Draco apparated into his apartment with a force that shook the walls. He was supposed to be meeting the other Death Eaters in the location they had just been given at the meeting for a raid.
He needed to contact the Gryffindors, warn them before it was too late. Although given the attack was just announced and was ordered to be conducted just after the meeting, he didn't know how much good his alerting them would do, but he had to try.
Somebody in the Death Eaters ranks had discovered a camp. A camp that would be full of the most vulnerable.
The ill.
The elderly.
Those unable to otherwise help contribute to gathering supplies or other necessities.
The children.
Fuck, the children. He didn't know how he was supposed to hold it together while children were slaughtered around him, how he was going to manage to wear his mask of loyal servant to the Dark Lord while the lives of innocent kids were taken. Kids that had barely had a chance to live, hadn't had a chance to experience the goodness of magic, who in the current world would never have gotten their first wand, or flown a broom, or attended Hogwarts.
Maybe what they were working towards, taking the Dark Lord down, could have allowed for them to have those things - a better life.
After today it was unlikely they would get to live any life at all.
He scrambled to the kitchen, grabbing the mobile phone they used for communication and typed a quick message.
Attack about to happen at the Camp in Knoydart send help now.
He threw the phone back on the counter, slipped his mask back down over his face falling back into his death eater persona and disapperated on the spot.
The place was already carnage as Draco arrived, slipping into the back of the large group as they descended into the camp. Those at the front were throwing spells left and right, all too eager to take anyone or anything in their path down.
His ears were assaulted by the screams of the injured. Victims left not yet having succumbed to their injuries, but no amount of healing, even with magic never mind the muggle methods the order were forced to use, could save. Leaving them to die slowly from curses created by Dolohov, curses that injured the body beyond repair, unhealable wounds, organs discentrigrating and overall a drawn out death in unimaginable pain.
Draco inconspicuously cast an Avada to end the suffering whenever he could do so without drawing attention as he moved through the battlefield.
Battlefield, he thought to himself with a laugh void of any humour.
This was no battlefield.
It was a massacre.
Blood status, age, name nor gender made any difference.
Children, adults, elderly, pureblood, half-blood, muggleborn. None of it mattered. Every single person here was a target, a plaything for the Dark Lord's servants.
Rape was a common occurrence, another way to further ruin the victims, to make them suffer, to humiliate and show them their place before their eventual death.
The whole thing made him sick and he had to constantly remind himself of the bigger picture and the downfall of them all he was working towards. Intervening now would not save any of them. It would only result in his death being added to the fray and leave a dent in the group working behind the scenes to end all of this for good.
Draco made his way through the camp, throwing an Avada or a slicing curse to older people in places that would cause an almost immediate death. He told himself that he was saving them from the suffering they would experience from a death at another's hands.
It was the only way he could get himself through this.
But he couldn't bring himself to harm the children, no matter how much he tried to tell himself he would be saving them from the violence their death would be, he just could not get the killing curse to work.
You had to mean it after all and ending a life that had been so short, no matter how much it was for their benefit, was something he could never mean.
His hands shook too much when his wand was pointed at a kid and he knew he couldn't trust his aim to make it quick with a slicing curse.
It was easier with the adults. They seemed to understand the salvation he was giving them and they almost smiled with relief when they saw the green light approaching. The children hadn't yet developed the grey thinking to process it this way and could only see life and death at its most basic of forms.
Draco came to a halt, in one direction he could see his cousin leading children away and in the other stood his old transfiguration teacher. One choice would lead to the capture of the Order's leader's wife, but also of countless children - an idea that instantly had his stomach churning. The only other option was McGonagall, the professor that had tried to save him from this life.
There was no third option, the gang of cut-throat psychopaths in masks were visible in his sight line making their way towards him.
The one that means something to you, or numerous that you don't know?
Deep down he knew the right thing to do, but he also found it impossible to think of turning his wand on one of the first people to teach him how to use it.
Before he could even draw his conclusion Professor McGonagall took a step towards him. The woman had always been formidable, but watching her walk towards him rather than try to escape was terrifying. She may not wield magic at that moment but the fire in her eyes told him all he needed to know, she would go down saving those around her. He could barely keep his wand arm still as he pointed it towards her, the shaking as evident as it had been all that time ago on top of the astronomy tower. The fact he was now in the same position with the one person who had begged Dumbledore for another option was an irony that wasn't lost on him.
Did she still see that broken little boy? Or was he far too far gone?
It felt like time had slowed down around them, and he met her eyes hoping she would see past the mask, past the actions, and know just how much he really did not want to do this. Longing for the days when she would reprimand him and he would slip back into the crowd muttering about losing house points or a detention, if only his childhood self knew where they would be all these years later.
"Really Albus! I must insist that something is done, the poor boy is deteriorating! We are supposed to be keeping them safe, not watching them waste away!"
Draco flinched at Professor McGonagalls words, shifting in his chair while he looked down at his too pale hands. As he examined them he knew what she was saying was true, they were almost skeletal in appearance due to the weight he had lost and the skin had an almost grey tinge to it.
It was his appearance and attendance in class that had caused the Gryffindor head to pull him aside and quiz him. He was tired, so very tired, and eventually he had caved and spilled all the Dark Lord's plans for himself to her. It was embarrassing really, the tears had flowed as freely as his words while he revealed how he was to murder his Headmaster. How the Dark Lord was holding his parents' lives as leverage, and how he and his followers had overrun his childhood home. Once it was all out there he had looked in horror at her, and to his utter surprise she had pulled him into a hug. The smell of ginger and herbs took over his senses as he relaxed into her touch and began to cry again.
Eventually, once he had gathered himself, she had brought him to Dumbledore's office. When they had entered the headmaster didn't look surprised at all to see them there, and he had almost seemed bored of the conversation from the start. Draco decided straight away the best form of action was to let McGonagall take the lead - after all surely even Dumbledore wouldn't be able to ignore how terrifying she is - and that was why he was sitting quietly in a plush chair listening to their exchange.
"I assure you Minerva, I am fully aware of the boy's situation and I already have a plan in motion. I do not intend to fall at the hands of young Mr Malfoy however I also will not divulge anything further given his house guests." Dumbledore spoke sharply to the professor, a tone he had very rarely heard and one that made his hackles rise. It was true that he had never favoured McGonagall, quite the opposite given her house loyalties, however she deserved more respect than this jumped up power hungry old fool was giving her.
It would also be bloody fantastic if he cared to share how exactly he was planning on getting Draco out of this, it's not as if he was slowly driving himself to an early grave over the idea of killing the headmaster. Oh wait, yes he was.
"Albus I have trusted you without any questions or shaking of my loyalty for years, but if you do not swear to this boy that he will not be forced into these acts I shall never forgive you. He needs some peace of mind, and he needs our protection!"
There was a war going on within him, his pride battling with his desperation. The pity in her voice angered him, but the fierceness in her words gave him hope.
Dumbledore sighed and walked past her heading towards Dracos chair, as he drew to a stop in front of it he began to speak again.
"Draco, I promise you that you will not be the hand that kills me. I can offer you protection, but I cannot get your parents away. They have made their choice, and if they can not make it to us and ask for our help then there is nothing I can do for them."
At the mention of his parents the anger boiled within him and he pushed himself up from his chair.
"You have no idea, old man! Choice? You think you get to choose if the Dark Lord stays in your home or not? You think they get to choose if they do his bidding or not? That they can just walk away? And for what!? You want them to beg you for your forgiveness and protection, because at the end of the day you are no less twisted than the man that gave me this mark!" Draco clutched at his covered arm as the venomous words spilled from his mouth, after a moment of gathering himself he stormed out of the office and straight back to his work.
For three weeks McGonagall tried to talk to him. For three weeks he barely left the room of requirement or the cabinet. For three weeks he continued barely eating or sleeping. At the end of those three weeks he watched his headmaster fall from the astronomy tower. He watched the green light fade from his Godfather's wand just before they fled from the castle. At the end of those three weeks he felt the last glimmer of hope die within him.
He could feel the tears gathering in his eyes as he noticed the all too familiar warmth and understanding in the professor's eyes. She glanced over his shoulder, her lip thinning as she eyed the approaching death eaters. Any moment now they would be right behind him, and he would have to act.
Another battle rose in his mind, if capture or death would be worse. Thinking of those held prisoner within the Dark Lords ranks he shuttered, no one should have to live through what they did.
As if she could sense what he was thinking, McGonagall gave him a small nod and clasped her hands in front of her stomach. Ever the graceful and proud woman he had known, her face stoic as she said quietly "I am too old for this war Mr Malfoy."
Tears spilled under his mask as her words sunk in, and just as footsteps drew nearer he steadied his wand as he aimed. This would not go unpunished, she would hold key information about the Order, but the very least he could do was offer her a peaceful ending.
The words felt like poison as they exited his mouth, the green light felt all too bright, and her body looked so small as it hit the ground.
Draco couldn't tell if the hole he felt inside him was from the dark magic or his grief, but either way he was sure the damage was permanent.