A/N: Hiya, folks. This is my first time writing a multi-chapter fic in nearly a decade and the first Harry Potter one. I never thought I'd be a Dramione shipper, but some incredible stories out there have convinced me. I will be posting updates every Sunday unless otherwise noted.
"Sectumsempra," I whisper as a slight green glow emanates from the tip of my wand.
A girl who could not be much older than me falls to the ground. The pouring of her blood is immediate. I know how it feels, which makes it so much harder. By now, she will be hemorrhaging, and the pain will be taking control over her body and mind. It will end soon enough, as her limbs go cold and her vision blank. Surely, it does. The final look in her eyes is one begging for me to change my mind. She knows I am young. Maybe I'm not wholly evil and might change my allegiances and save her. Unfortunately, nobody swoops in and stops it.
She is Olivia Petale. Her father, Stephen, was a Death Eater who sold secrets to the Order. His punishment was not a killing curse. No, Voldemort is not so kind to those who betray him. Instead, he spent days chained to a dungeon wall with nothing but the bare minimum to keep him alive. Weeks later, another Death Eater brought his wife to him and cast the Cruciatus Curse on her until his throat was raw from the screams and pleas for forgiveness.
His daughter was to be next. Voldemort had decided against another Cruciatus in favor of her head delivered to Stephen. It was my task to do it—punishment for the others that I could not carry out. I would have used the Avada Kedavra curse on her, but the Dark Lord was watching. He is always watching now. He doesn't always voice his plans to survey me, but the familiar prickle of ice down my spine is enough to notice that he's there.
"Good work, Draco," he whispers behind my shoulder and plucks her up with his own wand. He slips out another, unfamiliar to me, and uses it to decapitate her. A special touch for Stephen. It's his wand that is responsible for the mangling of her corpse. I watch as her lifeless body hits the ground with a gentle thud, a red splash threatening my clean shoes. It looks so easy after it's done.
"Would you like the honors?" He asks, levitating what is left of her in front of me.
I don't. He knows that I don't. But I can see the rage in my father that would await me if I refused. To say no to the Dark Lord was the ultimate sin in Lucius Malfoy's mind, and I'd been punished enough for it before.
"It… it would b-be an honor, My Lord." I reach out my hand and take Stephen's wand from Voldemort's cold fingers. I gingerly grab hold of Olivia's head with one hand and place the other on Voldemort's still outstretched one. We apparate quickly until we are face-to-face with the damp walls of Stephen's dungeon.
I want to drop Olivia's head and run away to avoid what is next. She deserves more respect than that, even though she has taken no steps to apologize for her father's stupid betrayal. I place it down gently instead, careful to keep her hair out of her eyes. Meanwhile, Voldemort hits Stephen with an electricity curse to jolt him from whatever pain-induced slumber he had been in. There is a brief flash of unknowing as he wakes. But it lasts for a second at most, and the pains of his past few weeks catch up with him. As quickly as this happens, he notices the already decaying head placed at his feet.
The screams are deafening. I turn my head to avert my eyes, and my view changes to Voldemort's grin. He is playing with his food. This is no better than watching Stephen. So, I close my eyes instead.
"You're missing the show, Draco," Voldemort whispers as soon as I can start daydreaming about being somewhere else. I snap my eyes back open as not to frustrate him. Thankfully, the Killing Curse comes soon after.
There lies Stephen. Next to his daughter's head. Next to the corpse of his wife that had been propped on the wall beside him for days. All because he had informed Remus Lupin of Voldemort's plans to send another spy to Hogwarts. How stupid of him to assume that he wouldn't be caught.
Voldemort apparates away after a job well done. I do the same to place myself as far away from him as I can get.
I wake up to the crashing of a heavy wave against the rocks outside. The bedsheets around me are soaked in my sweat, and I am momentarily disgusted with myself. It takes a moment to remember my nightmare. That is if reliving a memory counts as a dream.
We have been at a cottage near South West Rocks in Australia for seven months. It is protected by so many wards that my parents feel safe enough to go about their day in relative peace. The fear of being caught is different than how any of us could have imagined it. When we tried to escape Voldemort, even for a day, there was always a knowing sense that he could find us if he tried hard enough. There was room for hope now that we were escaping the Ministry instead. Perhaps enough time could separate us from their desires to imprison anybody who helped the Dark Lord. Maybe they could forget about us.
My mother has knit over a dozen blankets in our time here as if she fears the country will go cold. She mostly does it to keep her hands distracted. She tried to cook and clean for some time, but she broke so many teacups and lamps that my father demanded her to let the single house elf that we brought with us do the work instead.
I usually see her in the morning. She pokes her head into my bedroom every single day after she wakes up. She is checking if I am still alive. These morning check-ins give her the faintest smile and glow in her cheeks before she frowns as if remembering my wrongdoings and walks away. I make sure to end each day repaying the favor of checking in. Sometimes I wonder if she wishes I would stop showing up. Other days I debate if I should.
I do not know what my father does. He spends each day behind a closed door. I have only heard him four times in the months that we have been here. Once, it was the sound of him turning on the shower. The second and third were him berating the elf. The fourth was the noise of a small sob breaking through the walls. I thought it might be my mother at first, but hers have always been louder. It had to be him. He has not managed to cry since.
My days are spent trying to learn how to live without magic. I am forbidden from touching my wand unless it adds more wards. Mother says they fear magic will draw attention to our place on the map, no matter how small. Perhaps it is paranoia, but it has worked so far. I've made requests, even without plans for what I would want to do with it. Even feeling the magical energy through flow me would help with the burden of boredom, I presume.
The most challenging adjustment has been in the small details of daily life. I need to collect things on my own. I must read books at an average pace. Even getting dressed takes longer. The hardest is falling asleep. How I wish for instant and restful slumber, which would be easy with a simple spell.
"Your father extended the wards so that you can go for a swim," my mother tells me one morning. She leaves no room for questioning. Why would they think that I want to swim?
I turn to the window and look out at the waves. Sometimes when I bathe, my mind tricks me, and I see red swirling around me like I am drowning in blood. Sometimes it is Olivia's. But her name isn't the only one on my ledger. Even a cold shower feels like I am stealing something they would have given anything to experience one last time. I couldn't try swimming. Unless I was ready to let myself drown…
I make my way to the beach, ignoring the House Elf as he tries to take my breakfast order. He is used to rudeness from the Malfoys after having lived with my father for so long. My mind is set on the sand and moving one foot after the other until I get there, and it has no time for remorse over my rudeness.
The sea is warmer than I had anticipated. Two hundred twelve days here, and I had not gone further than the cottage's deck. My bare feet feel the sand beneath them. The emotion that follows is unrecognizable. Comfort? Content? No. I am not here to feel anything resembling joy.
I keep walking, stripping my clothes off as I go. My toes hit the refreshing ocean, and my entire body shivers with alertness. I stop for a moment before daring the surprisingly cold water even further until I am up to my chest. Eventually, I need to start swimming, though I stop to check how close the bottom is after each step. It does not take long before I can no longer reach it in one breath. I swim another few meters for good measure. The cottage looks so much smaller from a distance. I can't see my mother in the window that she usually sits at. Our drying outfits on the clothesline are nothing but a blur.
My survival instincts will kick in if I try to swim to the bottom. Even if I got there, I'd surely float back up before I stopped breathing. Instead, I flip to my back and float on the water, looking up at the darkening skies. If I can knock the wind out of myself, I won't be able to swim back to shore. If I could do this and fill my lungs with enough water, I wouldn't fight even the strongest instincts. If I only had magic, it would be so much easier, I think.
I ball my hand into a fist and throw it down onto my stomach. And then my chest. I take turns repeating this process with both hands until I can feel a heaviness forming inside me. As it starts to hurt, I think back to Olivia. The pain that she must have felt. I was no stranger to it when I was first hit with the curse. Its specifics were foreign, but pain all feels the same eventually. But had Olivia known how to handle it? How to push it all to the back of her mind until unconsciousness took over? Locking away the emotional toll that comes with pain? She probably felt every inch of the darkness as it spread within her. And I watched.
The other faces of those who I had harmed start to pop up.
"You're being too gentle with yourself," I hear a quiet voice say above me as if their ghosts are watching me try to join them.
"Cut yourself open from head to toe."
"Watch your family die, and then let the Muggle-borns get you."
"Apparate into the deepest part of the sea and let the sharks take you."
Their voices start to consume me as I feel the crushing weight of the water as it takes over my skin. They are right. I deserve all those things. But could I get any of them done? Whatever the possibilities are, I think that my way out seems easier than I deserve. A part of my mind is wrestling for the shore. Swim back. End your life in a way that is respectful to the ones that you have ended. The other is filling with water. The ocean floor is calling for it.
What happens next is a soggy blur. I find my way back to the beach somehow and lay on the shore until the sun starts to set. More time passes, and I think I hear Mother's voice calling my name. I had not heard it spoken out loud in so long.
I decide that it's time to get up. To face reality once more. My shirt and pants had blown slightly in the wind, but I find them trapped between the rocks and sand only a few feet away from the cottage. I pull them back on. My skin is dry from the sun and the passage of time.
"That must have been a good swim," my mother says as I come back inside. "I didn't expect you to be out for so long. I was worried."
"It was great. Actually, I wondered if I might be able to push the wards out a bit further. I was thinking I could give surfing a try." A muggle activity. I surpress a wave of shame. "The waves weren't quite right for it today, but I suspect they will be soon."
Mother takes a beat to think. I wonder if she knows what surfing is.
"I think that should be fine. I can get your wand from your father tomorrow."
"Thanks, mom," I say and kiss her on the cheek. I am not in the mood for food and retreat to my room. There is a newly knit blanket at the foot of my bed—a bright green, like freshly mowed grass. My heart sinks. She doesn't deserve punishment for anything other than her choice of a husband. But perhaps that is reason enough.
My plan is entirely formed when the House Elf brings me my breakfast the next morning.
"You know the spell?" Mother asks on my way out. I have worn swim trunks to help the illusion. The House Elf even brought back a surfboard from the nearby town. They both seem almost excited for the day ahead.
"Yes, the protective spells. At least five in all spots. I've done it a thousand times," I remind her.
I have built wards and placed walls around plenty of safe houses and hidden rooms used by the Death Eaters. I had never brought one down before, though, which is why my wand is handed over with trust. I step back as it's placed in my hand as a wave of past spells comes crashing over me.
"Good boy. Have fun," Mother wishes me as I head outside.
I start to make my way to the water until I stop sensing Mother's eyes on me. She must have returned to her knitting or retreated to bed for one of her many naps. It'll be easier if I do it on land, and so I head to the rocks instead of the open sea in front of me. I keep going until I reach the end of the protected area and see the glimmer of enchantments reaching up to the sky.
"Deponent murumo," I say as I pull my wand upward. "Aperiam."
It takes time. Father built each one with care. He knows that he faces the worst if we're caught.
"Tolle magiam," I finish. The air instantly hits differently. New smells break their way through. I even hear a car driving off in the distance.
Could the broken ward make a difference on its own? I suspect that it could take days before anyone checks this part of the world. Father would discover my undoing faster than that. As a precaution, I hold my wand against the scar where my Dark Mark once sat.
"Here I am," I yell while pressing down harder.
Now I suspect an hour at most.
"That was fast," Mother says I return inside.
"The waves aren't very good today, either. I think I'll wait until tomorrow."
"I wish you could conjure waves. But I suspect that might be too much magic."
"Yes, I think so too."
I rush back to my room and summon the House Elf to follow.
"What is Master doing?" He says. I start going through my things as quickly as I can. The green blanket, a few books. There isn't much to keep.
"You need to be giving me your wands back now."
"Fine. But only if you do me a favor."
"Of course, Master. What does Master be needing?"
"Take this bag back to the Manor right away."
I watch as his brain starts turning. He wonders if he will get in trouble with Father for going so far away.
"I won't tell a soul," I promise.
I hand him my wand and the bag full of my things. He snaps away immediately. I wait nearly ten minutes for him to come back. I take the time to remember the comfort of the room. Smaller than any that I had lived in in the past, aside from the Slytherin dorm rooms. Filled with more light and more colour, too.
"This was a long way to travel for Master," he says upon his return. His body spins in circles for a moment as he finds his footing.
"Sorry."
It's then that I hear the familiar crack of another arrival.
"Draco!" It's my father.
Kingsley Shacklebolt and at least half a dozen wizards that I do not recognize burst through my door within seconds.
"Draco Malfoy, it's time that you're held accountable for your crimes."