Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
The world was dark that evening. In reality, the world had been dark for the past three years. However, as Draco Malfoy stood at the window of his bedroom at Malfoy Manor, he noticed that the stars were gone.
There were no clouds. The sky was as clear as a bright summer's day. However, no dots of light broke through the vast and dense blackness that assaulted his world. A crescent moon hung in the sky.
Even it seemed grey.
Draco pursed his lips and raised a glass of firewhiskey to his mouth. Had something happened? Had another battle broken out? Or had the night sky finally decided that it couldn't condone the horrors of the earth?
Probably the last one.
Three years. It had been just over three years since he had stood at the top of the Astronomy Tower, his wand arm shaking as he pointed it at Albus Dumbledore. He flinched at the memory. He tried his best to avoid remembering any part of sixth year.
Circumstances made that feat undeniably hard.
Draco heard a burst of sound from below. He couldn't fully identify what it had been, but the mark burned into his left arm was tingling.
The Dark Lord was feeling powerful, indeed.
Malfoy Manor had become the Headquarters of the Death Eaters and their leader. Neither he, nor his mother or father had been particularly pleased with this, but what choice did they have in the face of Draco's failure on top of the Astronomy Tower? It was the most they could do to abate the Dark Lord's anger.
It had hardly diminished at all.
He heard another roar from beneath him and flinched again. It had been an hour and a half since his father had stormed in and, without explanation, summoned his master with a touch of his arm.
Draco had been standing in the Drawing Room at the time, in the company of his mother. The rest of their side did not stay the night at the Manor, for which the once Slytherin was eternally grateful.
However, it meant that only the Malfoys were witness to the whirling tornado that resulted in billowing dark robes, pale white skin, and snake-like eyes that threatened to bite anyone who crossed its path.
The Dark Lord had looked around the room slowly, eyes drifting across the faces of his entire family. Draco had hardly realized he had stepped in front of his mother in a protective stance. Lucius stood defiantly, chin up and panting.
"Is there any particular reason," the Dark Lord said slowly, with a level of venom that caused the hairs on the back of Draco's neck to stand up on end. "That you have summoned me here this evening, Lucius? You have just returned from the Zabini mission, I assume. I cannot fathom why some dark objects would cause you to call upon me."
Lucius took several deep breaths. "My Lord," he began. "We had just entered the Zabini Manor when we were intercepted by members of the Order of the Phoenix."
The snake-like eyes narrowed. "They are becoming more cunning."
"I called a retreat," Lucius exclaimed. He had gone pale.
The Dark Lord tilted his head. After a pause, he spoke again, his voice like nails on a chalkboard.
"And is there any reason you chose to do this?" The words burned through the air.
"Yes, my Lord," Lucius said. "I called a retreat after an encounter with one of their younger female combatants. My Lord, she had the Mark of Morganna on her wrist."
The Dark Lord froze. A moment later, Draco and his mother were thrown from the room. An hour and a half later, the youngest Malfoy was left alone, staring out the window of his bedroom and wondering what had happened.
In all his years of study, he had never heard of the Mark of Morganna. But the mere mention of it had sent the Dark Lord into a tailspin, slamming doors, locking and silencing the room, and remaining in there with his father for the better part of the night.
Draco downed the rest of his firewhiskey and set the glass on his windowsill. He hadn't been on the mission tonight. It had been to the Zabini household to acquire the objects that Lady Zabini had left behind after her death.
The only thing standing in their way was the only son of the Wizarding World's most notorious female serial killer; his once best friend, Blaise Zabini.
The death sentence had not been explicit in their Lord's orders. However, the threat of death underlined anything Voldemort ever demanded from his followers. The Dark Lord tried to spare those with pure blood, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
They had not seen each other in three years, but Draco could not bear to take a part in the possible death of Blaise Zabini.
He could hardly bear taking part in anyone's death.
Besides the mystery of his father's abrupt announcement, Draco had been secretly excited the mission had failed. Blaise was undoubtedly under the protection of the Order now. That was both his saving grace and his execution order. However, for now, he was safe. Hopefully in a warm bed somewhere, being fed and not being killed.
It was quite a shame that Blaise and his mother had chosen neutrality in the war. With his pure blood, he could have gained power and prestige in the New World Order.
Draco sighed. If they ever won the goddamn war.
Three years. In that time he had grown from an over-excited teenage boy, who grinned at the idea of becoming King, to a man, who wanted nothing more than to never have to torture another human being in the course of his life.
Draco ran his hand through his hair. He was fucked both ways in this war, without a doubt. If the Order won, he would be tried as a Death Eater, convicted, and sent to spend the rest of his life rotting in Azkaban.
If the Dark Lord won, he would have to spend the rest of his life concealing his thoughts through Occlumency and trying to avoid killing people he had gone to class with.
A memory from a battle about a month back flashed through his mind. He raised his arm, said the words, and the body of that damn Gryffindor from his year fell to the ground at his feet.
The act had not made him feel powerful. It had just made him tired.
It had only been his fourth kill, all of which had been self-defence. He tried to stun more often than kill. However, that knowledge couldn't abate the stains on what was left of his conscience.
A knock on the door shook him from his reverie. He turned to see his mother standing blankly, watching him.
"He requests our presence," she murmured, exiting the room as quietly as she had come.
His mother had once been a strong woman. She was a pureblooded jewel. But this war had destroyed her, as it had them all. Now she was nothing but a shell of a person desperately trying to stop the rest of her from crumbling away.
Draco forced his feet forward and followed her out of the room. A moment later, they had arrived at the now open door of the Drawing Room. They entered without hesitation.
The Dark Lord stood at the far end of the room with Lucius on his right-hand side. His so-called master surveyed him with his eyes narrowed into even smaller slits.
"Draco Malfoy," he said.
He bowed his head respectfully. "My Lord."
"It seems the opportunity has come for you to finally redeem yourself," the snake said. Draco's ear perked up at the comment.
"Pardon, my Lord?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice even.
The Dark Lord began to pace in front of him, his robes billowing out behind him like clouds of black dust. After a moment, he paused, and turned back to his younger follower.
"You have proved to be a valuable asset to me over the years," he said, looking at Draco. "Which is fortunate after the – ah – mishap at the Astronomy Tower all those years ago."
Draco let his eyes fall to the floor, forcing his mind to stay in the present.
"But that is the past, young one," Voldemort said, flourishing his wand. "And the Dark Lord is nothing if not merciful."
"Thank you, my Lord," he muttered.
"Mr. Malfoy," he said. "What do you know of one Hermione Granger?"
Draco's eyes snapped up at the mention of the Gryffindor Princess of Hogwarts. He paused for a moment, confused at the turn of conversation, before answering.
"She is a girl who was in my year at school. Gryffindor. Extremely powerful and talented, for a mudblood," he hastened. "She's Harry Potter's best friend."
Hermione Granger. That was not a name he had heard or thought about in years. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen her. Sometime at the end of sixth year, he supposed, before he fled from Hogwarts.
Why would the Dark Lord care so much about Hermione Granger?
Voldemort nodded thoughtfully at Draco's answer. "What was your relationship with her?"
Draco's eyebrows raised to his hairline. "We had no type of relationship, my Lord. She was nothing but a mudblood, and affiliated with Potter. We spoke no more than trading insults."
"You are going to have to work on that then."
"Excuse me, my Lord," Draco asked, more confused as every second passed. "I don't think I understand."
The Dark Lord conjured up a large wooden chair and sat down in it. His red eyes flicked back to Draco's. "It seems that we all have been very wrong about Miss Granger. She is not who we thought."
"Who is she then?" Draco asked.
There was a pause as the Dark Lord considered his answer. "Someone of great importance," he answered, after a moment of thought. "Tell me, have you ever heard of the Mark of Morganna?"
Draco shook his head.
"The Mark of Morganna is a willow tree," the Dark Lord stated. "It is the mark of Morganna le Fay, the enchantress."
The name rang a bell at the back of Draco's mind. He sifted through his old memories of History of Magic class. "You mean…the enchantress who opposed Merlin, my Lord?"
The Dark Lord nodded. "Exactly. She is one of the most powerful magical beings of Wizarding History. She came five hundred years before the founders of Hogwarts and had the power of all of them combined. Besides that, she was a witch in the purest sense. Her blood was created of nothing but magic."
"And the willow is her mark?"
The Dark Lord nodded again. His eyes shifted to Lucius. "Earlier this day, your father battled a young Order combatant. She had the Mark of Morganna upon her left wrist."
"Which signifies what, my Lord?"
If Voldemort could smile, Draco was sure he was doing it now. "It signifies the bearer's relation to the enchantress. Morganna le Fay and her descendants only had daughters. One in each generation for the past fifteen hundred years. And every one of those witches had the Mark on their wrist."
Draco's eyes flitted to his father. "So he fought a descendant of Morganna le Fay?"
"Not just a descendant," the Dark Lord said, leaning forward as if in anticipation. "The only descendent remaining. The only remaining witch who has a direct ancestral link to the Enchantress."
"Who was it, then?" Draco asked. He could hardly understand what he was hearing. The Great Enchantress, as she was sometimes known, had a child? Who had a child, and somewhere down the line, had a child who was now a member of the Order of the Phoenix.
Voldemort smirked, sending shivers up and down Draco's spine.
"I would've thought that was obvious by now. Your father was fighting Miss Hermione Granger."
If Draco had not been in front of the most powerful wizard on earth, he would've laughed. "That's simply not possible."
"Really?' the Dark Lord asked, leaning back. "Why not?"
"Because Hermione Granger is a mudblood!" Draco exclaimed. "Her parents are muggles. There is no way she has a witch in her blood, let alone the most powerful witch in history."
"You are wrong about a great many things," the Dark Lord said slowly. "Firstly, and most importantly, it is not Hermione Granger. It is Hermione le Fay."
The pause that followed his statement was deafening.
"The last known descendant of Morganna was named Celia," Voldemort continued. "She was a powerful witch. She married a man by the name of Tiberius Nott. Does that name hold any significance to you?"
Draco narrowed his eyes. "That's Theo's uncle, isn't it? Didn't he die in the First Wizarding War?"
"Correct," the Dark Lord stated. "Most people assumed that his wife, Celia, had died with him, as well as their three month old daughter, Hermione."
Draco hadn't realized he was shaking.
"However, the discovery of your father has led me to believe that Celia did in fact escape with her daughter and hide herself in the muggle world. Then, when the young girl came of age, sent her to Hogwarts under the guise of being a mudblood."
Voldemort rose. "It is almost offensive to think of," he hissed. "A witch of the purest blood, having to live as nothing but a mudblood. If I had the power to traverse time, I would go back and reverse this terrible crime that was committed against Miss le Fay. She is nothing short of wizarding royalty, and should be treated as such."
Draco was stuttering. "Are you telling me…that this entire time…Hermione Granger has been a pureblood?"
"Not just a pureblood," Voldemort said. "A pureblood princess. I doubt a single speck of non-magical blood flows through her veins. The Le Fays always married wizards. They were too powerful to procreate with muggles. And their line survived."
The Slytherin stood rooted to the spot, unable to understand what he was hearing. Hermione Granger, the meddlesome witch he had teased mercilessly for years, had turned out to be pureblood?
No, a voice hissed. Royalty.
His worldview seemed to crumble around him.
"No wonder she's so powerful," Draco whispered. "No mudblood could ever be so naturally gifted with magic."
Voldemort nodded. "A mudblood would pale in comparison to the Princess."
Draco couldn't prevent a smirk. "The Princess? Is that what we're calling her?"
The Dark Lord's eyes blazed with such venom that Draco flinched back.
"That is what she is."
There was silence.
"Wait a moment," Draco muttered after a moment, after a realization came to him. "I must've seen Grang…Hermione's arm a thousand times over the years. I never noticed a willow tree birthmark."
"The Mark of Morganna only appears on the bearer's arm at the age of twenty. Unless I am mistaken, the Princess must have just received it."
"Why does it do that?" Draco asked.
The Dark Lord sat back down in his chair. "It signifies that the new Generation has become a Protector. The mark on her mother would have faded as her role was handed to her daughter."
"Protector of what?"
The Dark Lord hesitated for only the briefest second. If Draco had blinked he would've missed it.
"Protector of the family line," he answered smoothly.
There was silence as Draco considered everything he had just learned. "My Lord," he began, still confused as to one aspect. "What does this have to do with me?"
The Dark Lord tilted his head. "I have just learned that the most powerful pureblood line in history survives and a Princess lives among us. I want you to return her to us."
"Pardon, what?"
The Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at his question. "I want you to retrieve her. You are tasked with returning Hermione Le Fay to her equals and those who revere her. You shall collect the Princess, Draco Malfoy, and bring her back where she belongs."
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