As Amelia had grown up, the days between Christmas and New Year had always existed in a strange space: time moved in a different way, bobbing along slowly with purpose being found in simply snoozing through the morning, lounging on a sofa, or strolling through a nearby woods. The same could not be said for the days following Christmas this year in the resistance, however: The breezy merriment of Christmas Day had dried up with the drops of dew on the grass on Boxing Day morning and a tension wrapped back around the shanty town like a tightening fist.

Amelia had woken to find that Draco wasn't there: she spread her hand over the creased bedsheets beside her and found them still warm. By the time he came back mid-morning, Amelia was sitting on the sofa, silently admiring her decorations. The frosty sunlight beamed through the window and bounced off the tree's baubles so that they almost looked like little flames on the branches. The door opened and she jumped despite herself, turning around to see Draco closing it behind him.
His tousled hair told her that outside was windy, the pink tinge under his unshaven cheeks that it was also very cold. As he came over to her she noticed that his limp had lessened this morning: certainly, he was no longer using the walking stick (though with his amount of stubborn pride, she knew that this did not necessarily mean that he was without pain). With all the festive business of yesterday, they hadn't spoken about the events of Christmas Eve since he had exploded and broken down before her, and she didn't want to push the subject too much with him. She couldn't remember ever feeling a pain like that; watching him fall to pieces and feeling so helpless, but hating everyone who had wronged him throughout his life. It reminded her of watching Narcissa's memories through the pensieve. Something tugged against this though, the feeling of desperately wanting to somehow fix it all as quickly as possible, needing him to know that she was there and that she wouldn't ever leave – she would help him through anything. He, who had suffered in silence all these years to protect her; had endured different types of torture for so long but now appeared as a brave soldier, ready to fight. She adored him. She smiled up at him as he sat beside her and placed a soft kiss on her knee, and just hoped that he knew all of this.


That afternoon people filed into a meeting room: the same room that weeks ago, Draco had been interrogated by all these same faces. Faces which now represented his allies. Instead of reproachful glares shot in his direction from sceptical eyes, he was greeted as an equal. True, not all interactions were friendly – he figured that his reputation from Hogwarts as a Slytherin bully was still very much attached to him - but there was respect. Acceptance. As he sat around the large wooden table and looked around at the others chatting in small groups, the clamp around his heart loosened a little bit more. Across the table sat Andromeda, who was discussing something with Fleur and Luna; she caught Draco's eyes and gave a slight nod and the whisper of a smile. He returned it, feeling his own lips twitch. Her words had echoed around his head for the entire morning.

Kingsley Shacklebolt sat in between Henry and Harry with an air of authority, his brows knitted together and his face set. He wore flowing maroon robes and cut a much finer figure than those around him who all paled in comparison with their casual winter attire. The Weasley parents were there as well, sitting in between George and Bill. Even Draco had to admit that having these new faces, these allies they had successfully rescued, made things far less bleak. Provided some hope.

"Right – hello everyone," Henry said, clearing his throat and speaking above the chatter bouncing around the room. Immediately, everyone stopped their conversation and shifted their attention in to the table towards Henry, Harry and Kingsley. "Thanks for coming – I know everyone is feeling a bit dusty after Christmas yesterday," he said with a coy smile. Draco saw Seamus and Dean exchange a knowing glance and a wink between them at this.

"I suppose the first thing we need to say is – thank you – our efforts over the last few days have resulted in something I don't think any one of us even let ourselves imagine." He gestured towards the new faces around the room, who all beamed back at those around the table. Michael Corner led a polite round of applause – Neville Longbottom whooped loudly.

Kingsley stood and Henry stepped to the side slightly. "If I may," the older wizard began in his low and even voice, "I would like to echo that gratitude. We faced an impossible situation when we were ambushed by so many Death Eaters and I can say with absolute certainty, that we would not still be here if you hadn't responded to our call. I only hope that we can now be of assistance."

"Well, we're happy that you're here Kingsley – all of you," Harry piped up, clapping Kingsley on the back and grinning widely. Draco hadn't seen Potter in such high spirits since he had joined the resistance. He remembered that Kingsley Shacklebolt was an auror before the war; probably a bloody good asset for us, Draco thought. Henry looked more at ease as well – he wondered whether they had worked together when Henry was an auror. Perhaps Shacklebolt had helped train him…

"So, what's the situation?" Arthur Weasley asked, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the table as if in prayer. Draco remembered his own father scoffing and sneering about Arthur Weasley and his incompetence at the Ministry; how he was an embarrassment to his pureblood status with his obsession with muggles and practically parading his poverty around his department. But here he was, still in this war: where Luscious had been killed, Arthur Weasley still stood tall. Draco searched the older, ginger-haired man for hints of what his father had spoken about, and was unsurprised when all he could see was a seemingly pleasant and centred man, a father.

Henry sighed and explained to the newcomers that after they had successfully rescued Amelia, Voldemort was angry and it was clear from the revitalised propaganda against the resistance, and their re-invigorated attacks that he was putting his efforts into quashing them once and for all.

"We're just about the last thing that stands between him gaining complete control over the wizarding world. So, the plan is… we fight. We've hidden for all these years, never felt strong enough to go up against them again like we did at the Battle of Hogwarts. But as they get stronger every day, so do we. And with the new arrivals over the last few weeks, I'd say we stand a bloody good chance," Henry said, his eyes sweeping toward Draco as he said this. Draco felt the eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt burn into him at this, but chose to look intently in the other direction.

A wave stirred amongst those at the table as Henry had spoken: spines stiffened, lips pursed, shoulders squared.

"We will help wherever we can," Kingsley said humbly. Molly, Arthur and Andromeda all nodded along.

"Well – you could start with telling us what you have seen for all these years?" Harry asked. Draco's ears pricked up and he sat forward; there was no use pretending this did not make him incredibly curious. He wasn't the only one: hungry eyes all latched onto Kingsley as he drew in breath, sharing a glance with the other newcomers. While Draco had been privy to the outside world all those years he was living at Malfoy Manor, those in the resistance lived on the scraps of propaganda and slander smeared through the Daily Prophet. While he was hungry to know what was happening inside the resistance and Amelia's life, these people were starving for any information on the outside world.

"It is like the Daily Prophet tells, unfortunately," Kingsley started. "The Wizarding World is no longer a place you would recognise; not one bit."

He clarified the situation for any muggleborns in Britain: They are either imprisoned, with Azkaban now practically overflowing with inmates (many previous inmates dealing in the Dark Arts having been released by Voldemort), or if they are deemed useful or needed for free labour, they are marked and cursed so that they may not procreate. There are sections of the wizarding world where muggle borns or families with a fair amount of muggle blood reside, and though they are segregated they live in fear, always anticipating attacks on their shops or their houses. It was something that most of them – including Draco – knew about, but hearing stories from Kingsley made it all the more real. From the corner of his eye, Draco saw Hermione Granger wiping a tear and for the first time in his life, viewed her with sympathy. He flinched at the amount of times he had called her a mudblood during school.

"After the Battle of Hogwarts, You-Know-Who tried desperately to recruit me," Kingsley continued. "I was on the run, dodging them at every corner as I lived in the shadows. I weighed up whether I would be of more use inside the Ministry itself, infiltrating on the inside, so I eventually allowed them to recruit me. But, when I had not successfully found any of the Order members I had been instructed to hunt down, they turned on me and I was forced to go back on the run. About a year ago, I managed to make contact with Arthur and Molly."

It was extraordinary to hear the plight of others in the war: there must've been thousands of stories out there, all differing in how they've survived throughout the war.

"This is great – if you know anything about the Ministry, that could potentially help us out," Bill Weasley piped up, followed by a few excited murmurs around the table.

Kingsley nodded slowly. "Of course – I will provide you with whatever I can."

"Fantastic – that gives us two people who've been inside the Ministry since its fallen to the Death Eaters," Henry said, scribbling something down on a piece of parchment.

"Who else has worked at the Ministry?" Arthur asked, his head whipping around the table.

"Draco did – we've got detailed intel from his time there," Henry said without looking up from his notetaking.

Draco felt the uncertain eyes of Arthur and Kingsley on him; he hoped his cheeks weren't flushing.

"Ah – right," Arthur said in a fairly clipped tone. Draco was glad that, at least for now, this wasn't explored further by the sceptical newcomers.

"What we need now is a plan – we can't keep putting out little fires where we can, we're not having enough impact and the longer we do that for, the more we damage ourselves while the Death Eaters only get stronger. We think it's time to take them out at the jugular," Harry said. His jaw was tight as he spoke, his fist balled by his side.

There were murmurs of agreement and a small wave of excitement; inspiration.

"What is it you're suggesting?" Andromeda asked, speaking for the first time in the meeting. Draco silently wondered if others were unnerved by her resemblance to Bellatrix. In truth though, her presence was soft and took away any likeness to the evil witch.

Harry glanced to Henry, who gave the slightest nod. He sighed, then: "It's time to go head to head with Voldemort. We can't keep living like this forever. And this feels like our best chance."

Of course, Draco had already known that this was coming, but hearing it said out loud made the hairs on his neck stand up. He felt Amelia's hand squeeze his under the table and was unsure whether it was to seek comfort, or share in the anticipation. When he chanced a side-look at her though, her face was set for battle.

"I think you're right, Harry," George said, sitting forward it his seat, his usually humoured features set in determination instead. "We have the radio station back up and running, and if you lot were listening – there could be hundreds of others as well! We could call them to arms: anyone who wants to fight for the chance of taking our lives back, can have that choice."

Again, a ripple of excited mumbles went through the table.

"And what about Hogwarts? Do we know what the situation is there?" Michael Corner asked above the noise.

Kingsley spoke and once again, all attention turned to him. "The staff are doing what they can: most remain in their posts, trying to detract from the Death Eater's influences. Baxter Gray is Headmaster – a young but loyal follower of You-Know-Who."

"Do you think they would join us in battle? The staff, I mean," Harry asked.

Kingsley thought about this, then nodded once. "I believe they would do anything to get back the world we once knew. We will need a way to safely contact them."

"If we're going to use the radio to rally some troops, then maybe we can communicate with them through that – just need to make sure they're listening," George said excitedly.

"But zen 'ow do we fight them? Zey arr too powerful!" Fleur asked.

"We plan. For every possibility," Henry cut across the growing sea of voices. "That's all we can do, really."

Harry stood once more, and silence fell. "Voldemort is powerful, yes. But actually – he himself is as vulnerable as ever. Which, I'm guessing, is why he's hardly ever sighted."

"I don't follow," Draco said bluntly, his voice working without his permission. "No offence Potter, but every time I've seen him in the last four years he's not come across as bloody vulnerable." His voice was dark as he spat out the words and he could feel people around glancing at each other at his brazen admission to his dealings with the Dark Lord.

Harry remained patient though, and turned to Draco. "Years ago, Voldemort separated his soul into seven pieces – Horcruxes."

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly aware of that."

"By the Battle of Hogwarts, all Horcruxes were destroyed – even one he didn't intend on making, inside of me - except one. His snake: Nagini."

Draco knew all about the Horcruxes. He had always known that there was something keeping the Dark Lord alive; some powerful dark magic, but it wasn't until he was at the resistance and with Amelia that he was told the full story.

"So, we kill the snake –

" – and then it's just him," Henry finished for Harry.

"This snake though, surely he's keeping her on a pretty tight leash if she's the only thing standing between him and mortality," Seamus said.

"And that's where we need to plan. We need a way to have the snake killed before we kill him and take as many Death Eaters down with him."

Draco thought of his aunt Bellatrix and a scorching bloodthirst coursed through his veins. Faces of other Death Eaters flashed into his mind. But then, his mother – where did she fall in all of this? His throat went dry.

"How do we lure him? If he even slightly suspects an attack from us and knows he's vulnerable, then won't he stay completely guarded?" Neville asked. A reasonable question, Draco thought, though he had a feeling that he know what the response would be.

"Correct… which is why we thought that the best chance we might have would be to go to him," Henry said, and for the first time, the reaction around the table was apprehensive, argumentative. Draco heard Seamus call out 'Are you having a laugh, boys?'

Harry turned to Kingsley and the other newcomers, who all looked about as uncertain as the other longer standing resistance members. "We've gone into Malfoy Manor once before – not long ago at all – and successfully retrieved a hostage they had taken, Amelia."

Draco felt Amelia sink a bit in her chair as several eyes, including his own aunt's, turn to her.

Harry continued. "We have a Malfoy on our side – someone who has lived in that place most of his life, knows it like the back of his hand. I think we all know that we wouldn't have been able to rescue Amelia if it weren't for Draco, and now I think that this same knowledge will help us take Voldemort down. We have to go back to Malfoy Manor – there's no other way we can end this."

It was Draco's turn to squeeze Amelia's hand as he felt her retreat even further. He knew that the Manor held painful memories for her. His eyes hooked onto his aunt's and caught a glimpse of what looked like pride behind her lashes. A warmth pulsed through his chest despite himself and he tried to recall a time before when someone had been proud of him.


That night Draco lay on his back in bed, his eyes wide and teeth gnawing his lips. Beside him slept Amelia, a limp arm draped across his middle. He could tell that she was nervous following the meeting, though she said she was fine with going into Malfoy Manor if needed, and the two of them had been delicate with each other for the afternoon, both still healing from their own recent wounds.

It wasn't the usual demons keeping him awake and spinning around his mind like a whirlpool tonight though, but something much more urgent. Something that filled him with dread and hope and something else he couldn't quite place, but felt almost like relief. A chance at redemption.

The next morning he woke before Amelia once again, having been only tiptoeing at the edges of sleep all night, almost falling into the darkness but being jolted back into reality every few minutes by sudden thoughts. Still, he didn't feel tired as he shoved his arms into his coat, swiped his wand from the bedside table and carefully whisked from the bedroom so as not to disturb Amelia. She had tossed and turned throughout the night and he worried that her time in Malfoy Manor plagued her dreams. He knew what it was like to be trapped inside your own head.

His limp - fading but still there - made it hard to walk at a fast enough pace and he grimaced as he raced towards the small tent where he hoped that Henry or Potter would be. Thankfully, when he arrived he was greeted by three pairs of eyes – Kingsley was with the other two. They were huddled over scattered parchments, some with notes, some with sketches or jotted incantations for spells or curses.

"Draco – everything alright?" Henry asked, the three of them clearly shocked to see him here unannounced in the early morning.

He caught his breath and wiped his brow. "Malfoy Manor – The Dark Lord – I know how we can get him where we need him to be."

He watched as the three men exchanged glances, their shoulders squaring at this. Draco took up a seat and swallowed, knowing that once he suggested this, he couldn't go back on it. His pride wouldn't allow that.

"I can be bait."

Kingsley sat back, contemplative, but Harry and Henry's only reaction was to narrow their eyes.

"Go on…"

"You said it yourself yesterday: he's keeping himself guarded. So we need a way in, something to distract him so that we can strike. I know Malfoy Manor better than anyone here, so it makes sense that I go in. I can draw him there as a distraction, find the snake, and then we have a clear shot at Voldemort."

"Do you mean you'd –

"Allow myself to be captured by them," Draco finished for Harry. "He'd want information on you lot out of me – and I'm fairly certain he'd love the chance to be the one to finish me off. It would get him where we need him to be."

Henry exhaled loudly and ran a hand through already tousled hair. "That's risky, mate."

Draco locked eyes with him. "I can handle it."

"How would you find the snake?" Harry asked.

Draco sighed and leaned on his elbows – this part was the hard-sell. "My mother could help us. I'd bet my family's fortune that the snake's being protected at the Manor."

Kingsley sat forward now, his interest piqued. "Your mother… is she not a known Death Eater?"
"Yes, but technically so was I until a couple of months ago," Draco argued. "I think – if I could contact her somehow – she would help us."

"And we would just have to trust that she won't turn around at the last moment and stab us in the back?" Harry asked. A fair question which Draco didn't have a definitive answer for.

"It's not perfect, I know. But she might be the best option we have."

Draco talked through his suggestions with the three men, while Henry jotted down scribbles on the same parchment he had yesterday.

After over an hour of deliberating and going back and forth with each other, Harry stood and stretched, suppressing a yawn. Draco wondered if he had even gone back to his tent and slept since the meeting yesterday.

"Okay – this could shape into something. But it's something you have to be sure of, Draco. There are other plans we could pursue, different things to consider…"

"I'm sure," Draco said.

"It might be wise to keep these plans between us, for the moment. Until we feel certain of what we are presenting to the resistance," Kingsley said. He held himself with an ancient wisdom, though Draco wouldn't have placed him beyond about 50 years old. There was something reassuring about his presence; his unwavering calm settled in the air around him.

The others nodded and Draco got up to leave.

"You got a smoke, Draco?" Henry asked as he slipped out of the tent alongside him.

They strolled slowly away from the tent, Draco rolling a cigarette for Henry and then himself. They came to stop by the dining hall. The early morning smells of baking crusty bread wafted through the open doors and made Draco's hollow stomach twist in agony.

Henry turned to Draco. "You sure about this? Just checking you've not banged your head or something…" He offered a smile as he spoke, but his eyes looked serious – concerned, perhaps.

Draco smirked and looked down, exhaling a wispy cloud of smoke. "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Because you know you don't need to prove anything to us…"

"It's not about that. It's just what makes the most sense. I know the Manor better than anyone, I have the insider with my mother. We'll only get one chance to finish this war."

Henry considered all this. It was hard to argue with; all was true. "Amelia's not going to like this, mate," he said. It was with the air of discussing something frivolous, such as Draco intending to stay out late or making social plans without her, but nothing could be further from the truth. He knew that if something were to go wrong in the plan, he would be dead.

"I know." His brows narrowed and he chewed the inside of his mouth as he imagined telling her.

"Let's wait a couple of days; surely we can come up with a safer plan," Henry reasoned.

Draco turned to him. "You and I both know that any plan will have to involve someone putting themselves on the line in the Manor. No one else knows the layout, the secret passages. This is the best chance we have."

He could tell that Henry was torn. Everything Draco said made complete sense, but they both knew how dangerous it was.

Draco walked slowly back to his tent, his head throbbing with the weight of everything that had happened in the last few days. The smell of coffee invited him back inside; Amelia stood in the kitchen, her messy morning hair wrapped into a careless bun at the top of her head, the usual baggy knitted jumper hanging off her frame.
"Where have you been?" She asked curiously as she came to sit at the small table in the kitchen area, placing two steaming coffee mugs in front of her. Draco came to sit opposite her. She yawned and rubbed her eyes and he realised how tired she looked.

"Fancied a walk," he mumbled with a shrug. "You okay?"

She blinked and looked at him. Her eyes were glazed and far away. "Didn't really sleep well…"

Draco knew what it was and reached his hand across the table to grab hers. "I know you're not keen on going back to Malfoy Manor," he said in a low voice. Being comforting didn't come naturally to him.

"I just don't want to have to think about those days I was there ever again," Amelia said, her voice cracking slightly. "Being alone in that dungeon with nothing but a Dementor, waiting to be tortured or killed… and then knowing everything that you went through there for so many years…"

They hadn't really spoken in detail about her imprisonment in Malfoy Manor. She hadn't brought it up much since they had reunited and shamefully, Draco was keen to avoid a subject that made his blood boil.

"It will be different this time. You won't be the prisoner, the victim."

She looked at him, clearly wanting to let his words comfort her. He stroked circles on her hand with his thumb, squeezing her hand across the table as their coffees sat abandoned. She blinked and a tear fell down her face and he pushed his proposed plan for the attack to the back of his mind: telling her what he had suggested could wait for now. He pulled her hand so that she shuffled towards him, collapsing onto his lap and burying her head into the crook of his neck.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Amelia," he said softly, wrapping strong arms around her. "I won't let anything like that happen to you ever again, okay?"

He remembered promising her safety years ago, the night they had fled Hogwarts and began a life on the run together. They were so young then but he had meant it so completely, and scolded himself that she had still been captured and tortured. That she now had to carry these scars on her soul and be haunted by such dark memories. Never again, he vowed to himself. This war had to end so that he could finally fulfil his promise that she would live a good life. He thought of the others in the resistance and what they deserved: so much more than what they had been handed in life.