform an Unbreakable Vow."

Hermione eyed him in distrust. Kingsley wasn't wrong, but she began to have the uneasy feeling that she was the one being strung along.

ooooooooooooooo

"What is wrong with you, Draco?" his aunt asked softly, backing him up against the wall of the foyer. Her stiletto heels clicked on the floor, echoing down the corridor. "Do you want the Dark Lord to kill your mother?"

His back hit the wall, heart thudding furiously against his ribcage as she closed in on him. Aunt Bella was terrifying. Draco had no idea what she wanted or what she was going to do and neither of his parents were home now. The tip of her wand poked into his shoulder and she dragged it down across his chest, pointing it into his hip bone. Her black eyes followed the trail of her wand and then rose to meet his, mocking.

He didn't understand what her problem was. She was the one who instigated the whole situation to begin with. Yaxley or Mulciber or someone else would have executed the prisoners but she chose to make a show of having him, Vince, and Greg do it.

What did she think was going to happen? At least she was concerned that his mother could have died or been tortured from his failure. He hadn't understood what she was trying to prove or why she had endangered his parents like that. Why she had winked at him before it happened, of all things.

"You set me up to fail," he ground out, not bothering to disguise his fury.

His aunt's black eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. "I saw how well you cursed MacNair," she replied silkily. "You can channel your hate now. Not like before. I gave you an opportunity. The Dark Lord likes you."

He doubted his aunt really believed that. The Dark Lord didn't like anyone. He liked playing with people. He liked making them suffer. The Dark Lord only 'liked' Draco when he was screaming on the floor or when Draco was making others scream on the floor.

"Instead," she continued, her voice a caress. "Those two idiots look more competent than you now." She tilted her head and her long black curls dangled off to the side. "What happened?"

Now he understood her confusion. She thought he was struggling with a technical aspect of the Unforgivable Curses. Not the fact that he didn't hate those he was directing the curses at and therefore, had no hate to channel.

This was dangerous. He didn't know what she was after now. Draco thought the Dark Lord had accepted the explanation for his failure. She must think his lack of hatred would be a problem in the future.

Would it?

Bellatrix reached up slowly to the side of his face as if to touch him. Her hand stilled, he flinched and the corner of her mouth lifted in amusement as she flicked his ear. She cackled at his reaction and her eyes bored into his, seeking the truth. Draco couldn't fuck this up, she'd see right through him with the way she was breathing down his neck. Icy dread spread up and down his spine.

"It's as I said," he replied, his voice hard as steel. "They're disgusting, but I don't hate them. Not enough to use the Cruciatus or the Killing Curse."

Her nostrils flared as she studied him. Draco brought to mind the squalid living conditions the Mudbloods had been living in for the past few months in the dungeons. It wasn't enough. He thought of Alecto and the revulsion she caused.

His aunt relaxed, and then reached out and tucked a lock of his blond fringe behind his ear. He tried not to cringe. She dragged a black painted nail along the edge of his jaw, pausing below his mouth and he swallowed nervously.

"Who do you hate," her voice lilted slightly, "Ickle Draco?"

"Alecto," he said without thinking.

Fuck.

Draco had been focusing on Alecto to bring out feelings of disgust and her name slipped out. His heart thudded in his chest in terror and he started to sweat. He had no idea how his Aunt would feel about his confession. Now that he wasn't a minor anymore, she didn't seem to care that Alecto groped him all the time.

Her black eyebrows slowly rose in surprise and she lowered her hand, her stare pinning him against the wall. Draco held his breath and her red lips parted in a smile.

"Then focus on her." She waggled her finger at him, like she was scolding a child. "No more Diffindos."

She backed away one step and he exhaled slowly, having narrowly escaped death and torture again. Bellatrix just told him how to channel his hatred properly, even if the object of the curse wasn't the focus. She was helping him, and had just saved his and his parents' lives.

Bellatrix was powerful and terrifying. And she knew more than anyone else about the Dark Lord's plans aside from the Dark Lord himself. No wonder the Order wanted to capture her. But he couldn't betray his aunt. She was family. She was looking out for him and his mother in her own way.

But… did Draco's choices even matter? If the Order won, she'd be back in Azkaban. Prison now or prison later. Would it make a difference whether he directly or indirectly caused her incarceration?

Draco didn't know whether he would regret not giving the Order the plans to the Lestrange estate in the future. But now? He knew he made the right decision not to.

His aunt backed away a few more steps and her smile widened, flashing her teeth. She skipped down the corridor and called back over her shoulder gaily.

"He'll be watch-iiiiiing."

Draco had no doubt she would be too.

ooooooooooooooooo

Draco glared down at the four Order members, all on their knees before him in the ballroom. He recognized three of them from school. One of them was Wood, captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team a few years ago. Another was a woman from his year, maybe older, he couldn't remember which house she was from. The two of them were looking warily around, not meeting anyone's eyes. The third was some Hufflepuff from his year. Hannah something? She clearly recognized him, and was staring up at him with more hatred than he had ever seen in anyone before.

The fourth prisoner Draco recognized as the older man he brought back from the raid. He was a bit rough for the wear and eyed Draco challengingly. It was almost as if he knew this was less about him being tortured and more about Draco's ability to go through with it.

Once more, he was at once thankful that Hermione wasn't taken, and worried about her fate in the future. What if he were forced to torture her? What if his aunt tortured her? What then? What would he do? He remembered her leaping up into the air over the fray. Despite her prowess in battle, it had been a close call.

"Corban," the Dark Lord spoke to Yaxley. "Are you ready to begin the interrogation?"

His aunt stood directly behind the prisoners, arms crossed and eyebrows raised expectantly at Draco. She tapped her fingers on her upper arm. Bellatrix was right to coach him. Terrifying, but right. The Dark Lord bought his reason for not being able to kill the Mudbloods, but he was supposed to hate the Order. They were a threat to the Dark Lord himself. Failure to channel his hatred into a Cruciatus Curse when he had done so successfully with MacNair would be a death sentence for him and possibly his parents.

His aunt knew this was coming, and she saved his life. She saved his mother's life, his father's life, and his. He couldn't fuck up now.

Yaxley fired off a series of questions to the four, asking for names, ranking, what they knew about the Order leadership, if anyone was spying for them, where the other safe houses were, if they were Secret Keepers or knew who else was, who was working undercover in the ministry and where Harry Potter was now. Whenever Yaxley got an answer he didn't like, he turned to Draco.

Draco thought of Alecto, he thought of the Dark Lord, he thought of MacNair, Nott, Rowle and Dolohov. He summoned his hatred towards them all and focused it on Hannah Abbot, who was narrowing her eyes at him defiantly.

"Crucio!"

The power behind his curse was overwhelming, and it worked. Just like when he tortured MacNair, the hatred emerged within him, fused with his magic, coursed through his body before overtaking him and shot out of his wand. He watched Abbot fall over on the ground with an inhuman shriek.

Draco held the curse for twenty seconds while she screamed, muscles taught, nostrils flaring, and then lowered his wand to release her. He panted and raised his eyes to his aunt. She smiled evilly in approval and licked her lips while Abbot cradled herself on the ground with a whimper.

Yaxley fired off more questions and turned to Draco.

"Crucio!"

It was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain screaming now.

Each time he cast, he thought of being Crucio'd by Dolohov, MacNair or the Dark Lord. Or he recalled holding Pansy while she sobbed onto his chest. Or healing Theo's black eye. Or keeping a smirk on his face to hide his revulsion while Alecto's hand was fondling him.

Finally, he thought of himself.

How he stood by while the Snatchers raped prisoners he later killed. How he coldly sat as if nothing was amiss, observing a teacher get eaten alive by Nagini. How he let Death Eaters into Hogwarts when he knew children would get hurt. How he sliced through the neck of the grandmother. Of the children. Of the parents. How he killed entire families clearing out the dungeons at his manor and others' around Britain with Vince and Greg.

With each curse, it became easier to draw from those memories of pure hatred. It was powerful and dizzying and it wrapped around his limbs. It squeezed him until he let the curse loose from his wand with a gasp, unleashing his ire on the screaming body laying at his feet. He felt a part of him go cold and hollow, filling with fury and hatred towards them all.

Towards himself.

It was the opposite of a Patronus.

In a brief moment of panic, he wondered if frequent use of Unforgivable Curses was the reason Death Eaters couldn't cast the Patronus charm, and if he'd lose the ability. Draco remembered how proud and happy Hermione had been when he finally succeeded in casting his fox. His heart swelled with the hope she gave him of a future where he would finally have control over himself and the freedom to choose what he wanted.

The curse faltered and the Dark Lord slowly turned to him, red eyes narrowed into slits.

"Do we need to bring your mother to motivate you, Draco?"

Draco's heart thudded in his chest, and fear spread through his body at the threat.

He clenched his jaw, steeled his shoulders and thought about what a vile person he had become. The Auror, Dedalus Diggle was his name, was only here because Draco had been scared of the Dark Lord torturing him and his parents. And right now, the Auror was being tortured by Draco. He could have left him unconscious at the safe house.

Dedalus Diggle. I was important to remember his name.

"Of course not, my Lord."

The Dark Lord sensed his disgust, revulsion and hate, and smiled.

"Crucio!"

Draco's deep voice boomed off the walls and floor. The Auror rolled over on the ground with an agonized yell, his fingers digging into the tiled floor. Over the next hour, Draco realized he didn't even have to summon the memories anymore. He was able to tap into his hatred without thought while his muscles flexed and thrummed with power. He could feel his self-loathing coiling around his bones and seeping into his joints and sinews. Each time he cast, his body was overwhelmed with strength and the potential to do violence. Each time he felt he could barely contain it, could barely keep the power within him, the curse burst out of his wand and pummeled his victim.

The force of his hatred infused with magic was dizzying. He could see the appeal the Unforgivable Curses had and why his aunt and so many others looked forward to using the Cruciatus.

It felt good.

oooooooooooooooo

Draco sat on his bed, alone in his room, breathing quietly.

He was cold. Not physically cold, but he felt something akin to an icy frost growing inside him. Shards and crystals had embedded within his muscles, his joints, his tendons and his bones with each successive curse. It steeled him, made him feel strong and unbreakable.

The Dark Lord was pleased with him. Aunt Bella was pleased with him. Yaxley was impressed, appreciating the rhythm they had generated while working together during the interrogation. Draco's parents would be safe. He could perform, and perform well with little difficulty.

He and his father were tightening the Dark Lord's hold on the Ministry. The Malfoys were slowly regaining their standing within the Dark Lord's army. Today, Draco had stared directly into the Dark Lord's eyes and held his gaze while thinking of Hermione. He had focused directly into his Aunt's eyes while scared out of his wits.

Neither one had a clue as to what he was doing with the Order. Draco's mind was as guarded as a vault at Gringotts.

And now it was deathly silent in his room. The sole sound was his breathing, and the screams of the four Order members only echoes in his memory.

The Auror tried to protect the younger Order members with his answers and his taunting and took the brunt of the cursing. Draco couldn't understand how he withstood it all. Even with Draco's fuck ups and the failed raids, he had never been cursed for as long as that Auror was cursed today. The sounds he made were… inhuman.

Draco swallowed, still barely able to believe he had done that to a human being. Torturing MacNair hadn't come close.

He stared down at his wand and rolled the wood between his fingers. He had damaged himself irreparably. He could feel it. He had tapped into a part of himself that he didn't know existed, and it scared him. He wondered if he'd still be able to cast his Patronus. He almost didn't want to try, for fear that it wouldn't work anymore.

What would Hermione think if he couldn't?

Draco had to know. He had to try.

He closed his eyes and thought of the first time he flew on a broom, just like she had suggested. Adrenaline pumping through his body as he realized he could fly and he would be good at it. The pride in his father's face as he watched. Draco tried to remember that feeling of exhilaration and endless possibility. Of triumph and heady excitement. Of the absolute freedom that he could go anywhere and do anything.

Some of the ice melted.

He remembered the look in Hermione's eyes when he cast his Patronus, and how happy she had been for him. The cold seeped out of his body. His lips lifted as he remembered her secret smile when she played 'We Won't Get Fooled Again' after their debate about blood status, and later pulling the popcorn out of her hair at the Cineplex. He felt the beginnings of warmth within. Draco recalled the slight tremor in her voice when she said she'd remove his Dark Mark if she could. The warmth spread at the memory and he exhaled. He thought of her in Trafalgar Square with the pigeons flying around them, when she told him how much that day meant to her. He remembered the way she looked down at him when he was drunk and she healed his hand. The way she looked at him after she woke up in his arms.

Memories of pure happiness, pure hope. And the freedom to choose it when this was all over.

Draco could have a future after all this.

Inhaling deeply, he opened his eyes and whispered the charm. His voice was soft, a plea.

"Expecto Patronum."

Draco could have cried when his silvery fox burst out of his wand and bounced around his bedroom. The fox cast his dark room in brilliant light and he watched it wordlessly for a few moments before dispelling the charm. He dropped his wand to the floor with a thud and clutched his head in his hands, releasing a shuddering sob.

It was still there.

He wasn't completely gone and still had a future. The Order was fighting the Dark Lord and he was helping. Hermione was working on getting him and his parents a pardon. They could escape this madness. His life wouldn't be death, rape and torture followed by Azkaban.

All he needed to do was hold out for a little longer.

And then Draco would be free.

Chapter end notes:

Next up? Sexy interrogation