The words he had heard his father say that night haunted every moment of Draco's 16th year as he feebly tried to succeed in his task whilst knowing he could never actually take a life.
Ever since he had fled the Malfoy Manor, he hadn't mourned his father's death. Luscious had caused so much pain to so many people – not just to Draco and his mother – and he was on an unstoppable path of destruction, completely ruled by fear and twisted admiration for the Dark Lord. It was how Draco used to feel about his father.
There was no feeling of regret for his murder, only a strange wistfulness; wishing that Luscious had made better decisions. That he could've somehow avoided driving the Malfoys to their miserable fate.
Draco's thoughts were interrupted by the front of his tent flapping open, revealing the silhouettes of two men.
"Potter – so nice of you to finally visit," he said, instantly surprised at the hoarseness in his underused voice.
Harry and Henry stayed in the doorway. "Come," said Henry, and Draco shot up straight away, following the two men as they left.
As soon as they exited the tent, Draco felt Harry's wand in between his shoulder blades.
"Don't try anything, Malfoy," Harry muttered as they walked.
"Like what? You have my wand," Draco offered in an obvious voice.
He took in his surroundings with squinting eyes; it was the first time he'd been outside of that gloomy tent in days. As he scanned the rows of tents, void of any people, he looked around furiously to see if Amelia was anywhere to be seen. He wondered where she was, which tent might belong to her. From the pink smeared across the wispy clouds above, it looked like it was dusk. Just as Draco took in the nearby mountains, dramatic in their edges with shades of green and dustings of snows atop, he was shoved into another tent.
"Sit," Henry said, pointing to a chair. Draco obeyed silently.
The room was smaller than the one he had been occupying. It was bare, save for a bookshelf in the far corner, and a desk with four chairs in the middle of the room, where Harry and Henry sat across from him.
Harry let out a long sigh as he rubbed his chin, peering at Draco with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "Are you ready to tell us why you're here?"
Draco prepared himself. He had to stay calm. If Potter's face wasn't so irritating, it would've been much easier. "It's not what it looks like… I'm not here to try and 'infiltrate' you, or to 'learn your secrets', or anything like that."
Henry and Harry exchanged a look. Draco could tell that they too, were trying their best to stay civil.
"I know what you think I am… what you think I've done," Draco lowered his voice, changing his tone and looking straight at Harry and hoping that the former Gryffindor could sense his sincerity. "You think I've been a Death Eater since we were sixteen… and yes, that is technically true – I have had the Mark since then – but I'm not a Death Eater."
"What does that mean?" Henry asked slowly.
"I never had a choice. Well, I did, but it was between taking the Dark Mark and being killed."
Harry scoffed. "Come off it – you forget that I knew you at Hogwarts, Malfoy. There was no part of you that looked like he was forced into anything."
"Sixth year – in the ground floor bathroom?" Draco said, as if revealing evidence in a court.
Henry looked at Harry with a puzzled expression, but Harry just shook his head in dismissal.
"Potter – you've met my father. I take responsibility for every horrible thing I've done – trust me, it's all prevented me from a good night's sleep for almost ten years - but you don't know what it's like being force-fed these ideas from the time you could walk. As soon as I was old enough - or smart enough - to make my own mind up, I did."
"And when was that, exactly? You always fought with the Death Eaters – you were there for the Battle of Hogwarts," Harry argued.
Draco shook his head, with a small smirk. "I fought on your side, actually. Ask your girlfriend."
He felt a small flutter of triumph as Potter and Henry seemed to take this in slightly.
"Look – I can explain all of it. After the Battle of Hogwarts, I was forced into an Unbreakable Vow with my father – swearing that I'd never run away again. Pledging my life to the Death Eaters. They even had me bloody marry Pansy Parkinson. The moment my father died, I fled. It took me weeks to find you lot."
"What do you mean… run away 'again'?" Henry piped up.
"I fled the Battle of Hogwarts. When I was seen fighting for your side." Again, he tried his best to show that he was genuine. He made sure not to break eye contact with Harry as he said this.
After a moment, Harry leant forward. "Wait – your father is dead?"
Draco nodded. "He was killed – not by me," he added, anticipating their next question.
"So why are you here?" Henry pressed. Him and Harry were both sitting forward now, leaning their elbows on the table dividing them. Draco leant back though, wanting to appear at ease, despite his heart drumming against his ribcage. He needed this to go well, needed them to start believing in him.
"To help," he said plainly. He decided to leave Amelia out of this, for now – if she had seemingly not told her own brother about him, he felt that revealing their past relationship would not go in his favour.
"And why do you want to do that, all of a sudden?" Henry asked. Judging from his face, he seemed even more suspicious than Harry did.
Draco exhaled and tried to find the right words. "To… make up for everything I've done in the past? Finally do the right thing?" He searched the men's expressions to see if they believed him or not, but it was impossible to tell. "And it wasn't 'all of a sudden' – I spent a year on the run, trying to find the resistance after the Battle of Hogwarts, but the Death Eaters found me first."
"And you were then forced into this Unbreakable Vow?" Henry asked, as if trying to catch Draco out with his own story.
Draco nodded. The men were silent in contemplation as they shared a look. It was clear to Draco that they'd obviously had a lengthy discussion regarding this interrogation prior to see Draco.
It was Harry who changed the subject. "If we were to accept your help… what could you offer?"
Draco leant forward, happy to move away from the subject of his questionable past. "Information – on Death Eaters, their plans, their movements. Admittedly, I was – for obvious reasons – kept on the outskirts of a lot of what they were doing, but I guarantee I have information that you don't know; information you could use."
Draco watched as Harry and Henry both silently considered this. Amelia's brother looked so much like her; dark and inquisitive eyes with thick lashes against a milky, lightly freckled complexion. His hair was a dark blonde though, different to Amelia's chocolate-chestnut locks. Draco wondered if perhaps their mother had had blonde hair, and hoped that one day he might get to ask Amelia more about the mother she had barely spoken of to him before.
"I think that's all we need to hear for now," Henry finally said, with the air of a fussy teacher as he stood. "We'll let you know where we go from here."
This sentiment made Draco feel confident – had they believed him?
Henry and Harry walked towards the dinner-hall tent after taking Draco back to his confinements, much to the former Slytherin's obvious dismay.
"What do you think then?" Harry asked as they strolled through the rows of tents.
Henry glanced towards his comrade, "you know him a lot better than I do," he shrugged.
Harry sighed. "Unfortunately true, yes."
The sun had well and truly set now, and an evening chill had set in as they passed tents exuding smells of dinner cooking, and wood slowly burning in a fireplace. These smells helped the place feel homely, and Harry always appreciated these small details as he walked amongst their little community.
"I certainly don't trust him – I don't know if I ever will… like you say, I know him too well. I know what he's like: he's slippery, cunning, and smarter than you'd think," he said after consideration.
"Do you think there's any truth to what he's saying?"
Harry hesitated. "Something about it feels genuine. I don't know what it is, but my gut tells me that things have been a lot more miserable for him than we would've imagined."
Henry scoffed quietly, "he does look pretty worse for wear. Not like someone who's been living in the lap of luxury for years."
"Maybe it's just desperation now he's been caught by us… He'll do anything to keep his skin clean."
"Could be. Hey – what was that comment about the boys bathroom?" Henry asked, recalling Draco's earlier remark.
An ancient memory whipped across Harry's mind, one that he hadn't thought of in years. It was during a time that he'd become obsessed with Draco's movements, and with the years that had passed, it had become a less and less significant part of Harry's life. He remembered the look of anguish and sheer hopelessness that was on Draco's face that day Harry had used Snape's awful curse on the Slytherin. It was strange to look back now and think that they were just schoolboys during all of that.
"I caught him in the bathroom once between classes – it was the year he'd been tasked with killing Dumbledore and sneaking Death Eaters into Hogwarts. You remember all that, yeah?"
Henry nodded.
"We got into a duel, and I cursed him – a bad curse. He could've died, but Snape showed up in time to stem the bleeding. Anyway, before we fought, I caught a glimpse of him… he looked completely shattered, like he was broken inside or something." As Harry recalled the memory now, for the first time in years, it seemed to validate Draco's current story. He recalled Draco on the Astronomy Tower that fateful night: desperate and petrified. Dumbledore had been right when he'd told Draco that he wasn't a killer. Harry wondered what Dumbledore might do in this situation, but it was a silly, needless thought. Dumbledore had been in the exact same position decades earlier and had rightfully trusted Snape. Was it possible that the person Harry had hated all these years, was just another victim of the Death Eaters all along?
Amelia sat around the fireplace in Harry and Ginny's tent with Henry, Ron and Hermione as they all sipped on butterbeer. Henry and Harry had just finished recounting their interrogation of Draco Malfoy to a silent and eager audience. Amelia sat there, twisting the bottle of butterbeer in her hands anxiously, trying to mimic Ginny, Ron and Hermione's expressions of curiosity and shock in order to hide the grimace that every mention of Draco's name brought.
"Actually Gin, one thing he said was that you had seen him during the Battle of Hogwarts…?" Harry asked suddenly as they all discussed the fugitive Death Eater.
Ginny frowned for a moment, before clearly recalling something. "Oh – yes! I'd completely forgotten…"
"You forgot a notorious Death Eater who was awful to all of us in school, helping you out during one of the biggest wizarding battles in history?" Ron asked his sister dryly.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "C'mon, it was about the least weird thing that happened that day – or that year, for that matter!"
There were murmurs of agreement.
"I was fighting off a Death Eater and… I dropped my wand – yes, that's right," Ginny started, piecing together the memory. "A Death Eater was closing in on me when Malfoy just came out of nowhere. He saved my life, actually."
Amelia watched as Henry and Harry exchanged glances.
"Yeah, but he was probably doing it for show. Hedging his bets," Ron piped up.
Ginny considered this. "I don't think so… no one saw him except for me. And then I saw him in the Great Hall later on, walking around by himself. It was kind of sad, really."
As Amelia listened, she thought back to seeing Draco in the Great Hall, just as Ginny had described – alone. She remembered the relief she had felt when she had reached him.
There was a brief silence where it was clear that everyone was thinking back to that day.
"Ok, well let's say that Malfoy is telling the truth – how can we ever know for certain?" Ron finally broke the silence.
Harry sighed as he leant back into the lumpy sofa. "That's what we need to find out. It's too risky to make any decisions on gut feelings. And with no veritaserum…"
"Imagine though – if he were on our side. I know you lot aren't fans of his, and to be honest – neither I am, he seems like a bit of a git, but if we had someone with genuine intel on the Death Eaters' whereabouts, and knew the layout of their quarters. This could be massive for us." Henry sounded excited as he spoke and Amelia felt guilty for not sharing what she knew of Draco.
"All the resistance members who have been captured by the Death Eaters… we might have a chance to save them, if they're alive," Hermione joined in.
"What do you think, Mill?" Henry asked Amelia.
"Honestly? I think he's a good liar," she said with a shrug, to slightly puzzled faces.
"What makes you so sure?" Ginny asked.
Amelia sighed; if she couldn't tell them the truth, she had to at least protect them from him. "The only thing we know for certain about Malfoy is that he is manipulative, and does what he needs to get himself ahead. Everything else, we are just guessing. Even his helping you, Gin, like Ron said – he could've been hedging his bets."
Henry looked deflated as he placed his butterbeer onto the table. "You're probably right. We shouldn't get too ahead of ourselves." He patted Harry's knee with a friendly slap. "I think we've just gone too long without a breakthrough that the idea of having a double agent was a bit too exciting, hey lads?"
A murmur of agreement.
"I still think you should try though – there must be a way he can prove himself, if he is telling the truth," Ginny said meekly, still clearly convinced by her own recollection of Draco.
Days went by without any further contact for Draco; he spent his time pacing his tent and listening for anything that might be happening beyond it. Although he was still confined to the small tent, each day he was delivered small gestures: a small pile of books or an old copy of the Quibbler magazine, loaded with different puzzles. He wondered if this meant that the resistance were opening up to his presence.
Several times he sat in front of a piece of parchment, quill in hand, wanting to write a letter to be delivered to Amelia, but he didn't have the words without being able to stand in front of her. Besides, he thought, she'd probably just toss it straight into the fireplace without even opening it. So, he spent most of his time pacing, desperately wracking his brains for information he could give the resistance, anything valuable enough to be rewarded with sanctuary in their shanty town. He often smirked to himself as he thought about what sixteen year old Draco would think of this scenario; he'd probably rather be dead than be so indebted to Harry Potter, but here he was.
Harry sat with Ron and Hermione in the largest of duelling tents. It was one of the emptiest rooms in the resistance with only a couple of benches framing the room, and a small bookshelf with various spell books. A typical session for the three would be Harry and Ron darting around the room in friendly duel, trying out new defence spells or aiming curses at the lone dummy with a makeshift Death Eater hood which sat in the far corner of the room. Hermione, however, would spend hours poring over the books on the shelf, often bringing her own from her personal collection in her and Ron's tent and finding any new spells or curses. She wouldn't just be looking for curses to attack with, but also spells which would help to make life easier in the resistance.
Harry wiped his brow and leant back on his elbows.
"Still thinking about Malfoy?" Hermione asked as she noticed Harry's furrowed brow.
"Just when you think you've got rid of the git, he bloody turns up to our secret hideaway. It's typical Malfoy," Ron said in a half-joking way.
"Am I an idiot for even considering to trust him?" Harry asked, his eyes darting imploringly between his two best friends.
Hermione and Ron exchanged glances and Harry knew that this was something they'd discussed already themselves.
"To be honest Harry, it's hard to disassociate what he was like at school. He seemed so sure of the Dark Arts. But you've seen a lot more than we have. We weren't on the Astronomy Tower that night…" Hermione offered tentatively.
For the thousandth time that week, Harry silently recalled Draco Malfoy the night that Dumbledore died; afraid, alone, panicked.
"You always said you never thought he'd go through with it, right?" Ron asked.
"Mm, I don't think so," Harry said, again recalling Draco's words. "Dumbledore didn't either."
"Although, try telling that to, well, anyone," Ron said. "Especially all of this lot. I don't think you'll be winning many fans if we take him in."
"Something is just telling me that this isn't a set up. Even when I look at all the evidence, it's like what he's saying actually makes sense," Harry said, frustrated by his own indecisiveness.
"Everyone doubted Snape all those years," Hermione said, echoing the thoughts Harry had silently been turning over in his own mind for days now. "But Dumbledore looked at the evidence and trusted him."
Harry looked at Ron, who looked less convinced, but shrugged. "Think it's time you have another chat with our guest of honour, mate," he said.
