DISCLAIMER: I obviously don't own rights to HP, but I took a lot of dialogue straight from the book for this first chapter. From the end of this chapter and on, this story will not be DH-compliant, except for occasionally. This is just an idea that's been in my head for a while, with no real direction one way or another, so enjoy it as it comes, and let the chips fall where they may. Also, as a sidenote, I've always been attached to the idea of a softer Malfoy when the spotlight isn't on him, so he will, at times, be out of character.
I'd also like to state that I have been locked out of my old account, CarcinogenRush, because I created it with an email that was later hacked, and cannot recover the login information. I have copied and moved this story to my new account here. Enjoy!
It starts with three people being dragged into the drawing room, hands tied behind their backs. Instantly, I recognize the mop of ginger hair and the somewhat-tamed but still out-of-control bushy brown hair. The third, I know by context clues alone; his face is swollen and marred by what can only be a stinging jinx. His company is what gives him away. Potter.
"Draco, come here," my mother commands me. I rise slowly from the chair tucked into the corner, stomach dropping. Greyback pushes Potter toward me, and I can see one distinguishable eye within the swollen splotches on his face.
"Well, boy?" Greyback asks. I eye his pink, swollen face and greasy long hair with distaste. Potter does not meet my eyes.
"Well, Draco?" my father asks. "Is it Harry Potter?"
"I can't-I can't be sure," I lie. I avoid looking at him more than I have to; I cannot say why I have not given up his identity, but I cannot bring myself to do so. From his side, I hear Weasley panting and Granger whimpering.
"But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!" my father urges me, unable to mask his giddy excitement. I know what he is thinking-Potter is the key to our name regaining its good standing. "Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv-,"
"Now, we won't be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr. Malfoy?" Greyback asks. His voice sends shivers down my spine.
"Of course not, of course not!" father says, waving a hand in annoyance. "What did you do to him?" he asks Greyback as he scrutinizes Potter's face.
"That wasn't us."
"Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me," father agrees. His eyes land on Potter's forehead, and widen. "There's something there. It could be the scar, stretched tight…Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?"
Reluctantly, I draw closer, coming to stand beside my father. In the mirror behind Potter's head, I see the two of us, carbon copies. The only difference is that my father is rabid with excitement, and I wish to disappear into the floorboards.
"I don't know," I say again, leaving my father's side and going to stand by my mother.
"We had better be certain, Lucius," my mother tells him. "Completely sure that this is Potter before we summon the Dark Lord." She holds a wand in her hand, eyeing it as she speaks. "They say this is his, but it does not resemble Ollivander's description. If we are mistaken…if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing…remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?" she asks, reminding us of the torture to which the two men were subjected. This house has seen some horrors in its time.
"What about the mudblood, then?" Greyback asks. He eyes Granger with an appraising eye as light washes over her terrified face.
"Wait," mother says, "Yes-yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
"I…maybe…yeah," I mumble, unwilling to give them away. Her hazel eyes are more wide and frightened than I've ever seen.
"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" father shouts, quickly crossing over to Weaasley. "It's them, Potter's friends. Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name-?"
"Yeah," I repeat, turning away from them. "It could be." Of course it is, father, look at them. They're more disgusting and defeated than I've ever seen them, but the Golden Trio of Hogwarts stands in my manor nonetheless, all at the mercy of Death Eaters. I would laugh, if I wasn't so terrified.
"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?" a soft voice calls out. My heart begins to thrum violently at the arrival of my aunt. The arrival of Bellatrix Lestrange never bodes well for anyone, Death Eater or not. She stops dead, staring at Granger, and her eyes glint. "But surely this is the mudblood girl? This is Granger?"
"Yes, yes, it's Granger!" my father exclaims, equal parts exasperated and excted. "And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!"
"Potter?" she shrieks, backing up. She examines him slowly and carefully. "Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!" She pulls back her left sleeve, and the Dark Mark stands out like a beacon of darkness against her pale skin. She raises a hand, ready to summon him, and I tense up. I have seen more of the Dark Lord in the past year than I have ever wanted, and part of me wants Potter dead just so that I can get back to my normal life. Of course, with Potter dead, I'll never be away from the Death Eater life. Trapped, no matter what.
"I was about to call him!" father snaps, grabbing hold of Aunt Bellatrix's arm. "I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and therefore it is upon my authority-,"
"Your authority!" she laughs, trying to pull out of my father's grip. It's futile, Aunt Bella, believe me. Been there, done that. "You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off of me!"
"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy-,"
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy," Greyback interrupts, "but it's us that caught Potter, and it's us that'll be claiming the gold-,"
"Gold!" Aunt Bella spits, laughing as she continues to try to pull out of my father's hold. She reaches into her pockets, looking for her wand. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his-of…" She stops moving suddenly, staring off at something. I follow her gaze, and then look back at my father, who is preparing to summon the Dark Lord. "STOP!" Aunt Bella screams. "Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!" Father pauses, hand extended over his mark, as Aunt Bella approaches a snatcher. The air is tense and heavy as we watch.
"What is that?" she asks.
"Sword," grunts the snatcher.
"Give it to me," she commands him.
"It's not yours, missus, it's mine, I reckon. I found it." Instantly, with a loud bang and a red flash, the Snatcher lays Stunned on the ground. Scabior draws his wand with an angry yell.
"What do you think you're playing at, woman?"
"Stupefy! Stupefy!" she screams, cursing four Snatchers in an instant. Only Greyback remains conscious, kneeling with his hands up in a mercy position. Aunt Bella strides over to him, gripping a sword tightly. Rubies glint from within the metal. "Where did you get this sword?" she demands, ripping his wand from his hands.
"How dare you? Release me, woman!"
"Where did you find this sword?" she yells, brandishing the sword around his face. "Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"
"It was in their tent!" Greyback says hoarsely. "Release me, I say!" Absently, Aunt Bella waves her wand and Greyback scrambles backward, clutching tightly to the back of an armchair.
"Draco, move this scum outside," Aunt Bella commands me, motioning to the unconscious Snatchers. "If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me." I grit my teeth. Bitch.
"Don't you dare speak to Draco like-," my mother begins. She is cut off by a furious scream from Aunt Bella.
"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!" She looks particularly insane as she stands, wand in one hand, sword in the other, panting. She stares first at the sword, and then at the trio. "If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed." She speaks so quietly, I cannot tell if we are the intended audience or not. "The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself…but if he finds out…I must…I must know…" She whips around to face my mother again, glaring at me. I shake my head, levitate the Snatchers, and guide them outside.
I walk slowly, unwilling to rejoin that nightmare inside. Even when I am in my own home, the Golden Trio manages to meddle in my life and turn it upside down. I doubt if I'll ever have a moment's peace again. I glance over my shoulder and then hide the four bodies in between a tall row of bushes. They can be somebody else's issue; I'm not in the business of murder. With a sigh, I head back into the drawing room. I enter, and then stop in the doorway. Potter and Weasley are gone, but Granger is still there. She stares at me, terror in her eyes, as Aunt Bella stalks around her in circles, he small, coveted dagger in hand. Mother motions for me to join her, and I quickly walk to the fireplace where she stands, watching her sister.
"What is she doing?" I whisper, trying not to move my lips.
"It would seem the mudblood stole from her vault," mother responds.
"Of course she would, not like muggles have anything worth value," father sneers. "Maybe she thought she could establish herself as a witch if she had something to set her apart." My brow furrows as they speak. Granger is no angel, but she wouldn't steal from another witches' vault, no matter what it was. Would she? I am shaken from my thoughts as Aunt Bella sends Granger to the floor, sprawled on her back. Aunt Bella climbs on top off her, straddling her body, and extends her right arm straight out. Before I can look away, the tip of the dagger meets Granger's skin and she lets out a bloodcurdling scream.
"I'll teach you to steal from me, you filthy mudblood!" Aunt Bella howls as she carves into Granger. Their screams mingle together and echo off of the beams in the ceiling. Panting, Aunt Bella draws her wand, dagger cast aside. "What else did you take, what else? CRUCIO!" Granger writhes on the floor and I am almost positive her screams are going to kill her. I step forward to stop my aunt and my mother takes hold of my arm.
"No, Draco," she says softly. "This is the price that must be paid."
"But…" I begin weakly. At the hardened look on my mother's face, I fall silent, and stare at the scuffed tips of my shoes. Three more times, she curses Granger.
"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?" Aunt Bella screams.
"We only met him tonight" Granger gasps through sobs. "We've never been inside your vault! It isn't the real sword! It's a copy, just a copy!" It is difficult to hear Granger speaking, so broken down and lacking all of her usual annoying confidence.
"A copy?" Aunt Bella screeches. "Oh, a likely story!"
"But we can find out easily!" father advises. "Draco, fetch the goblin. He can tell us whether the sword is real or not!" I make a face but drag myself past Granger and down the cellar stairs.
"Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don't try anything or I'll-I'll kill you!" I say, trying to keep my voice from shaking. I do not feel the conviction in myself. For whatever reason, seeing the trio here has shaken me more than most of the things I've seen happen in my home. However, they must believe me, because the door opens and I am able to retrieve the goblin-Griphook?-without issues. I take him by the arm and we march back up and into the drawing room. By the time we return, Aunt Bella has begun her torture again and Granger is howling on the floor, tears pouring down her face. Standing again, Aunt Bella says,
"Well? Is this the true sword?" Griphook takes the sword and examines it closely. We are all holding our breath, waiting for his answer. Finally, he hands it back to her.
"No," the goblin says, "It is a fake."
"Are you sure? Quite sure?"
"Yes," he asserts. Aunt Bella sighs with relief and then flicks her wand. Immediately, Griphook falls, clutching a gash in his cheek. She kicks him aside and says,
"And now, we call the Dark Lord!" She grabs hold of her Dark Mark, and all around the room, we grab our arms as they burn. I let out a low hiss of pain. I doubt if I'll ever get used to the feeling of acid on my skin. "And I think we can dispose of the mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her." My head snaps up, and I glance at Aunt Bella, horrified. Greyback is known for insatiable hungers of all kinds, and it is a miserly way to end. He approaches her hungrily, a grin on his filthy face. I know exactly what he intends to do, and I swallow the bile that rises in my throat. She tries to fight as he draws nearer, but cannot beyond a cracked whisper.
"No," she says, turning her head. Her eyes lock with mine, and there is a desperation there that I have never seen before. "Please," she whispers, and I know it is meant for me. At that moment, Weasley and Potter burst through the door, and spells begin to ricochet. In the chaos, I stun Greyback, grab Granger, and pull her away. Potter and I meet eyes for just long enough that I am able to jerk my head in the direction I am going. Potter nods, and I know he understands to find me. I must be losing my mind.
"Draco, what are you doing?" Aunt Bella screeches, casting as spell as she glances my way.
"I-I wanted a turn first!" I shout back, nodding at Granger. "You know, retribution for our time at Hogwarts!" It sounds ridiculous as I speak, but Aunt Bella's face breaks into a grin.
"You'll make a Death Eater yet, boy!" she cackles. I feel ill at her joy. "Go, now!" Without another word, I hoist Granger's limp body and run through a hidden room and down a long hallway. After a moment, it is silent except for the ringing in my ears and the whimpering from Granger. I wave my wand silently and the wall separates to let us into a hidden portion of the home.
"Come on, Granger," I say, resting her on a couch. "You have to get up." She does not move, and I survey her. As her arm drops over the edge of the couch, I catch sight of my aunt's work: MUDBLOOD, carved into her skin and dripping ruby red. Despite the times I have called Granger that same name, this feels different, more vicious. I swallow hard and look away. At the sound of a pounding fist against a window, I whirl around to see Potter and Weasley, eyes wild with fear and fury. I open the window to allow them in and immediately, they begin screaming.
"YOUR BLOODY FAMILY-,"
"HOW DARE YOU-,"
"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM-,"
"WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HERMIONE-,"
"-KILL YOU, MALFOY!"
They both pause, chests heaving as they glare at me. I eye them coldly.
"Are you finished?" I ask in a bored drawl. "I mean, continue on if you want to, but if I were you, I'd focus on the bigger issues, like the fact that you're number one pal is on his way to kill you and torture you mu-,"
"-watch it-," Weasley growls.
"-ggleborn princess," I finish, ignoring the interruption. Potter grits his teeth, and I can see him fighting the urge to continue shouting. Instead, he looks past me, over to the couch where Granger is still motionless.
"He's right, Harry," Weasley says, "as much as I hate to say it. The ferret's right. If we don't get out now-,"
"We won't get out at all," Potter finishes. "Do you have the bag?" Weasley holds up a beaded bag, nodding. It seems entirely unexceptional, and I am curious in spite of myself.
"Nice purse, Weasel," I sneer. "Do you have the dress to go with it?"
"Piss off, ferret," Weasley snaps. His face softens as he looks at Granger. "We've gotta get going," he says.
"Malfoy, how do we get out of here?" Potter asks.
"There are anti-apparation wards up," I tell him. "You know, to keep the riff-raff at bay. Of course, when they're specifically brought her…"
"Malfoy," Potter growls warningly. I roll my eyes.
"Out the window you came in, through the courtyard. Take the fourth aisle of rosebushes, it'll lead you straight to an old gate that has no guard. It's your only chance out of here. I'd grab the girl and run. Not that I wouldn't mind if you stuck around to face your buddy, it might make things more interesting."
"Yeah, I'm sure it gets really boring here, with only tortured prisoners to watch," Weasley says angrily. "Bloody git," he adds in a mutter.
"Get out of here before I change my mind," I snap back. Weasley pushes past me to grab Granger, and then jerks his head at me.
"C'mon, Harry," he says. Potter starts to leave, and then comes back over to me.
"Why'd you do it?" he asks me. "Not rat us out, I mean."
"Don't go all soft on me, Potter," I say with an eyeroll. "I was saving my own ass as much as yours. Now get out, I'm not telling you again." Without another word, they leave and I am left alone in the room. I go back out to rejoin the rest of the Death Eaters in the drawing room. The screams of rage meet my ears before I enter the room and my heart stops. He's here, and he's angry. I enter silently, surveying the kneeling followers whom he has just tortured, and he rounds on me, scarlet eyes burning.
"And the young Mr. Malfoy returns!" he greets coldly. "Running away?"
"Discarding the mudblood, my lord," I whisper. "Granger is dead." I feel him trying to get into my mind, and I think only of her motionless body and the bushes where I dumped the other four. He breaks into a grin and begins to laught. The laughs echo off of the wals and fill my head until it's all that I can hear.
I lay on my back, arms behind my head, and stare at the green canopy draping above my bed. Over and over again, the day plays in my head. The chaos, the adrenaline, the screams from Granger…the terror in her eyes, the way she pleaded with me. And, of course, the Machismo Twins, bursting in like heroes.
"Why'd you do it?"
I don't know, Potter. Why do you have to question everything? Don't you think I've been asking myself that same question? Why did I defy my family to their faces? Why did I lie straight to the one man who can destroy us, destroy everything? And for a mudblooded girl who has been a constant thorn in my side for 7 years? With an irritated huff, I flop onto my side and stare bitterly at the wall. Only when I hear a tapping at my window do I move from my position. I find a small, puffy owl flapping its wings wildly to stay aloft. A tiny scrap of paper is tied to its leg. I grab the bird, pull it inside quickly before it can be seen, and untie the grimy parchment.
"12 Grimmauld Place. If you change your mind. HHR." The moment I've read it, it alights and burns into ash.
It would appear that Potter is extending an olive branch. I snort humorlessly and put my candles out. The room is engulfed in darkness, and I lay motionless on my bed once again.
