For the Hogwarts forum Assignment #3 for Muggle Art: Task #9 - Write a fic in the setting of Paris, France.
He doesn't realise at first, (didn't know there was anything strange). He doesn't know what anything means, (what the dreams mean). How could he? He's a child, (he hasn't been a child in a while). He realises at seven, (seven's a very magical number after all).
All of Draco's life, he's been living in Malfoy Manor in England. Although he knows his lineage, can trace it all the way back to France and then further, he's never actually been there. There's never been any reason to, he knows that. It might be where his father's family came from, but their business is now primarily based in England and that's where Lucius is making his name and reputation.
At least, that's how it goes until Draco is seven. That's when his father decides that they need to go back to France for a holiday, and it strangely enough manages to coincide with a series of Death Eater trials, (for those who are clever, it's not very strange at all).
The end result is that Draco finds himself and his family in Paris, France. Of course, he's not in the muggle Paris, but the magic one. It's tricky to submerse himself in the culture, even though he knows the language having been brought up multilingual.
Much of his time is spent exploring the grounds of Palais Malfoy, where the Malfoy family began. There are many secret passages that he delights in finding, smiling as he hides in the shadows and listens to the whispers around him.
(It's a sign of who he was, of who he will become. No one, though, knows that—not yet, at least.)
The palace is largely abandoned, only kept because it is an ancestral home and for some of the other members of the Malfoy family. However, they've given it over to Lucius for the entire holiday, which means that Draco only occasionally sees his relatives. In his opinion, it's for the better. This way, he gets more freedom.
It's the only reason he ends up in front of the lake on the grounds. Neither of his parents are with him, having told him to stay inside. Only Draco hadn't done so. There'd been something else. Something that had pulled him here. It'd felt like a… a string tugging him forward, a pull in his chest, (magic calling to magic across time, across space, connected in more ways than one).
Standing in front of the lake, Draco finds himself trembling. Fear claws its way up his throat. His hands grow sweaty. He shudders. Something is wrong.
(Something has been wrong for a long, long time.)
The lake stretches out in front of him, infinite. It's darker. Darker than it should be. It seems to be made of nothing but shadows. Shadows and darkness. There's no reflection of the sky overhead. But, when Draco peers downward, a warped version of himself stares back, except- except it's not him. He doesn't have black hair. Isn't that tall. Something's not right.
Swallowing, Draco steps forward. He stops just before he touches the water. The water laps against the shore, stopping just before his toes. It's still dark.
And yet, something calls to him.
He takes another step forward, past the boundary of the lake, and steps into it. The water is cold and immediately comes up to his ankles. There shouldn't be a tide or a current or anything. The lake's still when one looks at it. Despite this, Draco can feel something tugging at him, pulling and pulling until he almost falls over. He can't help but step forward again, (couldn't stop himself even if he tried).
The water's up to his hips by now. His clothes are plastered to him skin. Something seems to wrap around his leg, almost like a-
"Come," the wind whispers, the lake whispers, the world whispers. Draco is helpless. He walks forward, follows the pull, keeps going and doesn't look back, (can't).
"You're almost there," the sky whispers, the water whispers, (the magic whispers).
Another step and he'd be underwater entirely. It's just past his chin now. And yet, Draco doesn't hesitate, (doesn't think, isn't capable of doing it; there's nothing but instinct driving him forward and… and perhaps something else too).
He steps forward.
Water surrounds him. Eyes slam open. He screams.
There's nothing but darkness. There's nothing but water and shadowy reeds. There's nothing but corpses reaching and reaching and reaching and-
For a second, Draco can't breathe. For minutes, Regulus can't breathe.
(Forever, they will breathe.)
Kicking his legs, he somehow manages to kick himself to the surface. The lake's deeper than it had been before. The water surrounds him, making his legs heavy, trying to tug him underwater. He can't breathe, chokes, gags, feels himself going under. He doesn't know what's happening or what's happened, only know that he is.
(That he's going to die again.)
He opens his mouth to shout, to call for someone, to do anything, but a wave comes and he finds himself spluttering.
Then, without warning, he finds himself yanked backwards and flying through the air. He drops down onto the lake shore, immediately coughing and heaving frantic breathes. "What were you doing there?" Someone asks shrilly, even as they duck down to his side and pull him close. "Are you okay?"
Blinking, he wipes the water from his eyes, spits out a mouthful. It tastes foul, tastes disgusting, (doesn't taste like the potion that almost succeeded at killing him). He doesn't know where he is. He knows where he is. He doesn't know who he is.
A drying charm removes the water from him and his clothes, leaving him shivering. It's quickly followed by a warming charm, (and yet, he doesn't feel warm). "We best get you looked at. I don't want you getting sick. Are you sure you're okay Draco?"
The name is the one thing that clears his head. He takes hold of it. Draco. It's a name. It's his name—this time. Because- Because this hadn't been him before. Before he'd been drowning failing dying someone else. He'd been-
"Draco?"
"I'm okay," he says, taking hold of the dress and twisting it even though he knows he shouldn't and is much too old for such a thing. "I was just- just scared."
(Terrified. He'd been terrified for himself, for his brother, for Kreacher. He'd been terrified and he'd gone anyway because there hadn't been another choice. And then- then he'd died, alone and terrified, and grateful that he hadn't caused Kreacher's death even he swallowed mouthful after mouthful of water.)
"What were you doing out there? You know the lake isn't sake."
He shrugs. He doesn't know what to tell her—to tell his mother, (because she is, even if she hadn't always been, even if it'd been someone else once; she's better, she's so much better that sometimes it feels impossible).
"Let's get you inside," his mother says, bustling him inward. Despite her words, her actions, she doesn't shove or hit. She's gentle, kind. He… He feels safe around her.
Soon enough, they're sitting in front of a roaring fire. Somewhere behind him, his parents talk about what happened in low tones. He doesn't look at them, doesn't listen. He just stares into the fire, into the dancing flames, and thinks about the shadows that are cast, how they're dancing too.
He pulls his knees to his chest and hugs them. Who is he now? And- And what had happened?
Only, he knows what had happened. He'd died, (drowned), and then he'd been born again. Given a second chance, (not that he believes in such things, not that he deserves such a thing).
Once, he'd been Regulus Black. Now, he's Draco Malfoy.
And he's going to take down Voldemort no matter what happens or who might get in his way. He's died once. He's not planning on doing so again.
Oh? It's been like three years since I wrote the first thing? Well clearly the world wanted more. (This fic relates to If you've got life, you've got fight.)
I thought about making this into one fic and just joining it with the other. But, well, I don't know how far it'd go or anything, so we're going to just have a series of random stories to watch as they appear, one by one. I'm not making any promises for more, but this was fun so there might be more in the future.
Feel free to drop ideas or prompts for this (or anything else really) to me on tumblr under silent-silver-slip.
