Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter or Naruto franchises.
Warnings: depictions of violence/torture, mentions of suicide and implied rape (very minimal, they don't actually happen), language
Prologue
A silence pervaded the courtroom. "Draco Lucius Malfoy, the Wizengamot has reached a decision. Taking into account the testimony of Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Narcissa Malfoy, and Rubeus Hagrid, as well as what our own aurors and officials have witnessed during the war, we hereby sentence you to three months in Azkaban. Once those three months are over you will be on house arrest for one year. Your wand will be monitored, and you may be brought back to this court for any suspicious wand activity—including but not limited to the unforgivables, obliviate, and any offensive spells that can be used to harm others. If you are brought in you will have the chance to explain your actions to the court and we will decide what to do with you from there. If we don't deem your reasoning acceptable you will be placed back in Azkaban for the remainder of your house arrest sentence—as long as it wasn't an unforgivable. Do you understand these terms?"
"Yes, Chief Warlock. I understand," Draco Malfoy replied. He had seen better days, his hair was lank and lacklustre, and his clothes were rumpled, however, he didn't look defeated. His back was as straight as it had always been before the Voldemort returned, and his eyes held a spark of life that wasn't there when the Dark Lord was still under his manor's roof. It seemed like new life had been breathed into him. He knew his sentence could have been much worse, and he was actually surprised that Weasel King and the Mudbl-Muggleborn had spoken out for him. Honestly it felt like pity, but—unlike most people—Draco doesn't hate pity; especially when pity gets his Azkaban sentence cut down. He figures it can't be worse than living in the same house as his former master for a year, the only difference was less food and luxury. Of course, he would hate it, but he supposes it will be better than being put under the cruciatus curse just because he hadn't done a new dark curse properly—courtesy of his loving aunt Bellatrix.
All in all, Draco was fairly apathetic. He was just relieved that the worst was over. In three months he can get back to his life, because honestly, he could do plenty of work from home—he didn't particularly want to parade around in front of everyone as a former Death Eater. Even with two-thirds of the Golden Trio in his corner, his reputation was still in tatters in the eyes of wizarding society. Especially since his animosity with the Boy-Who-Lived was so well known, and the fact that he was murdered by Draco's own aunt. It was one of the very first things Draco heard once he got to court, and would have had his jaw dropping to the floor if he hadn't been bred properly. Potter, Perfect Potter, was dead. He had defeated the Dark Lord, but Bellatrix LeStrange had gotten him from behind not ten seconds after the body of her master hit the floor. Draco had an understandably difficult time believing this, his long time rival had defeated Voldemort just to be brought low by a Death Eater seconds later?
He surprisingly feels no glee or happiness from the news. Potter was always there, snubbing and embarrassing him, but despite all evidence to the contrary he never wanted him dead, well, at least not after all the Dumbledore business went down. Before that Draco is sure he would have been dancing on his grave, and inviting all the Slytherins to desecrate the tombstone—you get the picture. Things changed though, especially after the Golden Trio were captured and brought to the Manor. By then he had no issue admitting to himself that he was rooting for Potter, the only reason he fought them when they were escaping was his self preservation. The blonde had never felt such pain before in his life compared to that night when Voldemort arrived to find that he had had Potter in his grasp just for him to narrowly escape, with Draco's wand no less.
Court was convened and two aurors came to escort him to the cells in the Ministry. They wouldn't take him to Azkaban today, at the end of the week two groups of ten convicted Death Eaters will be taken together along with about twenty aurors at different times. From what he's heard though, they at least will all have different cells. During the Dark Lords short reign there were as many as ten to a cell at a time. He can only imagine the conditions of the 'criminals.' Not that snake-face had cared, Draco is fairly sure he reveled in it—probably misplaced payback of some past wrong done to him. A person isn't that insane without any prompting, at least he didn't believe anyone is born thinking 'hey, I'm going to kill an entire group of people even though I'm technically one of them.' Yeah, everyone knows about his status as a half-blood now. They've done quite a few articles about him in the past few weeks with a lot of commentary from Weaselby and Granger—who had inside information from Potter apparently. As much as Draco doesn't believe that anyone deserved what happened to them over the past year or so, he still finds it appalling that a half-blood was leading the pureblood 'revolution.' It figures though.
Anyway, as he was removed from the courtroom he received quite a number of glares, but also a hand full of sympathetic looks. His mother grabbed his hand as he walked by and squeezed it. "I'll see you soon Draco. I can't visit since I'm on house arrest as well, but I will have everything ready for your return," she told him with a strained—but affectionate—smile, obviously trying to retain her composure. She had only been given a year on house arrest—manor arrest?—as she had never had the Dark Mark, nor acted under the Dark Lords direction in any capacity outside of her home. She had only harbored him under her roof, and was mostly seen as a victim of circumstance. His father on the other hand had been given twenty years in Azkaban. Draco gave his mother a grateful nod, but remained silent. He felt his eyes beginning to burn, and felt like he had gillyweed plugging up his throat. He knew if he opened his mouth, he would more than likely begin sobbing.
Just because he knew things were better than they could have been didn't mean that the seventeen-year-old was happy about going to that disgusting prison—to no doubt eat barely edible food in less than stellar conditions. He turned away to walk between the aurors, and followed them to the lift. Turns out the cell he would be staying in was actually on the same level as the aurors office, which made sense he supposed. His bunk mate was surprisingly an older Slytherin alumni, Adrian Pucey. They weren't friendly with each other, especially considering how his family sold out during the last battle. It didn't matter to most that many Death Eaters stayed loyal more out of fear than any happiness with the new regime, they were still considered deserters. Historically, deserters are almost always seen as scum, and this was no different. The two spent the night on opposite sides of the cell in total silence.
The trip to Azkaban was uneventful. They were taken to the atrium where they each grabbed hold of a rope tied in a loop. Draco and the others all had on magic suppressing cuffs, so that even if one of them somehow managed to grab a wand they still wouldn't be able to attack or escape. It was also a precaution against wandless magic—not that it was common, but all of them had been subordinates of the worst Dark Lord of the century. It's better to be safe than sorry. He knew quite a few of the future inmates, unfortunately. They were mostly parents of classmates that were in Slytherin with him, but there were a few Slytherins from a few years ahead of him such as Marcus Flint, his former quidditch captain.
His first look at Azkaban was far from encouraging. It was an imposing grey building made up of large, thick uniform slabs, and Draco could practically feel the powerful wards surrounding the place. No one would be escaping the re-imagined Azkaban anytime soon. Even the hole in security about anigamus forms had been corrected. There were now wards up that prevented anyone, even the guards, from transforming in the case that they are an animagus. Not that that actually mattered to Draco, as he definitely was not one. Everyone was silent as they trudged up the path to the metal door that led into the establishment.
The next two hours were spent filling out paperwork—why is there paperwork for going to prison?—, being doled out uniforms, and, much to Draco's surprise, a toothbrush. During this time he discovered that quite a sum of government money went into improving the prison. It wasn't completely redone, but new bathrooms had been installed. Two bathrooms on each level, one for men and one for women. They give you a bathroom break three times a day, and you get one shower a week—apparently if a prisoner had to go to the bathroom at any time aside from the scheduled times, they have to use the bucket that is in each cell for that sole reason. Disgusting.
The money wasn't only for the slight renovations, most of it was being funneled into the many positions that needed to be filled now that dementors aren't feasible as guards. It was good for the reconstruction that was going on after the war, making many new jobs for all of those that lost them during the Dark Lord's reign. The money that the Ministry was putting into the jobs was basically coming back to them from the new employees putting their paychecks right back into the economy as everyone recovers. Since the ministry was turning a new leaf, they were also doing rigorous background checks on all the new employees for two reasons; both to make sure the applicant isn't a Voldemort supporter, and to make sure that an applicant doesn't have a direct reason to hurt or kill any of the new inmates. Draco can't help but sigh in relief at that stipulation.
After all of them were finished with the paperwork, they were each escorted to their new cells. Draco was one of the last shown to his, but was quickly shoved in once they got there. He spun around, fixing to say some choice words, but with a final clang the reinforced door was slammed shut by the auror outside. He heard the lock slide into place. With a sigh he turned back around to survey his 'home' for the next three months. It was utterly drab, as he expected. Although, it was considerably cleaner than the blonde had anticipated. Not to say it was to his standards, it's just that he was imagining black mold, wet walls, and lots of bugs. In reality, it was just grey, dry, and empty aside from the bucket, a sad excuse for a 'bedroll', and a small barred window. The 'bedroll' was actually just a pile of mostly clean hay with two thin sheets on top. It's not exactly heated in the cell either, more than two thin sheets were needed to stay comfortably warm—but Draco supposes that's the point. Prisoners aren't meant to be comfortable. Besides, like hell was Draco going to use both sheets to cover up, the first one is going to be used as a buffer between the grey-eyed boy and the less-than-sanitary hay.
After his short inspection of the cell he went over to the window, it was almost too high for Draco to see out of. His view was of the ocean, naturally. That's probably the only nice thing about the cell despite the fact that he had to crane his neck to get a decent look. He lifted up his arm and gently pressed his fingers toward the gap in the cell window—they quickly met resistance in the form of wards. He had suspected, but it was worth a check. He hoped that it was to keep bad weather out just as much as it was to keep him in.
With a sigh, Draco went to the corner and flipped the bucket to make an improvised seat. With all the leaps and bounds the conditions in Azkaban had made, he couldn't believe they hadn't even given them any seating arrangements in their cells. How unusually cruel. Now he had to use a shit bucket, a small pile of hay, or the bare floor. He has a feeling this is going to be a long three months.
(One month later)
Draco was, once again, standing on top of his yet-to-be-used shit bucket. He had his arms crossed, propped up on the window ledge. His cheek was resting on his forearm as he watched the waves crash against the rocky shore of the island. There were a few seagulls flying about, and occasionally they fought over a piece of food. This was about as entertaining as things got in his plebeian cell.
Occasionally the other ex-Death Eater's had conversations, but Draco never joined them—nor did he think he would be welcome. He certainly listened though, if only to stifle the boredom. The last month had dragged by at a slow crawl. The teen just couldn't imagine dealing with this torture for years on end, he was going to be at the end of his rope by the time that his sentence was served. That's not even mentioning the 'food' they got twice a day—yes, only twice. It was usually completely bland, unseasoned soup with highly questionable chunks of meat, two slices of bread, a few pieces of over-ripe fruit, and water—or a tepid cup of tea if you were lucky. They occasionally got porridge in the mornings with a stale scone. Sometimes they even got watered down ale with the meal in the afternoon. Still, it was as if they intentionally made everything terrible. Draco wouldn't be surprised, but it was more likely that they were stretching their resources—and the prisoners eating well isn't too high up on the 'most important' list.
Draco was hoping it would be his turn for the weekly shower soon, his hair was grimy as hell this week. Apparently it's also the time of month where they dispose of the old hay from the 'beds' and dole out new hay. Draco doesn't know whether he should be amused or brassed off that the ministry is willing to buy new hay every month rather than just buy each cell an actual cot.
The blonde sighed as he stepped down and away from the window ledge. He could hear the next inmate over taking a shit in his bucket. Draco hates it when other's can't hold it until the scheduled bathroom breaks, because the stench pervades the entire floor and lingers for days sometimes—even though house elves clean the buckets out every night. Occasionally a guard will spell the smell away if they're irritated enough, but they're more likely to cast a bubblehead charm on themselves instead. Why spare the Death Eaters if they don't have to? And here Draco thought he was petty, this was practically inhumane.
About an hour later a guard came to escort Draco to his weekly shower. They were only given ten minutes, one bar of soap, and freezing cold water. No one would be getting their rocks off in this shower, that's for sure. Shower, singular. Draco was at least relieved that he didn't have to share a shower with a whole bunch of naked Death Eaters. The guard let him out and followed behind him, wand pointed at his back to discourage misbehavior. Once he was in the shower room he quickly stripped, eager to get clean even if the water was cold as ice.
Despite his eagerness to get clean, he only used seven of his ten allotted minutes. Patting himself dry with his too-small, scratchy towel, Draco stepped out of the freezing stall. It was the little things he had always taken for granted that made this place unbearable. The Slytherin couldn't remember the last time before Azkaban that he had not used a simple charm to dry his hair, or siphon the excess water off of his body.
Looking up, he noted a different guard than before standing by the door, wand at the ready. That in itself wasn't unusual, but the cold way his eyes trailed Draco was certainly strange. He was unfamiliar with this guard, but the guard obviously recognized him.
Getting irritated by the man's blatant staring he snapped, "What are you looking at? Haven't you ever seen a bloke in his skivvies before?"
"Oh nothing, just a piece of filth that deserves to die," the man replied, ignoring the jibe.
Draco's cheeks burned in part indignation of his gall and part shame at his own actions during the war. "With all due respect, sir," he spat as he began pulling his clothes on, "I don't think you rightly know what you're talking about."
"What's there to know? Your father has been a Death Eater for decades, you let Death Eaters into a school full of practically defenseless children, and the Dark Lord lived at your manor. As far as I'm concerned, your whole family deserves the kiss," the guard countered evenly.
Draco sneered at the guard, attempting to cover his nervousness. Here he is locked in a bathroom with a man expressing his wish for Draco's death, this isn't good. "You have no idea what it was like living with the Dark Lord. Maybe what I did was wrong, but I did what I had to to keep my family safe. I don't have to explain anything to you," he replied coolly.
The guard stepped away from his position beside the door and stalked forward to poke Draco's chest, "You mean you did what you had to to save your own skin, despite the bad that would happen to others!" He roared. "Three months is too lenient! Your actions had consequences far larger than yourself!" The angered man continued, "Did you know, when you let those Death Eaters into the school three third years were caught in the crossfire? One of the girls who died from complications was my niece. My sister was devastated."
Draco swallowed heavily. He was used to the guilt, but what he wasn't used to, was knowing who he directly affected from his shameful actions. "All I can do is offer my apologies and condolences. I assure you I didn't mean for such a thing to happen in the least," he promised, backing down a bit. He was just hoping he could get back to his cell without being killed.
"That doesn't make what happened change. My sister's sweet little girl is still dead, and all you get is three months? How is that fair?" he questioned. The man brandished his wand against his chest.
"I thought they did background checks to make sure vengeful nutjobs like you didn't get hired," Draco blurted. He found himself shaking with energy, his fight or flight had kicked in.
"Oh, you think they seriously care about you?" The still nameless guard asked, amused. "Do you really think you are the only one who will have 'died mysteriously'? No, quite a few Death Eaters have had 'accidents' or successfully 'committed suicide,'" the man explained with a nasty smirk.
Alarms were blaring in Draco's head. "Guards!" Draco shouted. He was not so prideful that he wouldn't call for assistance when his life depended on it. 'Flight before fight', that's his motto. "Guards, this man is talking about killing me!" He shouted again with a distinct note of panic in his voice.
The man had made no attempt to stop him from raising his voice. "Don't worry, there's a silencing charm on the door."
Fuck.
With no warning, Draco lunged forward—arms lashing out to knock the wand away from his direction, as well as attempt to take it from him. He just needed to disable the silencing charm and alert the other guards. Hopefully, they would take away the pissed off man for attempted murder, but for the first time since his arrival at the wizarding prison he was worried that the other guards wouldn't lift a finger in his defense. He understands the anger and contempt most people hold for Death Eaters, but he didn't think the 'winning side' would stoop so low as to kill them.
The blonde's adrenaline aided him in surprising the guard. He managed to wrestle the wand away, and knee him where it hurts as hard as he could. Hey, Draco never said he was fair. He straightened up and stepped forward quickly, but before he could even attempt to point the wand at the door he was tackled from behind by the guard—Draco was incredibly surprised that the man was able to recover so quickly. They both hit the floor hard and slid into the wall to their left. Draco felt the skin on his arm and cheek rip open from skidding against the rough, concrete floor, and a throbbing knot form on his head from where it bounced off of the wall. At the moment though, that was honestly the least of his concerns.
He pushed up on his hands and knees, and donkey kicked the guard with as much strength as he could muster. Draco was vindictively pleased when he heard an 'oomph!' from behind him, he was pretty sure he had felt a few ribs crack. He risked a glance behind him and noted the man had curled up a bit with one arm held across his stomach, and one holding himself off the floor. Draco extended his leg and swept the arm that was supporting the man off of the floor. The man turned his head before his cheek collided with the ground, and immediately returned both hands under him to help him sit back up.
Draco took advantage of these few precious seconds to revel in holding a wand again—one that was surprisingly receptive to him—and dismantle the silencing charm as quickly as possible. He had just finished the final wand movement, and began to open his mouth when an hand reached around to muffle his yell. The man's other arm came around Draco's middle, pinning his left arm to his body. Unfortunately for him, Draco maneuvered his wand arm away from him and elbowed him in the solar plexus—not that Draco knew that. The guards arms slacked a bit during the initial pain from the hit, and Draco finally managed to move the hand and yell, "Help! This guard is trying to kill me!"
Though the sounds weren't distinct, it sounded as if there were footsteps running towards the bathroom. By this time though the lone guard had regained his faculties. The man scowled at him and used his superior height and weight to slam Draco against the wall. They could both hear the jingling of keys just outside the door, and Draco felt perhaps premature relief at the noise.
"I don't think so," the man growled lowly.
He still had his left arm wrapped around Draco's middle, so he slid it from between Draco and the wall to thread it in front of Draco's left elbow. He used it to pull the arm behind the Slytherin's back in such a way that Draco couldn't move it when the man used his body to put pressure on it. Though he was still a bit dazed from his head colliding against a wall a second time, Draco attempted to twist his hand back toward the guard to cast a blasting curse. He was prepared to spend a few extra months in this hell hole for illegal wand use if it meant he could make it out alive.
Unfortunately for him, the man caught the movement and easily plucked the wand out of his hand with pure force. "Even if they send me to Azkaban for this, it's worth it," he hissed. Draco bucked for his life, but it was no use.
"Avada kedavra!"
The last thing Draco heard before the spell connected with his back was the other guard barging in, screaming for the man to stop. He saw an acid green light and knew no more.
'Ugh, someone turn down the lights' Draco thought with a groan as he sat up cracking open his eyes. 'Where am I?' He looked around groggily, and realized with a start that he had woken up in front of Malfoy Manor, but something was... off. The grounds were completely silent. Draco couldn't hear the peacocks that usually occupied the front garden, no birds, no wind, no plants swaying in the breeze, and no house elves tending the lawn. Just complete silence. It unnerved the teenager greatly as he began walking towards the largest garden. It was surrounded by a high brick wall covered in tasteful trellises. 'Maybe it's a silencing charm? Was it put on me specifically, or around the grounds in general?' He wondered tersely.
The former Death Eater turned a corner to the inner garden, and let out a completely unmanly shriek—that he will never admit to, even to himself—when he noticed the person leaning on the wall to his immediate left. He let out a few choice curses when he saw just who the other person was. None other than Draco's bane of existence and former rival, Harry 'Boy-Who-Lived' Potter.
"Merlin and Morgana, Potter! Are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack?!" Draco spat furiously in embarrassment with a reddened face.
Turning his emerald eyes toward the Slytherin he smirked, "Nice to see you too, Malfoy."
Draco's brows furrowed quizzically, "Potter, aren't you dead? Why are you at my manor?" the steel eyed boy scowled, "I swear to Merlin if you're here to haunt me I will make your undead existence as miserable as possible."
A snort was heard, "Grow up, Malfoy. The world doesn't revolve around you, and if I had the unfortunate experience of becoming a ghost I wouldn't torture myself by following you around all day," Harry chided lightly.
Draco deflated. "Then what is a dead person doing at my manor? Polyjuice doesn't work with the genetic material of someone who is dead... It figures Perfect Potter would survive somehow," he grunted lowly.
"Look again Malfoy, is this really your manor?" Harry countered.
He turned away from Harry, and took a second look around. Now that he was looking for irregularities he noticed how unusually bright everything appeared. The sky was blue, but had the appearance of smeared paint; if he looked out and away from the manor the horizon was smudged. Not to mention he once again recognized the silence, and lack of living things.
"Just where are we, Potter?" Draco questioned uneasily.
"Well, where do you think?" Harry inquired, "What happened to you right before you got here?"
Draco gasped as he remembered his fight with the guard, and subsequently being hit with an avada kedavra, "Am I dead?" He asked, flabbergasted.
"You are," Harry admitted softly with a sad smile, "This is where you go after you die."
"People come to my manor after they die?" Draco asked incredulously.
"Don't be silly, Malfoy," the green eyed teen guffawed, "It changes depending on the person. Mine was at King's Cross Station. I suppose it's somewhere important to you that also represents a transition. Maybe the manor is transitory for you because your life changed so drastically after it became the Death Eaters base of operations?" He guessed with a shrug.
Draco mumbled and looked away, "I wouldn't be surprised." Raising his voice he turned back toward Harry and remarked snidely, "So what now? I'm dead, and you're dead. Why are you here? No offense Potter, but you're not exactly the first person I was expecting to see when I died."
Unsurprised, Harry replied, "No shit, Sherlock," the Slytherin's lips down-turned in confusion over the unfamiliar muggle saying, "Actually, you know the bedtime story about the three brothers, right?"
Draco nodded, "Of course. My mother read all of the Tale's of Beedle the Bard to me as a child, I remember them fondly. What the bloody hell could that have to do with this situation though?"
"Alright, well—as completely unbelieveable as it sounds—the tale of the three brothers is true. Death really gave them those items, and the person who holds those three items becomes the Master of Death..." Harry trailed off. "I'm actually a descendant of the youngest brother. The cloak of invisibility has been faithfully passed down every generation. When I was a first year, Dumbledore sent me my father's cloak anonymously. He had had it on the night my parents died.
"The resurrection stone was a Gaunt family heirloom. The last of Slytherin's descendants. They set the stone into a ring, a ring that Voldemort eventually used to store a piece of his soul after framing the previous owner with murder—his inbred uncle to be exact. Dumbledore found the ring during the summer before our sixth year, and when he was too tempted by the stone's powers he was cursed by a spell Voldemort had cast on the ring. That's why his hand was black during our sixth year. He had Snape bind the curse to his hand, but Snape told him he would die within the year since the curse couldn't actually be countered. That's also why he asked Snape to kill him, Draco. He was going to die anyway. By having Snape kill him, Snape reaffirmed his loyalty to Voldemort, and he was able to give our side a few advantages—even if we didn't know it at the time," Draco was still listening, looking very uncertain about the information he was being given.
"Then of course, the wand. Voldemort was obsessed with it during what would have been our seventh year. Turns out, Grindelwald had the wand and when Dumbledore defeated him, the Headmaster became the owner of the Elder wand. As I explained in that last battle—which I don't believe you were present for—Voldemort assumed that since Snape had killed Dumbledore he was the master of the Elder wand, when in fact it was you. You had disarmed him—before Snape killed him. And then when I disarmed you in this very manor—" he gestured at the expansive building, "—the ownership transferred to me, even though the wand was buried with Dumbledore at the time. So when Voldemort attempted to kill me that last time, the wand refused to kill it's true owner, and the spell backfired, killing Voldemort," Harry explained, "Then I had all three items."
"So, what exactly are you trying to say, Potter?" Draco joked, "That you're the 'Master of Death?'"
"That's exactly what I'm saying," the Boy-Who-Lived-Then-Died assured seriously.
The blonde rolled his eyes as he leaned against the brick wall next to his former rival, "Are you taking the piss?! You must be off your rocker!" Draco guffawed, "The 'Master of Death', yeah, sure, Potter. I must be dreaming. I'll probably wake up at St. Mungo's soon," he added with a chuckle.
Harry gave him a withering look, "As if I would make a joke about something like this. You think I want to be doing this? I'd much rather be with my family than stuck with this bloody job," he clenched his jaw, "No, unfortunately I really am the Master of Death. And that's the only reason I'm talking to you right now, Malfoy. While I'm here though, let me say thanks for tossing me that wand. You really helped me out there. Your mom saved me in the forest too, you know... she told Voldemort that I was dead even though she could feel my heartbeat. She only did so because I told her you were still alive and up at the castle. Good thing I saved your arse in the Room of Requirement, ehh Malfoy?" The Gryffindor nudged him with a cheeky smile.
Draco was sure his eyes would fall out of his head if he kept rolling them so often, "So, you're the Master of Death and you're not going to punish me, Potter?"
"No, Malfoy. You're not nearly as terrible as you seem to think, and I know this now more than ever," Harry admitted freely.
Draco sneered, "What's that supposed to mean?"
"In my new job, I've already seen much worse, which is surprising considering I've only been doing this job for three months. Anyway, most of what you did was petty or coerced. You really were a product of your upbringing, Malfoy. Besides, when you had the chance to kill Dumbledore you didn't. When the time came, you threw me that wand, and you were hesitant to do anything in the Room of Requirement. Even Crabbe called you out on it. No offense, but you were always a bit of a coward."
"Well, thanks Potter," Draco bit out, "I really appreciate the commentary. I'm so sorry I cared more about my life, and the life of my family rather than others. Maybe I'm selfish, but isn't everybody? Not everyone can be a martyr like you!"
Harry chuckled and bowed his head to look at his feet, "Yeah, I suppose I am a martyr now, aren't I?" He murmured, stepping away from the wall he had been leaning against. "Though much like you, I believe I'm a product of my upbringing. You never knew much about me Draco, despite what you would like to think. As a matter of fact, as much as I respect him I wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore placed me with my relatives solely to raise me to be a martyr. Not that he didn't care about me, he did. He just cared more about the many than the few," he said bitterly as he began walking towards the double doors that lead to the living room closest to the gardens.
A perfectly sculpted brow lifted as he straightened up and kept pace with Harry, "Oh really? Your precious headmaster would do something like that to his perfect Boy-Who-Lived?"
Harry looked up with a self-depreciating smile, "If it's for 'the greater good' he will do anything. Even sacrifice a boy he himself admitted he saw as a grandchild. My home life before Hogwarts wasn't particularly good. As a matter of fact—as much as I hate to dwell on it—my family was downright abusive towards me. Mostly emotional abuse and neglect though. I think Dumbledore wanted me to be desperate to please, and to think poorly enough of myself to be willing to sacrifice my own life." He opened one of the doors and held it for the blonde.
Draco stopped and stared at Harry, dumbfounded. "Those filthy muggles abused you and the Head Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards did nothing? Wait, you have family? Wait, was he really that manipulative?! He seemed like a nutty old codger to me... even when I was on the Astronomy Tower..." he said with a furrowed brow as he stepped over the thresh hold.
"There's much you don't know Draco. I suppose everything worked out though," he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, "I dislike leaving Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and the others, but at least I can see what's going on with everyone," he rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully as he sat down on a chaise in the living room, "Anyway, we aren't here to talk about my past, we're here to talk about your future," he said as he angled his body toward Draco once again.
Draco sat down on his favorite emerald colored chair, crossed his legs, and looked at Harry expectantly, "Well? I apparently died, you're the 'Master of Death', I showed up at my manor which was devoid of everything except you, and apparently I'm not that bad of a person, and you had a shit childhood with shit muggles. Anything else?" He drawled sarcastically, "I'm assuming you're here to 'see me off' or something, right? Do you even know what happens now?"
Harry rolled his eyes, "Of course I do. I told you, I'm the Master of Death. What type of master would I be if I didn't know what happens to people afterwards? I'm not going to tell you of course though. No, I'm here to make you an offer, well... less of an offer... more like you have to. Orders from the council unfortunately," Harry grimaced sympathetically.
The blonde raised his eyebrows questioningly, "What type of thing are you talking about, Potter? Going to bring me back to life?" He asked acerbically.
Harry grinned, "Not in the way that you are obviously thinking, but yes."
Draco found himself gaping stupidly for the third time during their short conversation, "R-Really? What do you mean not in the way I'm thinking?" Draco frowned, "Also, what is this council? A council can order around the 'Master of Death?'" He questioned disbelievingly.
"Well, Malfoy, have you ever heard of reincarnation?" Harry asked, ignoring Draco's questions.
"What do you take me for, an idiot?" the Slytherin snapped, ignoring the unanswered queries temporarily, "Of course I know what reincarnation is. Muggles aren't the ones who studied the soul and came up with the theory, you know!"
Harry held up his hands in a placating manner, "Alright, alright! I was just making sure! Well, that's basically what's going on. But there are two differences," the Gryffindor held up two fingers for emphasis and paused dramatically as Draco scowled, "You'll retain all your memories... and you won't be reborn in this world."
Frankly, at this point, Draco was rather sick of having the rug pulled out from under him, and stood up to pace the room, "What do you mean not in this world? Not in the wizarding world? Being reborn as a muggle? Or on a different planet?! Potter, what type of thing is that?! It sounds more like a form of punishment to me."
Harry began laughing uproariously, "Malfoy being reborn as an alien! That's a good one! Merlin, I wish I could tell Ron that one! But no, what I mean is you'll be reborn in a different universe that isn't all that similar to this one. There are humans and civilizations, but it's just... different," he stated with a dopey grin still on his face.
"Stop being a git and take this seriously Potter!" Draco hissed, "What is this anyway? Why give me another chance? Why would I want to be reborn in this other world?! Does this happen to everyone? Would I be a muggle? Explain!"
Draco's anxious questioning sobered the raven haired boy up quickly as he told him, "I'm sorry, Draco. If I could send you off on the Knight Bus to the next plane I would. That's where all souls go after they die; at least, in this universe," he explained, "No, this doesn't happen often, at all. Honestly, there was a bit of a mix up... I don't know if I'm relieved about it or not. You know how I was a child of prophecy?" Here Draco nodded, "Well, there is a boy of prophecy in this world too."
The blonde groaned and covered his face with his hands, "Ugh. Potter. Don't do this to me! Having to live a second life in the presence of another one of you! This really is a cruel joke!" He grumbled. "And what does that have to do with me?!" He glared at Harry hotly.
With a sheepish smile he crossed his legs and responded, "Well, apparently the Council didn't expect me to become the Master of Death. I was supposed to die and from there they were going to send me to this other world to aid the boy, or at the very least move things in the right direction. That's why I said I'm not sure if I'm relieved or not. I don't have to go through that since I got this gig, but this gig lasts until when or if someone else collects all three Deathly Hallows. And considering I threw the stone into the Forbidden Forrest, and Hermione buried the wand with me it's not looking likely... So I'll be stuck doing this for a while," he mumbled looking rather sulky, "But now the problem is that since I'm not going they want to send someone else. And for some blasted reason they chose you," he shrugged.
With a blank face Draco asked him flatly, "And what exactly have I done to get a recommendation for such a job, Potter? Are you trying to get me killed a second time or what? You know, after I got out of Azkaban I was just going to live a normal, peaceful, life. I don't want anymore strife!" he exclaimed. "We've been incredibly civil to each other thus far, but I just find it a little bloody difficult to believe that out of all the heroic prats that have died recently that anyone, especially these 'council' you keep mentioning, would pick me to go to some alternate universe that has something so incredibly wrong with it that they require a child of prophecy too! Excuse me if I'm a little fucking skeptical! I just died, Potter," he said slowly, "I just died and I won't ever get to see my mother again. My father either. I won't be able to have children, or take them to Diagon Alley to get their wands. I won't be able to see them off at the Hogwarts Express for the first time. I don't even have a chance, because even if I get reborn it will be in an entirely different universe! I know that you just died too, but as previously stated I'm a little bleeding selfish. Even though I don't necessarily want to move on, why would I want to reincarnate in a universe where I don't know a soul? Somewhere where I'll most likely have to live through another war? Honestly, we were lucky that this war was fairly short. You did your part, Potter, and I give you my sincerest thanks for that. But why would they ask this of me?" He seethed, looking at Harry with angry tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.
Harry regarded him seriously and responded, "Draco, I know how you feel, really, I do. Dying and then waking up with a job you didn't ask for... well, we're on the same exact boat. I wish I weren't the bearer of bad news, but I am. We have both had those choices taken from us, and—as much as we won't want to—we have to make the best of what we have. At least we have consolation prizes! I get to see all of my friends, and how their lives are going. When they die, I get to greet them, and have some long overdue conversation. You get to go to an entire new place, you prat! How many people get to say things like that? You get a second life, and you've already learned a lot of lessons from this life that you can use to be a better person in the next one. You can be on the correct side of the conflict this time around," the Gryffindor encouraged.
With a scowl Draco ordered, "Well then, tell me more about this 'job.' And don't think for a second that I forgot about this council you keep mentioning!"
With a sigh Harry relented, "I didn't think you did, Malfoy. Alright, well the Council is made up of different entities such as Fate, Time, Luck, Chaos, Life, and now me since I'm the Master of Death. I call them by generic names, but they have been called many things throughout history. They had a vote on whether you would be a good candidate for this job or not, apparently Fate has something specific in mind, but only Chaos and I voted against it. And honestly I only think Chaos voted against it because it was against the majority... Chaos does that a lot apparently.
"As for the job, well I've pretty much told you what I can. I honestly don't know much myself. It's in another universe, there is a boy of prophecy that is facing a far greater foe than anticipated, and he's going to go through a lot of hardship before that happens. That's pretty much what I know. I don't know who the boy is, I don't know where you will be in relation to him—just that you will come in contact with him before the prophecy is in affect. I don't even know how to look into the universe you will be in. They're going to show me how after you've been reborn. I can only guess that they don't want me to give you any heads up about what you're getting into," Harry informed him uncomfortably.
"Geez, Potter. That sure is a lot to go on," Draco remarked sarcastically. "You'd think I would meet a lot of people in this world, and I won't even know who the prophecy kid is? Great. And that council sounds grand. Hopefully I never have to meet them. I have some choice words that I would love to say, but I wouldn't because what type of idiot provokes deities like that?! And Fate has something specific in mind? For me? This just keeps getting better and better! I'm sold!" Draco threw up his hands dramatically. "At least tell me that I'll have magic! Don't strip me of my basic heritage!"
The raven cocked his head, "How do you define magic Draco?" He asked.
Draco glared at him before contemplating the question. "As a power that goes against the basic laws of physics, I suppose," he said musingly.
"Then yes, you'll have magic," Harry told him with a cocky smirk.
Draco eyed him warily, "And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean you prat?"
"Don't worry, Malfoy. Your precious face won't be defenseless," Harry teased. "From what I understand, they have something similar to magic. You'll definitely have it, because a civilian wouldn't be able to help this world very much otherwise."
"Well, at least I have something to give me hope," Draco huffed, exasperated.
"Yes, and here's something else you may not have known. After a magical child is born, the magic in their body merges with the physical manifestation of their soul," Harry trailed off meaningfully.
"You mean—" Draco surmised,"—that when I'm reborn there is a good chance that I will still have my magic?"
"Yes," Harry confirmed. "But I have no idea how it will manifest since you will have this new power alongside your magic. They may work independently, or they may fuse. We can only guess until your soon-to-be new body is old enough to manipulate those powers to find out."
"Alright, so is this happening now? Am I taking over a baby's body? What's going to happen?"
The Gryffindor pursed his lips, "No, we wouldn't do that. Your soul will be placed within the mother's body before the fetus's own soul manifests. Whenever we're done talking it will be time to go, yes. So it's really the luck of the draw with who you're born to I suppose—whoever is at the right time in their pregnancy in that universe."
Draco made a noise of disgust, "That's revolting. Besides, why the fuck will me being there be beneficial to this universe? If you haven't noticed I'm a selfish, self-serving piece of shit that used to crucio helpless muggles on command."
"Stop with the self-pity, Malfoy. That won't cut it with me. Just look at it as atonement. Change yourself for the better. It doesn't have to be immediate, you know. Change is gradual. Make friends, bond with others, have a good second chance at life."
The blonde turned away and began to amble down the closest hallway grinding his teeth.
Harry's voice easily carried over the short distance, "Besides, I saw. I know what you did for that first girl, and eventually all of the others..."
-Flashback-
"Come, Draco," the high, cold voice beckoned him, "It's your turn to do the honors." The Dark Lord smirked at him as if he knew Draco hated this, which admittedly, he probably did. The man—if he could be called that—was one of the best Leglimens in the world, supposedly. Personally, Draco didn't doubt it. That was why Draco had been studying leglimency and occlumency obsessively during the time he had been ensconced in his family home after the disastrous end of his sixth year. He avoided eye contact whenever feasible, and followed his orders so that his master had less of a reason to go digging too far in his mind.
The young Death Eater stepped farther into the room toward the circle of the higher ranks. He slowly pushed past them to encroach the empty inner circle—empty aside from a single muggle teenage girl. She was a brunette with light brown eyes, and Draco was startled to realize that he found this muggle rather attractive.
"Well? What are you waiting for, Draco? Another invitation?" Voldemort asked mockingly with his shrewd gaze leveled at him. Most of those present laughed, and he even heard his aunt tittering close to their master's throne. His parents, thankfully, we absent for now. His mother was probably cooped up in her room, and his father was on a financial mission dealing with the werewolves apparently. He was glad they wouldn't have to watch this.
The girl, who was probably two years younger than him, looked up at him with terrified, watery eyes, "Please, please, I don't know why I'm here! I don't remember how I got here, but don't hurt me! My father, he can pay you I'm su—" the teen quickly cut off with a painfully shriek. A decent sized gash appeared across her collarbone dousing her shirt in warm blood.
"As if we want any money from you, you filthy muggle," Voldemort hissed contemptuously. "The only reason you are here is for our entertainment," the girl made an absolutely petrified face as she looked around at all the men in the room, "Don't be disgusting. My men would never sully themselves with the likes of you. No, Draco here will show you how we like to have fun," he grinned as he panned his gaze at his gathered subordinates.
Draco gulped as unobtrusively as possible, he surveyed the brunette as he stepped even closer. She cowered as she held her hands to the gash attempting to stem the flow of blood. Before he lost his nerve he raised his wand to her, gathered as much vindictive hate as he could muster, and murmured, "Crucio." The girl's eyes went wide, mouth open in what was at first a silent scream. After a second had passed a piercing wail echoed around the chamber. The girl began writhing on the ground as her fingernails tried to find purchase on the floor. After fifteen seconds the curse broke off. The young teen's chest was heaving as she tried to regain her breath, and she was completely limp on the floor. By the end of those fifteen seconds her fingernails were completely torn up, and the tips of her fingers were raw and bleeding. Draco had never felt so much self disgust in his entire life.
The Dark Lord made a derisive noise, "Fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds. That's the best you can do after spending over a year and a half in my service? No wonder you couldn't kill the old goat if you can't even hold a cruciatus curse for longer than that." Once again all the gathered Death Eaters laughed, while Bellatrix looked like she was contemplating teaching her 'wittle baby nephew' how to do it properly. By demonstrating on him, of course—not that it would have been the first time his insane aunt had placed that particular curse on him. "Do it again. Hold it for at least two minutes this time, or you will be joining her," his master warned him.
Clenching his teeth, Draco turned back to his victim. Because that's what she is. His victim. He had to swallow down a bit of bile before it could come hurling out all over the floor. Clearing his mind using his ever improving occulmency, he brought forth all the things that he hated—Voldemort, the Dark Mark branding his arm, the sound of his aunt's cackling, watching other Death Eaters laugh as they killed peoples' families right in front of them, the idiotic ministry for allowing this to happen, his parents' faces growing more haggard all the time—and once again cast the curse. "Crucio," he said, more firmly this time. The brunette immediately began convulsing as her eyes rolled up in her head. She shrieked so loud and long that it quickly petered out to silent screaming, her mouth still wide open as her face pressed into the floor looking for some relief to the agony coursing through her body. For the next two minutes Draco never took his eyes off of her, burning this pain he was causing her into his memory. He hated this so much, but it was his life or hers—just a muggle. And he certainly valued his skin over a random teenage muggle.
"Much better, Draco," Voldemort sarcastically praised him. "Go back to your rooms then, the next meeting is at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Don't be late, or I'll send your loving aunt to wake you up. Understand?"
The blonde nodded mutely and took his dismissal for what it was. He left the chamber to head back to his room, glad that he at least didn't have to stick around to watch anything else they had planned for the young girl.
(Several hours later)
After sitting in his favorite arm chair by the fireplace—though it wasn't lit—for hours on end, Draco finally decided on a course of action. He was by no means a generous, selfless person, but this would be beneficial to himself as well. As training. A test. A test that if he should fail, might get him pointlessly executed. Draco had to admit to himself, it was a little freeing to choose this approach—not that he wasn't terrified out of his bloody wits.
The Slytherin casually made his way towards the dungeon. He passed a few Death Eaters on the walk down, but none of them even glanced his way. Once he got near the cells he was relieved to see a familiar face that he could use to his advantage.
Peter Pettigrew—the disgusting little pissant—was guarding the entrance to the cells tonight. He was always an absolute pushover, even for younger Death Eaters like himself. Especially if you had enough attitude.
"Oi! Pettigrew!" Draco snapped.
Pettigrew flinched, but blustered up enough courage to straighten up and respond evenly, "What is it, Malfoy? I can't leave here, I'm on guard duty tonight." He puffed himself up importantly.
The younger sneered. "I don't know why the Dark Lord would trust you to guard the prisoners. You couldn't stop a first year straight out of their first DADA class."
The rat animagus glared at him hotly—Draco raised an eyebrow that dared Pettigrew to disagree with him. "What do you want?" the man grumbled, obviously losing his nerve against the cool and collected Malfoy heir.
With a smirk Draco responded, "I just wanted to go practice a few curses Aunt Bellatrix just taught me." Pettigrew shuddered, his creativity imagining all sorts of curses the teen might have learned from the insane woman. Luckily, the man hadn't been present at the earlier meeting—and rightly no one liked him—so no one had told him of the humiliating scene where Draco's crucio had failed so quickly.
"W-well, it's almost eleven... the screams could disturb the others...," Pettigrew stuttered.
The blonde scoffed. "What am I, twelve? I know how to do a simple silencing charm," Draco growled derisively. "Or are you saying that because you still don't know how to do one? Not everyone conforms to your low standards." Draco snarked. He was almost having fun, he never got to treat anyone like this anymore. It feels good to be above someone for once and blow off some steam.
The older, shorter man bristled, "Of course I know the silencing charm!" Pettigrew hissed indignantly. "I'm not a bleeding idiot!"
"Well, alright then. Move aside and let me get to practicing," Draco twirled his wand between his fingers. "Or should I test them out on you instead?" He asked, his demeanor quickly changing from confrontational to jovial, as if he would just love to test his new spellwork on the diminutive wizard.
"N-No, no!" The man quickly assured. "Go on down, just don't outright kill them and make sure you put up that silencing charm!"
"That's what I thought," Draco said with a quirk to his lips. "I'll be back in probably an hour or so. Give me some privacy, eh? I want to have these right when it comes time to use them in front of our master."
Pettigrew gulped, "Of course. I'll be sure you have some time, no one is scheduled to be here for another three hours."
"Perfect," Draco whispered as he slipped open the door leading down to the cells.
He quickly made his way to the cells where the muggles were kept, hoping that the girl had been kept to send to the werewolves or as a 'practice dummy' for younger recruits. Not that he wanted her to have to go through that, but he might lose his nerve otherwise. He wasn't going to free her or anything remotely suicidal like that, no, he wasn't that idiotic. He wants to attempt to help her in her mind, using his hopefully well developed leglimency.
He hadn't had much to practice on seeing as most Death Eater's knew what it felt like to have their minds breached—courtesy of the Dark Lord. No, he mostly brushed the front of the minds of lower tier Death Eaters whom rarely had audiences with their master, and house elves. The elves are always so eager to please, especially since Draco had began treating them better. Which was a result of how he went from being treated like a spoiled prince, to being treated like an unwelcome pest—in his own house no less! He figured that must be how the house elves felt quite often, even more so in Malfoy Manor where his father felt no qualm in kicking them if their job wasn't to his utmost satisfaction.
Anyway, he would be doing a good deed for the girl—as if that would cancel out all the bad he's done—and if he could figure out how to manipulate a muggle's brain it certainly wasn't too much of a leap to think he could manipulate another wizard's. This has so much potential all wrapped in one highly dangerous practice test. Which brings him to the current cell of the brunette teen from earlier. He stood there silently for a few moments watching her currently sleeping form. She looked worse off than before, her hair was matted with dirt and there were clear tracks down her face from the tears she had shed—but all of her injuries had been mended. Not out of consideration to her, but so that she wouldn't die before she reached the end of her usefulness. Her entire outfit was covered in now dried blood that he could tell from experience was going to stick to her skin—and pull out any body hair that may be adhered to the substance.
He unlocked the door silently with his wand, but it creaked when the door swung in. Predictably, the girl's eyes sprang open at the noise indicating that one of her captors had entered her cell. The sound usually meant she was about to be in a lot of pain, already she seemed to have permanent tremors from the nerve damage to her system due to being under the cruciatus curse so many times. Draco assumed she was being used as a practice dummy then, not being sent to the werewolves—which brought him a modicum of relief. She sat up, shuffled backward until her back was against the wall, and began quaking even worse than before. She obviously recognized him from the meeting earlier that day.
Not having time to waste he quickly cast a stunning spell on her, and a silencing charm on the perimeter just in case. He didn't want to have to talk to her unnecessarily or explain any of the details. It was for her benefit anyway. He didn't want her thankfulness for what he was going to do, or her anger if she happened to be upset he wasn't going to help her escape. Mostly because he is a coward who doesn't want to face this girl he tortured less than twelve hours ago.
He transfigured a rock into an armchair—in green and silver, of course—because like hell was he going to squat down on that filthy floor for what may take a few hours, they don't exactly have toilets down here. He transfigured another rock into an armchair, and levitated the girl into it so that they were sitting across from each other sitting at about the same eye level. Draco used a temporary sticking charm to keep her eyelids open, and applied a charm to keep her eyes from drying out as well. He isn't completely inconsiderate.
Before he could change his mind he whispered, "Leglimens."
He had been inside his own mindscape before while studying occlumency, it was Hogwarts to his surprise. Mostly based around the dungeons. Of course it would be, that was where the Slytherin common room and the potions classroom were. This was the first time that he had actually been inside another human's mindscape. The house elves didn't actually have mindscapes, which made it actually easier to sift through their thoughts—there was no where for any information to hide. This girl seemed to have a very simple mindscape. Draco could tell she was a daydreamer. He was glad it was nothing that would take a whole lot of time. He had read before of muggles who could change their mindscapes just as well as a witch or wizard—though it took them much more time and dedication.
Her mindscape was a very ordinary meadow with a large grassy field and flowers strewed throughout. There was a moderate sized pond to the far left with darker clouds above it, it looked like it was about to rain. There was nothing defending the meadow, not any animals or anything, but on the very edges of the meadow and beyond there were scattered trees. He was half surprised she had a mindscape at all, though he did assume she would have one. Yet another piece of evidence that showed muggles weren't mindless brutes.
From walking around the meadow he found out her name was Sarah Goldfinch, the puffy clouds that made up the part of the sky that weren't rain clouds spelled her name out clearly. It was a strange way to discover her name though. He looked down at some of the flowers as he passed, there were memories playing in the dew that had settled on the petals. Draco found out her father was a fairly well-off entrepreneur, and that she had an older sister and a younger brother who are both very close to her. Draco can only imagine what the family is going through right about now. He strayed underneath the cloudy area next to the pond. In a puddle near the pond he watched a memory play out of a phone call she got at school two years previously—she was told her mother had just perished when she was hit by a drunk driver on her way home from work. The area under the clouds must be where her darker, sadder memories are kept. He does his best after that to stay away from any more personal information about the girl, he doesn't want to humanize her any more than he already has. That's just asking for trouble.
After watching that he gazed down at the pond and noticed it was deeper than what he would have thought, farther down it was pitch black and he couldn't see bottom at all. The blonde inferred that this was probably where she was keeping the memories of her torture thus far. Draco decided to walk around the perimeter of the meadow to look for a suitable place for what he needed to do.
He managed to find a hollow in a tree fairly quickly that would do perfectly for his purposes. The magical teen's wand materialized in his hand. Though he didn't actually have his wand, it felt more natural for him to focus his magic with his usual foci in his hand. He would be less inclined to messing up if he felt more in control of his magic, especially for something as delicate as mind magic. The Dark Lord usually used brute force, but Draco was much more suited to being subtle—he found it was funny, he personally thought it would have been the opposite.
Muttering to himself, he began weaving a ward over the empty hollow, this ward was to redirect any pain the girl experienced behind this barrier. He then weaved a more finely spun ward into the first one to prevent any of the pain from spilling back out into the girl's—Sarah's—mind. The third ward was on top of the first two, and it was meant to mute her negative feelings, such as horror, embarrassment, and hopelessness. He knew it wasn't the most ethical thing to do, the girl deserved to have control of herself and her emotions, but at what price? Draco won't go so far as to say that he knows how she is feeling, because he doesn't. But he has a vague idea from how he feels trapped at the manor, and being cursed by both his aunt and his master regularly. He can't imagine living down here knowing that everyday left in her existence will be to be used as torture practice for people who hate her for no good reason. The blonde just wants to make this as least painful as possible for her, even if it's just to make her last days easier.
After the main work is done he pulls away from the hollow, in the mindscape it only appears to be a spiderweb covering the entrance to the inside of the tree. The only thing that looks misplaced is that the spiderweb is golden, and the inside of the tree is completely dark. Draco has a feeling his body outside of the mindscape is sweating—it was extremely grueling work that sounds much easier in principal than in practice.
The very last thing Draco does is weave a prompt that layers over her whole mindscape invisibly. It's technically a dark form of magic, but hell, he's already a Death Eater who has done worse things. One more dark spell won't make a difference one way or another. This one was to cover his tracks—after all, if the girl doesn't feel any pain she normally wouldn't respond to the torture. This prompted her to act in a certain way depending on which spell was cast on her. The spell actually took more work than the rest combined. He had to sink it down into her very sub-conscience so that even if a spell was cast on her in her sleep she would act accordingly. Then he had to catalogue every spell he could think of that were regularly cast at muggles that might cause pain, and what the appropriate actions would be. Her reaction to the cruciatus curse was the easiest since she had already experienced that pain before, she would just have to react in a similar way. For another example, if she were cut with a laceration curse she would need to cry, yelp, grab onto the afflicted area, and attempt to make her body a smaller target. Draco ended up having to do this for about thirty individual spells.
After he was done he felt exceedingly tired, he slumped against the nearest tree in her mindscape and surveyed his work. Even looking as hard as he could he didn't make out any overt signs that he had been there. Honestly, even if someone noticed that she wasn't acting completely normal Draco didn't think anyone would think much of it. A Death Eater would be more likely to kill her outright rather than take her to the Dark Lord under suspicion of someone meddling with her mind. They would probably think it was just a muggle thing, or that she was losing her mind from the torture. Draco was a bit paranoid, but he wasn't overly concerned.
With a last glance around, Draco nodded to himself and carefully extricated himself from her mind. Once he was looking back at her unblinking form, he looked about to make sure he was still alone. If he would have thought about it sooner he would have cast a proximity ward, but his nerves must have affected his thinking. Luckily, it appeared that no one had been down. He removed the charms that kept her eyes wet, and eyelids open. He levitated her back into her corner, untransfigured the two armchairs, and muttered, "Enervate," into the silence of the room.
Her eyelids fluttered open. Once again, when she saw Draco she scuttled backward as far as she could go—even though she has already been propped against the wall when she woke.
Draco once again leveled his wand at her and cast, "Diffindo."
The girl—Sarah, he kept reminding himself—flinched back at his voice and gasped as she grabbed the steadily streaming wound on her shoulder.
"Did that hurt?" Draco asked impatiently. He was getting increasingly nervous as time went on.
"N-no," Sarah stammered, confused. "What did you do to me?"
Nodding once again, Draco pivoted on his heel and began his trek back up the stairs—after closing and locking the metal door, of course.
He heard the brunette scramble to her feet and run to the bars of her cell, "W-wait!" She called up to him, but he paid her no heed. His good deed for the day—or maybe the decade—was done and like hell was he going to stick around to explain things. She could figure it out for herself.
Once he gets to the top of the stairs he pauses for a moment to make sure the silencing charm is still in effect—it is—and slips out of the door quietly. Pettigrew is standing just a few paces in front of him staring vacantly down the corridor, probably lost in thought.
"Are you wondering what exactly you're going to do when the Dark Lord realizes how absolutely useless you are, Wormtail?" Draco asked with a smirk.
Peter startled and whipped around. When he registered what the blonde had said he scowled. "Haha. Very funny."
"I'm done here," Draco remarked as he pushed past to walk back up to his rooms for the night.
"Alright," Peter acknowledged. "I hope you had fun," he joked.
Draco looked back with a sadistic grin and cocked his head, "Oh, I did."
-(End Flashback)-
Draco scoffed as he did an abrupt about face, "Doing that was hardly noble. I only did it to practice my leglimency. I just decided to use it to do something decent rather than ransack someone's brain just to get experience. It just as easily could have scrambled her brain if I weren't as precise as I was."
Harry shook his head, "Don't sell yourself short, Malfoy. There are many, many others who wouldn't have done what you did. And you were so precise because you didn't want to mess up her brain. I'm not saying it makes up for all of your actions, not in the least, but you aren't nearly as bad as you're trying to make yourself out to be. You'll do just fine in this world. And who knows! Worst case scenario, if you slack off—or die—there and don't interfere, the prophecy child may win anyway!" The Gryffindor exclaimed with a smile. The kind of smile that said 'I know something you don't!'
"Whatever, Pothead," the blonde muttered petulantly. "If you plan on watching me while I'm there I guess we'll see. Just don't watch me while I shit or bathe or anything. I mean it, Potter! That would be revolting!" Draco demanded with a pointed finger, as if he thought Harry might have already done such a thing.
Harry scrunched up his nose and glanced at Draco incredulously. "Don't be a git! I wouldn't do such a thing! I'm not into the male persuasion," he made wavy motions over his sides to demonstrate the curves of the female form, "and even if I were I certainly wouldn't be looking at your pasty arse! Besides—"
"How do you know my arse is pasty?!" Draco interrupted accusingly before blushing, realizing exactly what he had said. "W-wait—" he back-tracked, but Harry was already on his hands and knees laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face.
Harry clutched his stomach with one hand. "G-good to know, Malfoy!" He chortled teasingly.
"S-Shut up, Four Eyes!" Draco defended and crossed his arms, still mortified by his slip.
The dark haired teen finally managed to catch his breath enough to wipe his eyes and sit back on his thighs. "Wow, because I've never heard that one before," Harry rolled his eyes.
With an impatient huff Draco interjected, "Can we please get back to the matter at hand?"
Standing to feet Harry reminded him with a smirk, "You started that whole conversation. Don't blame me."
"Anyway, when are we getting this show on the road then?" Draco asked, ignoring Harry's last comment pointedly.
The Master of Death shrugged, "Whenever you're ready. You really are taking this rather well, Malfoy. I know we didn't get on well, but I'm glad we got to have a semi-friendly conversation beforehand."
"I just died, Potter. I hardly wanted to fight after such an event," Draco assured. "Besides, you ended the war, because of your friends—and you by extension—my family got lenient sentencing, and my aunt killed you for Merlin's sake. And now you're stuck in some shitty job as the Master of Death. I'm sure you could do without me making a fuss. I'm not a total prat, especially after all I went through during the war. I guess death mellowed me out," he joked.
"I appreciate that, Malfoy. But I really get the feeling that you're stalling for time," Harry observed amusedly.
The Slytherin clucked his tongue, "Of course I'm stalling, Potter! This is the last conversation I get to have with someone from my old life, and I'm about to spend the next few years re-learning my basic bodily functions! I'm stalling as long as I bloody well can!" Draco said, visibly frustrated.
Harry frowned, "Yes, I'm sure that won't be very fun. You may find that you need it though."
"Why are you so bloody vague?! Is that a part of the whole 'Master of Death' thing?" Draco asked gustily.
With a chuckle Harry responded, "No, what I meant is that from what I understand they have different language and customs there. You may need those years to grow accustomed to them, and try to avoid making your displacement too obvious." Harry rubbed his neck apologetically.
With narrowed eyes the blonde questioned, "So why didn't you tell me this earlier?"
"Heh, well... it slipped my mind?" Harry attempted to deflect.
Draco harrumphed, "You're just lucky we're already dead, Potter. I finally learned that bat-bogey hex that Weaslette was so partial to."
Harry looked at his feet. "I'm so lucky I was never subjected to that...," he muttered to himself. "Are you about done stalling then, Malfoy?" The Gryffindor needled. "I do have a job to get back to, and you wouldn't believe the back-log that happens if I just procrastinate for the shortest amount of time! I'll probably be a week behind just from this whole conversation!" Harry practically whined as he pushed his glasses back up his nose.
"If you're that desperate to get rid of me, Potter, I can do nothing but oblige," Draco drawled. "Don't worry about me, I'm just being sent to an entirely different universe where I don't know anyone. Where they don't even speak my language. Oh, and don't forget about the future conflicts I'll be involved in! Merlin forbid that the Boy-Who-Lived be behind on his work by one week," he continued woefully.
"Alright, alright, sorry. But you seriously do have to get going soon. I've been told that the best person for you to be born to is at the perfect point in her pregnancy. If we don't want to miss this window you need to go," Harry explained seriously. "I don't doubt that you can turn around in this life, Malfoy. Even if you make mistakes, you can always change for the better. Everyone can." He offered his hand out to Draco. "I know I snubbed you on the train first year, but you came off as a total prat. No surprise there—," Harry smirked, "—but before it's too late let's shake on it. Friends?"
Draco stared at the hand, partially stunned, partially amused. He grabbed the outstretched hand and gave it a firm shake. "Not that it will make a difference now, but yes. Friends," Draco agreed, with a smirk on his face in return.
Harry smiled brightly. "I'm glad we got that cleared up! It's time for you to go now, Draco," Harry said, as if he hadn't just called Draco his first name for the first time ever, "Have a good one. I'll be watching your pasty ass!" He gave a playful wink.
"Wait a second! I don't actually have a—"
A/N: Alright, so this is going to be my first substantial fic. I'm torn between hating every word I wrote, hiding under the bed terrified that everyone on this site will lambaste me, and telling myself I'm an awesome writer. Let me first thank you for reading the chapter despite the length! (I promise the flashback is ground work for things relevant in the future of this fic.) And forgive me for this long ass, rambling author's note I'm about to subject you to.
I've been obsessed with all of the Naruto SI/OC fics for months now, and I've been thinking about writing one for a long while. I don't remember how I came up with the idea of Draco coming here, but I remember liking the idea of starting with someone who's personality is already developed so that I didn't have to start from scratch—my creativity is extremely low and I'm super lazy. I've also read quite a few HP/Naruto crossovers which have helped inspire this as well (The Unbound Soul by and Chasing Shadows by silencia20 are some examples, read that shit!).
I expect that this fic will be quite long, probably at least 150k... This is the only chapter I have written thus far, but I plan on writing at least three more chapters before posting the second chapter. That way I'll have a few weeks buffer to work on the later chapters. So be prepared to wait a while before a second update.
Be fore-warned, I have a three-year-old who takes up all of my time. So this is definitely a secondary thing that I usually only work on while he's sleeping. I don't promise to finish (though I obviously plan to), but I do promise that if I do abandon it I will AT THE VERY LEAST outline the rest of the fic so that you know what would have happened. More likely I would let someone adopt it and give them all my notes—but like I said, I don't plan to abandon it (but who starts a fic thinking they will?).
I'm rating it mature for explicit content and language. Typical canon violence, and possibly a bit worse violence/gore. No sex scenes, or if there are they will be vague, sorry to disappoint! So far in my outline I DO NOT have a romance planned, though I'm totally up to it. As much as I love yaoi, I tend to stick with het pairings in this fandom (Naruto). More than likely if there is romance in this fic Draco will end up with a girl unless an overwhelming majority of my (hopefully) future followers want him with a guy (which I doubt).
Be patient and be kind, please. Writing does not come naturally to me and you have no idea how much I nitpicked this chapter before having the courage to post it .
But on the flip side, since this is my first fic feel free to criticize, in a constructive manner if you don't mind.
Shout out to my amazing beta and close friend, Xarioth! Jumping out of his comfort zone to help me out and toss around fic ideas with me! You're the best, love!
Ja ne!
-Fortheloveofb