CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
[Running With the Wolves]
DRACO
His mother sat across from him on the bed as she replaced his bandages. Neither said anything or felt as though they had enough right to. Draco watched his mother's careful hands vanish the blood soaked bandages and apply the healing ointment (the cuts were much deeper than he had originally thought) with disbelieving, wide eyes. He was afraid the image would shatter and he'll wake up in the dungeons as he should have in the first place.
Truthfully Draco did not know what he was feeling at that moment but there was definitely an overwhelming amount there. He hadn't realized how little he even thought of his mother in the past couple of months. It was all his father and Bramble. There was the occasional fly-by thought that accompanied his frequent self-loathing, but not her specifically. While he'd never exactly been close with her growing up, always handing him off to some governess or nanny as well as never stepping in on the cruel punishments, it was plain to see the days had not been kind to her. Her son had a price on his head by the Dark Lord and her husband was on a pending sentence to Azkaban. Draco knew this logically, and yet, he could not find himself to pull any sympathy for her even as she healed him for what he remembers as the first time in his life.
She touched a particularly nasty part of the wound on his leg causing him to jerk back with a wince. Her hand was firm in keeping him still. She looked up at him with a carefully clouded expression.
A part of him wished she would just get over with it already. If he was going to die might as well do it quickly and avoid the pain. Locking him in here, knowing what was to inevitably come, was a slow torture. Perhaps the Dark Lord knew exactly that and was laughing at him somewhere in this very house. It seemed in character that he would send his mother to bring him to his death bed. But what he could not figure out for the life of him was why she was helping him. Was she not afraid she would be slaughtered the moment he discovered her betrayal for her son?
He wanted to ask but he couldn't work up to courage. Draco's throat was tight with fear with the smallest tremble in his hands at the thought of his inevitable death. Draco didn't want to die. It was a mortifying filled terror that rewrote his brain at being so pathetically helpless of the one thing he feared most. He tried to reason with it, that perhaps it couldn't be that bad and maybe he even deserved it but in the end it was pointless. His mind wasn't his own.
"You'll be fine," she says stiffly, finally breaking the silence. "The bleeding has almost stopped."
A great deal that'll do me when I'm dead, he thinks darkly with a laugh but doesn't respond. She's staring at him intently again and he stares right back, daring her to make a remark about the state he's succumbed to. There's a million words in her eyes she seems to be trying to tell him and Draco refuses every single one. Pansy had been right when she said his pride would be his downfall one day. Even here he couldn't take the shame of being confined to the lowest of lows.
Finally, she tears herself away from his gaze and the bed to fix the tray she had brought the supplies to fix him up. It's when her back is turned to him that her cold behavior gets a grip on him. Her son was sentenced to death and she was doing nothing to stop it. He hadn't realized when he'd become reliant on her to save him, but seeing her now and her reluctance towards him after everything tore the last piece he had left to give right from under his feet.
"Did you even care?" He asks in a low, raspy voice. It's the first thing he'd said to her this entire time. She pauses with her back still towards him. She seemed to have expected it.
It was a general question, yet the weight of it increased tenfold in the brief silence that followed.
"Would you accept my apology if I had?"
Draco goes quiet then looks at her. "No, I suppose not."
Narcissa slowly nods and turns away having already known his answer years ago. Just like that, he felt like he lost the last tether between his family permanently.
There's a loud knock at the door. Draco knows this is it. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath ignoring the pain that shoots through him. Suddenly he thinks about Harry and what his reaction would be. A sad smile sketches itself on his face as he thinks about the past few days. He had called from the beginning of the trainwreck that it wouldn't last. Borrowed time, he called it. Even so, he probably couldn't ask for a better last few days if he tried. He was one of the few lucky ones.
His mother picks up the tray and gives him one last once-over before turning her back on him to move to the door. The large, heavy mahogany doors require a rap of her wand for them to give an eerie creak and open wide enough to reveal a uniformed death eater.
"The Dark Lord has requested his presence." Their voice is hidden by a spell of some kind for anonymity. The in-human buzz to it gives it away immediately.
She nods formally, moving aside to allow them to slip inside soundless before slipping out herself and shutting the door behind her leaving him and the person alone.
Despite himself, Draco still tries to regain some of his dignity by pulling the blanket to cover some of his nearly naked body. The death eater doesn't move from where they'd stepped into the room originally. They continue to watch Draco stonily from behind their mask.
They were relatively short, probably less than 5'5, and not the broadest of frames. He thought he might have a chance to fight them for their wand if it came down to it. The idea is dismissed quickly though seeing as it hurts to breathe at the moment and the building was filled with people who wouldn't hesitate to kill him.
"Up," they say simply. Once in his life, Draco would have laughed at the absurdity of being given orders in his own home from anyone other than his father, but now he only blinks and raises a mocking eyebrow.
"Really? Couldn't you just levitate me to further humiliate me or is it beyond your capabilities? I seem to be in a slight predicament here and I would be wordlessly grateful for your… generosity seeing it was one of your kind that did it in the first place." He really shouldn't make the situation worse for himself but it was that or dissolving into a pit of nerves.
Surprisingly the death eater doesn't lash out at his tongue. They just cock their head at him in a way achingly familiar way he can't place his finger on. "I could parade you through the halls naked if you want. And considering you're one of my kind, you'd think you'll hold your tongue." They flick their wand and suddenly there was a plain dark green shirt and a loose-fitting pair of black trousers on the bedside table. Muggle clothing.
Draco looks away from the death eater and to the clothes swallowing nervously. The back of his throat was starting to get sore from the repetition of it. He closes his eyes with a shuddering breath. The tendrils of dread covering him head to toe pulled harder, seemingly restricting him to the bed. No matter what he couldn't bring himself to march to his death.
Suddenly there was a swish and faint breeze that slipped over him. He shifted with confusion realizing they had banished and conjured the clothes onto him. He blinked once, twice, before looking back at them. They still had their wand pointed at him.
"Up," they demand. It's harsh considering the small act of kindness they had just shown him. It makes him long for his mother to come back through the door and he curses the mere thought.
Things had changed so rapidly and he was at loss. He didn't like being caught off guard, but he should still be on top of these things, right? He was a Slytherin and that meant coming on top even if you died trying. And yet, he couldn't bring himself to try either. Stuck between a limbo of not wanting to die and not having enough energy to fight it.
"Why am I here in the first place?" He asks, after managing to bring himself up in a sitting position. It was easier than he expected. His mother must have given him a numbing potion. He goes down the rabbit hole with that and wonders whether the killing curse hurt or did your soul leave your body on impact? And he knew by experience no potion could lessen the ache of the cruciatus.
"You disobeyed our Lord. You're a traitor." There's something in their voice he can't quite identify despite the voice changer spell.
"Cut the shit, yes? I mean in here," he gestures to the bedroom around him. "And not in the cellars?"
"That is the Dark Lord's business and not mine." They respond sharply. "But I could make arrangements."
Draco scoffs, "Brilliant. I'm sure I'll be looking forward to it after our little meeting. Do you think he prefers green or eral tea with his biscuits?"
They don't respond to that. It seems he has hit a nerve in disrespecting their leader. They're beside him now, pulling him up from under his shoulder sharply causing him to wince.
He could do it now, he thinks. Perhaps he could throw some weight around to catch them off guard- but he's too late. They wave their wand and without a word, his wrists become bound together behind his back.
They shove him forward and he stumbles a little bit. He looks back but their expression is vacant behind their mask. He catches their dark brown irises and faintly wonders who they could be.
They're holding him by his forearm as they lead him out from his room and into the freezing halls. There's no one else guarding the door which comes as a surprise. It shouldn't be that off- even the months before his sudden 'escape' death eaters barely wandered the family quarters either because they had no need to or were afraid they might fall into one of the manor's frequent traps for unwanted visitors. It only makes the location in which he woke up even that more suspicious.
Draco struggles to keep up with the brisk pace his captor has set pulling him through the empty corridor. He'll admit though that it keeps him from thinking too much about the memories of the locations they pass. Walking past the master chambers where his parents slept gives him the biggest chill of them all. The death eater either doesn't care or too eager to get him under their master's fury begging for mercy as quickly as possible.
It takes him a moment or two to realize they weren't going in the direction of the ballroom, where the Dark Lord has taken up as his throne room, at all.
The air in his lungs seems lighter yet even more contradicting as he stares down the person holding his arm with newfound interest. He doesn't want to call the feeling hope in fear it'll be crushed, but his mind runs rapidly with the different possibilities. There were too many questions bubbling inside him to focus on a single one.
As if noticing his distress, the hand on his forearm grows tighter. They're looking straight avoiding looking at him. They check behind them to see if they're being followed before leaning in close to Draco's ear from behind. "Keep quiet."
Draco wasn't going to say anything, he doesn't think he could if he tried, because he's too scared to balls up whatever half-assed plan they must have in mind and putting them both in hell's deep fryer.
Why are you doing this?
They're going down the hallway that leads to the guest sitting rooms when they hear voices coming towards them. They're both older men by the deep scratchiness of their voices. None of the sophisticated upper-class accent most of the company of his family had.
" - a fighter that one - "
" - rather good - annoying -"
" - I wouldn't -"
For their credit, they don't freeze up at the sound as Draco would have. They continue walking head-on into the duo. For a moment Draco thinks perhaps he was wrong about their intentions and he really was going to the Dark Lord after all.
Draco keeps his head down just in case, not that they wouldn't recognize him immediately after he'd lived in the building for months. They were a couple feet from the pair when they finally notice their existence.
"What'cha got here?" One asks with faint amusement in his voice. "Got put on your first assignment, eh?"
"I'll say it's not making itself out all that it was meant to be."
One of them laughs. All Draco can see is their freshly polished shoes. He wonderers how much polishing they'll need if he threw up on them right then.
"Trust me, if he's pleased I'm sure you'll get your reward." Draco internal cringes at the sickening implications in the death eater's voices as they stare down at him. Like he was some animal. "Say, is that the little bastard Bhagat brought in?"
Loose locks of hair cover his face enough for Draco's brows to furrow together figuring out if this was some extra mind game for him. Surely they recognized him in they knew about Yatin?
"And if it is?"
"No need to get aggressive. Just askin'. The poor boy's fathers in for a treat. I say that exactly what the lot of them deserve though. A waste of talent and blood. A pity."
It was a horrible muddled up feeling to hear something bad has happened to someone you hated. On one side you felt terribly guilty and on the other, good riddance. Yatin was a piece of shit but he was just as wrapped up in something so much bigger than himself just like Draco once was. The smallest bit of humanity felt in him felt pity for the younger teen. He didn't know what it was or what happened, but by the sound of it, it couldn't have been good. But why would he have been punished for bringing in Draco, on the Dark Lords hit list, in the first place?
The person holding him huffs. "If you'll excuse me the Dark Lord has asked for his presence immediately and since it seems both are you insistent upon wasting my time, I'll make sure to tell him of the inconvenience on arrival."
Their fingers dig into Draco's shoulders almost threateningly (It's against one of the gashes too) as they pull him around them and further down the corridor. Draco's stomach is in knots. He can't believe nothing had happened to them. Is this random person really risking their lives for him? What were they getting out of this?
"What's got their knickers in a twist?" One of them asks the other when they think the two of these are far away enough. Neither of them comments on the fact they went the wrong way.
Draco had barely had time to come to terms with the fact he has going to die when he first woke up before that was turned on its head. Maybe his hope of surviving this would have been stronger if he had more time to process that. Whoever this person was seemed to be going on a whim trying to get him out of here. The lack of planning was making him twitch and mind to squirm thinking about everything that could go wrong. It was enough to make him do the one thing he was told not to.
"Why are you doing this?" He asks barely above a whisper. He tilts his head back enough to see their mask. He can't tell if they heard him not as they continue staring straight ahead while pulling him along.
"Shut up. What do you not understand about that?"
"Please," he asks desperately, "What happened to Bhagat?"
"That's none of your business."
They cast a silencing spell on him after that. Draco feels pathetic shuffling his weak legs in front of theirs having no direction of what was happening to him.
Eventually, they come across another locked door and this time Draco knows exactly what it leads to. They rap their wand against the door muttering the password to the kitchen that hadn't changed since he was a little boy.
"Arrowroot."
The door creaks open. There's a bustling activity of frantic house-elves inside of the enormous room. They're preparing a feast it looks like with the amount of already prepared food set up on the counters ready to be served. Christmas dinner, he thinks, then hesitates. He hadn't been thinking how long he'd been asleep when he woke up. Was it even the 25th anymore? Merlin knows how long he must have been asleep - but he doubted Voldemort would wait that long to tear him to pieces…
The elves freeze when they see the two of them. If his life wasn't on the line he would have laughed at their dumbfounded faces.
"Whats are you doing here, ma'am? Do you needs anything?"
Draco blinks. The house-elf speaking was Pobpey, his father's favorite for being excruciatingly respectful to the Malfoy's. Even passing by him in the halls when he was younger he wouldn't hesitate to trip over himself bowing. He hadn't been officially disowned from the Malfoy's, he doesn't think anyways, so they should still be loyal to him. Unless they were ordered not to, but why in Godric's beard would they do that if they didn't think he'll ever come back?
And then he sees it.
Oh, he thinks softly. He can see himself in the shining silver dinner platter the small elf is holding. That… makes sense I suppose. He doesn't know how he hadn't noticed it, let alone felt it before, but they're long thick gashes across his face. Two on his left cheek from his cheekbone to his temple that just barely misses his eye. The other is from his chin to his nose, before branching out in a curve towards his right. Dozens of vivid bruises marked those wherever those didn't. The back part of his scalp was shaved too. Just enough that a thick bandage could be applied. He blinks a couple times to register it, and when he does, he can barely believe it. Just to prove it he wiggled his face around and against felt to pain. It had a glamour of some kind, but he certainly didn't feel like there was one…
He goes to move a hand to touch his face only to remember they're still tied behind his back. No matter what it was it was a damned good disguise. Did his mother do this when he was sleeping? The smallest, briefest flame of hope ignites inside him, but not for his safety.
"-llowed, ma'am. Master has told me absolutely no one go through those!"
"And what would you do? Are you disobeying direct orders from me?" The person holding him growls. He doesn't need to see their eyes to know their full of loathing.
The elf hesitates. It seemed to know better than to accept a battle he cannot win, especially someone seen as his superior.
"Pobpey is loyal to Master Malfoy first, with all due respect."
"Well it's a good thing he's got a death warrant, isn't it? You're loyal to the Darl Lord now and you'll do as I say!." They hiss and Draco almost flinches with the venom in them.
The elf wrings his hands nervously. The other elves in the kitchen have stopped entirely too to watch the scene and whisper among their selves with wide eyes. "Pobpey has promised his allegiance to only one mas-"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
With a great grasp from the other elves in the room, the small elf collapsed to the floor completely rigid. Draco shifts even more unforgettable in their grasp.
Suddenly it clicks on Draco what exactly they're fighting for. Of course- the elf tunnels. How this person knew of them was a shock to him considering it was a Malfoy family secret in case of an attack on the property. His great-great-grandmother had ordered them made after becoming paranoid her elves were working against her and didn't want them apparating in or out, nor roaming her hallways. Most of them were filled up now of course seeing as it was a security risk (ironic). Draco used to play in them when he was younger before he'd been caught. Behind the moving panel on the left wall was the only entrance that had never been discovered and destroyed by his father. Not that he ever dared mess with them again after that day.
"Anyone else going to defy their masters' demands and going to blab their big mouths?"
The other elves frantically shook their heads. Draco had a feeling that none of them would remember this ever happening once they were gone anyways.
All of a sudden there's a piercing shriek that pierces through the ceiling and walls. It puts his brain on vibrato with the sheer agony of it. Everyone else in the room covers their ears desperately with their hands. Draco, not having the same luxury, merely gives a groan that's muted by the silencing spell from before.
Intruder alert
When everyone's hands starting coming down from their ears, they only had a couple seconds before small nozzles appeared from the ceiling. Draco tries to dive for the nearest counter to grab something to cover himself from having known exactly what was about to happen. It was designed to reveal any glamorous, polyjuice, or enchantments when it touched your skin.
It lasted only a few seconds before the nozzles retracted. The elves were staring wide-eyed at them. The other stood in the middle of the kitchen breathing heavy. They hadn't changed from what he saw but then again he had no way to see their face.
The elves popped away from the kitchen after that as per custom so numbers could be counted. Draco's heart jumped at the thought they would tell someone.
"Are you okay?" Draco asks when they're completely alone. The mist must have washed around the silencing spell. They gave a stiff nod. Whatever voice changer spell they had used must have washed away.
They pull out their wand and pint it towards him. Draco flinches before he realizes it was only to vanish the magicked ropes from his wrist. They point roughly to the side of the room that had the tunnels.
"I don't-" Draco says before he realizes what's happening "I don't know a way out. I'll suffocate in there before I find a way out. All the passages are blocked-"
They fish into their robe's pockets before he's done before tossing something at it. He barely catches it, but when he does, he realizes it's a wand. His father's wand. He stares at it in his hands for a long time. How the hell did they get this?
They tear open the small wooden panel from the bottom of the wall. Again, he marvels at how they had known of its location. His mother must have told.
"Go." They simply say. It's feminine for sure. He thinks he can recall it from somewhere.
He pauses, considering asking them to come with him. They're risking their life helping him. He doesn't want them to see them come hurt because of him. That's what Harry would do. What he would want him to do. On a more selfish note, his curiosity has always gone unmatched. He wanted to know who this person is if he'd honest.
"You can come with me. They might find you." He realizes just how un-Slytherin the words sound in his mouth.
They shake their head solemnly. For a second he sees the dark brown eyes under the mask and he knows there's not going to be arguing with him. There's not enough time.
And so he crawls in by himself. The panel snaps shut behind him.
It's dark and cold, and he realizes there that once again that he's all alone in Malfoy Manor fending for himself.
