Draco felt something tugging on the sleeve of his pajamas as his arm trailed lazily off the bed. He opened his eyes groggily, sighing and raising his face from the pillow. Hell of a night. Hardly any of the staff had slept, he'd wager. He could still hardly believe the old man was dead. You must wonder how things will go from here. The king is dead, long live the king…
He peered down to see Severus's gyrfalcon tugging at his sleeve, just as Hermione's cat pounced directly on his rump. With that he quickly rolled over and sat up. "I'm awake! Now, what is it, damn you?" he said angrily, staring at the two of them.
Tosca screeched something, and he shook his head impatiently. "I'm not an Animagus, Tosca. I don't understand." She looked at her feline companion. The two of them turned back to him. He wished desperately at the moment that there were some sort of Charm or Potion to understand the speech of animals: because the two of them looked positively frantic. Unfortunately, only Animagism granted the ability. Wait, they look frantic. His mind turned it over for a split second, then stated the obvious. "Severus and Hermione, right?"
He was a bit unnerved to see Tosca actually bobbing her head in a nod. "Did they go out spying last night?" he asked slowly, seeing the rays of dawn coming in the window. "And," he made the natural assumption, "they're not back." Again, it was confirmed. "Shit."
Severus had spoken to him of such a situation when he had finally revealed his ability as an Animagus. "I should always be back before morning," he had said, black eyes holding his gaze. "If I am not, however, you may assume safely that I have been captured. You know the Death Eaters as I do; don't let them try to bargain for me. Voldemort will never honor it, and he'll kill the messenger too, as it were. Promise me that; if it's my folly, I will not see others killed in an attempt to rectify it."
He had promised then, feeling unable to do any other for the man who had saved him from the life of a Death Eater. But he was twenty-one now and the vow he took at eighteen was as though made by an entirely different person. "All right," he said grimly. "I'll try to get them. If I'm not back before dusk, though, don't send anyone after me."
He knew the procedure of Death Eater executions all too well--Lucius had explained that to him when he was a stupid, starry-eyed teenager who wanted nothing more than a Death Eater's life. They would be killed tonight; it was nearly noon now. It being a Friday, they must have canceled classes in light of yesterday's events that he had not been awoken earlier. He had missed breakfast and Minerva's announcement, but then again, so had Severus and Hermione. If he made his preparations, he could have them out easily in time.
Carefully he summoned everything he remembered of the man he was forced to call his father: his mannerisms, his speech, his bearing. Undoing the wards on a secret drawer of his desk, he slowly reached in and withdrew one of the faded leather pouches he had so proudly given to Severus years before. "Lucius Malfoy," the pouch now half-empty, its ink labeling faded. He also took hold of a flask of blank Polyjuice Potion, making sure that the Unbreakable Charm was still secure on it.
Much as his mind protested that it was urgent, he knew Lucius wouldn't dare do anything to them before the ritual of execution. He wouldn't dare risk Voldemort's disfavor. Anyhow, he would only leave the manor after lunch for London anyhow--he knew his father now spent his days in the darkest parts of Knockturn Alley with his fellows, plotting God knew what.
I must be the only one with the knowledge, or the insanity, to try this, he realized. He examined the Polyjuice Potion carefully, thanking God that he and Severus had brewed a fresh batch only last week. Had he been out of the stuff, the only chance for rescue for those two would have been gone.
Carefully he set about Transfiguring a set of his plain black work robes into his father's opulent, silver-embroidered style. He could recall every fold, every detail, even the scent of obnoxious cologne permeating the fabric. Tosca and Crookshanks meanwhile sat there, looking anxious. "I'll go as soon as I can," he said gruffly, having just finished the collar. "It's little use in me rushing off without preparation, isn't it? And they've a few hours yet. I'll save them, don't worry!" Obviously they had chosen to alert him for two reasons. He knew what those two were up to and thus where they were, and he had the ability to play the role of one able to infiltrate the mansion and save them. Come on, Malfoy, you've played him before when you were trying to get him killed. You can do it.
He shortened the hem and sleeves a tad, as his father was a bit shorter. He wasn't sure who would be at the mansion, but he'd have to fool them. He prayed to God that Lucius hadn't changed the wards and passwords in the dungeons, or else he was in trouble. He held the robes out at arm's length and studied them, nodding. His white shirt and black trousers would do as they were. "Accio Firebolt!" he called impatiently, catching hold of his Firebolt as it flew towards him and putting it on the bed as he continued his preparations.
Two o' clock and he was dressed in the robes, wand up his sleeve, and with the flask of Polyjuice Potion in his hand. He had two hours' worth extra, just in case. He smiled grimly at the waiting familiars: Icarus had joined their ranks and was hooting worriedly. "Keep safe, you three. I'll be back soon enough, I'd wager."
He took a swig of the disgusting, glutinous potion, feeling it slide down his throat in a cold, sticky lump. You'd think I'd get used to the taste after as much as I've used it. He would have to leave Hogwarts as Lucius: were he to set foot outside the wards as himself, he'd have half a dozen Death Eaters breathing down his neck in an instant.
He shuddered at the taste again, felt himself slowly changing. Slightly receding hairline, hint of a middle-aged potbelly, and the like, and he was a perfect replica of his father. Grabbing the broomstick, he kicked off from the floor and ducked to get through the window.
The cold winter wind slapped against his exposed cheeks and hands, and he gritted his teeth, plunging on. Quickly enough, the clearing in the middle of the Forbidden Forest came to his sight. He could Apparate from there and save time: flying, even with a Firebolt, to Lancashire would take altogether too long.
Landing in the clearing, he Apparated to the gates of Malfoy Manor, outside the anti-Apparating wards on the house. The sun was now high in the sky, reflecting off the snow and almost blinding him. Kicking off from the ground again, he landed on the lawn of the manor, and casually sauntered up to the front door, banging the brass serpent's head knocker imperiously. It would look odd if "Lucius" didn't enter his home in the normal fashion. He'd just have to bluff through it. I am the master of this house, I am the master of this house, he thought silently.
A house elf he didn't recognize opened the door. "Sir, you is back from London early!" she squeaked, nervously playing with the hem of her tea towel.
"Yes. It is," he frowned, "no business of yours. Shouldn't you be polishing the silver?" He handed her his broomstick, which she put in the broomstand.
"No sir, is Flurry's job. I is Henny, and I is the--"
"You know your duty, then," he cut off impatiently, just as he had seen Lucius do so many times. "Get back to it and quit prattling."
"I is sorry, sir," she squeaked, scuttling back towards the kitchen. He breathed a sigh of relief. The first test passed.
Carefully he moved through the parlor, the library, to the entrance to the dungeons. Triggering the secret panel, he crossed his fingers, hoping that the ward here still had the same password as before. Here's hoping Dad's too busy kissing Voldemort's arse to change the passwords. "Morsmordre," he said softly. A faint shimmer of red told him that the ward was now deactivated.
"Lucius," came the cool voice from behind him, "who have you got down there this time?" He turned, stunned, to see his mother. Memories of owls sent on the sly in the past few years, letter telling him to take care of himself. She sent money to supplement his abysmal teacher's salary when she could. And before that, she trying to shield him from the worst of his father's depravities, trying to subtly guide him away from the path that he was supposed to be predestined to. All with the greatest subtlety: she was Slytherin, after all.
Something within him wanted to tell her who he was, what he was doing, and see perhaps a flare of pride in her eyes. But the risk was too great--he could not dally around and risk being caught. I'll get you away from him, he promised grimly, if it's the last damn thing I do.
He hardened his resolve and narrowed his gaze, saying sharply, "None of your business, woman." The tone was exactly the same as he had heard Lucius use countless times. It hurt to see that as usual, she didn't react to it at all. "Now get out of my sight." Silently she obeyed, but she looked at him long and hard for a few seconds.
He began to descend the stairs, hiding his regrets. He had a mission right now. He drew his wand from his sleeve and murmured, "Lumos." Following the gloomy flicker of light, he carefully went down into the dungeons.
~~~~~~~~~~
They lay together, dressed again and covered by their robes against the chill. He had no idea of the passage of time: it had ceased to have meaning in the blackness. For all he knew, it could be dawn, or it could be dusk already. She was asleep in his arms, and it wasn't without a slight twinge of sadness that he realized he'd never know this feeling again. The simplicity of touch, the nearness of another person, denied him for so many years. For the sheer wonder of that, he could have died with a smile on his lips and no regrets, but for one.
She was with him. That was the thing still troubling him, even as she murmured something softly as she dozed and shifted against him. True, as she had put it, she'd have something more positive to think of during the tortures, and there was the fact that they could no longer use her for some of the ingredients used in the darkest, most foul potions ever created by a magical mind, or for some of the darker rituals. No chances now for maiden's hair or virgin's blood. Nor the Nox Immaculata ritual; the woman would then bear a child of darkness. Draco had been a result of Nox Immaculata; he shuddered a little to remember Narcissa Malfoy's cries of pain at the ritual so many years ago. Obviously she hadn't expected it for her wedding night.
Still, the Death Eaters were nothing if not creative. If they couldn't use her for her now-lost purity, they'd most certainly amuse themselves with her. He'd spare her that if he could. His hand drifted slowly down the smooth curve of her cheek to the column of her throat. One swift move and she'd be forever out of the Death Eaters' reach. He knew he'd suffer himself for it; they wouldn't be pleased. He'd gladly answer to God for the sin of it: surely there must be some circumstances of preventing grave harm to one you loved. He gritted his teeth, feeling her asleep beside him, trusting without reserve. Always the innocent ones, he thought wearily.
There was a sudden flood of light that struck his eyes with a blinding pain. "Severus? Hermione?" The silken tones of Lucius Malfoy standing in the open doorway grated over his consciousness.
"Don't play around, you ass," he said defiantly. "You know we're still here." It was dusk already, then.
"Get to hell," came the reply, as he heard footsteps on the flagstone and a hand on his shoulder. "Move it already--I haven't got a bloody infinite supply of Polyjuice." He struggled to his feet and saw Hermione doing the same beside him.
Realization came to his swiftly: it always had. Still, it was a shock. "Draco?"
"The one and only." Hermione reached down and silently handed Snape his robes; he put them on, trying to ignore the slime and muck now on them. "You've probably spent the entire night in the dark," Draco remarked, casting the Shading Charm so that they wouldn't stumble around blind until their eyes adjusted. "Come on, hurry up now."
Stumbling a little, they followed him out the back way and stood in the gardens where they had been captured the night before. "You two look a fright," Draco said, turning to study them. He turned to look at Hermione. They did indeed look rather frightful.
"Thank you," Hermione said, looking at him and smiling slightly.
"Yes, yes, thank me properly later. I want out of here, and now. Are you two in a position to fly as falcons over the wards? Otherwise, I have a spare broomstick…Accio Firebolt!"
"I think we're all right to fly," Hermione answered. Draco nodded and caught his broomstick as it came flying towards him.
"I suppose we'll need to stop by Ollivander's sometime," he sighed. "Broke your wands, I assume?" He knew the Death Eater ritual as well as any. They nodded in reply. "Do you want to go now, or shall we try later?"
Snape considered for a moment. Without wands, they were effectively useless, and unfortunately, a wand had to be selected personally. They could safely make it to London without being detected. There were anti-Apparating and anti-Detection wards on Diagon Alley now: ever since Death Eaters had attacked Kenneth Beesley and his family there in the early evening six months before. They could Apparate nearby to London and dash in before any of the three of them could be detected.
"They'll have every Death Eater in England on alert in the next few days when they find we've escaped. Nobody will be looking for us right now, since they think we're in the dungeons," he said slowly. "And I don't know when we'd be able to get out of Hogwarts again. Without wands we're of no use, too."
"Get it over with now; so long as we're back at Hogwarts before dusk, it's well," Hermione agreed.
"I have it as almost three," Draco said. They had a few hours, in that case, until nightfall.
With that, the two of them assumed their falcon forms, Animagism being one of the very few forms of wandless magic, Draco kicked off from the ground on his broomstick, and they flew a fair distance away from Malfoy Manor. He cast a quick Tidying Charm on them, saying with a grimace, "Can't have you going to Diagon Alley like that. Too many questions." Draco's hour of Polyjuice Potion ran out just then, and he didn't drink any of his extra supply, as he no longer needed to assume the look of Lucius.
Snape was still somewhat in a stupor as they Apparated to the alley beside the Leaky Cauldron. He had accepted his death, and now it seemed he was to live. He didn't even want to think about the future and its implications right then, but he did take a glance at Hermione and think that they had much to discuss once they were back at Hogwarts. For the moment, the trip to Diagon Alley would provide a welcome distraction and a good chance to gather his thoughts. They ducked through the Leaky Cauldron, which was thankfully largely empty, and soon enough were in Diagon Alley. Out of habit, he still kept his senses sharp. Death Eaters may not have been able to Apparate here, but he knew from experience that they regularly congregated in Knockturn Alley nearby. They may not have been looking for himself and Hermione, but he had no doubts that if they were spotted, they were in serious trouble.
They were far from safety yet, but it was a necessary risk if they were to be of any use in the war. He just hoped the wand would choose him quickly and that Ollivander wouldn't prattle on for too long. Trying to not look surreptitious and attract attention, the three of them strode towards Gringotts. At the back of his mind was the thought that with so many dead recently, God had for some reason chosen him to live. He wondered why he had been spared, but at the same time resolved to make it count for something.