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An hour later, as Draco took his third sip of Firewhiskey while lounging with Blaise and Pansy in the Slytherin common room, he once again found himself wondering what he was failing to see. It was obvious that a large contingent of his housemates were up to no good. He could see it in their body language, in the way they averted their gazes after a second or two, in the things they skirted around saying. But just how bad was it?
"—still can't believe the gall," railed an obviously drunk Norman Burton as he slouched with his entourage in the archway by Draco's sitting area, "That stupid mudblood bitch has no right to belittle me! No right!"
Draco cocked his head at the scene the 5th year was beginning to cause.
Someone can't hold his alcohol.
He caught Burton's gaze as the younger man continued his sloppy tirade, suspecting he knew exactly who had caused such a churlish outburst.
Granger's been at it again. He couldn't help but smirk internally at the thought. Good for her. Idiots like Norman Burton need to be taken down a peg or two.
Realizing he'd been noticed, Burton slunk his way over to Draco, incorrectly assuming they shared solidarity over bigotry that Draco no longer harbored after the war. Burton's stupid gaggle of cronies followed behind him like mindless lemmings, crowding around the sitting area Malfoy had been sharing silently with Blaise and Pansy.
"Malfoy knows what I mean," Burton said smugly to the friend on his left, "He's stuck with the bitch 24/7. What's it like living with Granger, Malfoy?
Draco raised an eyebrow at Burton's question, "You're speaking to your Head Boy, who also happens to be a former Death Eater. We're not friends. Is that really the tone you want to take with me?"
Burton's face paled considerably. "I-I'm just saying what everyone here's thinking. I thought y-you of all people would agree with me."
"Well you thought wrong, Burton," Draco replied mockingly, "It benefits me much more to side with the winning side of history, and that's exactly what I intend to do."
Before Burton had a chance to respond to the insult, Theo emerged from the shadows beyond the adjacent archway, a knowing smirk on his face.
"How progressive of you," he teased sardonically. Curiously, Burton allowed the interruption, deferring to Theo's authority in the social situation. Interesting indeed.
Theo continued, "You disappoint me in your predictability, Malfoy. Can't say I blame you, all things considered. But still, what a fall from grace. Why don't I show you what the winning side of history really promises to look like?"
Draco's eyes narrowed in suspicion at Theo's entreaty, a million thoughts and warnings racing through his head. He knew an opening when he saw one. This was his chance to figure out what the fuck was going on in Slytherin.
There was a good probability it could be a set-up of some sort, but Draco had come to this Merlinforsaken party for answers, and he was damned well going to get them one way or another.
Fuck it, I'll play whatever game you're playing, Theo.
"The battle's already been won, Nott. What history is there to change?" Draco asked stiffly, finding it easy enough to infuse suspicion and distrust in his expression and tone.
"Oh there's history that's yet to be made, Malfoy," Theo said with an oily assurance, gesturing at the common room around them and at its inhabitants, most of whom were upperclassmen.
He turned to leave the way he came through the darkened archway, "You can either be a part of it or be left behind. Your choice. You coming, or not?"
It took only a split-second for Draco to make his decision—this was what he'd come here for, after all. He could be walking into a trap of some sort, but what could possibly be worse than what he'd already gone through with Voldemort? The trauma served as a grim security blanket in the face of the unknown, and for once he was glad to have it. He'd already hit rock bottom before.
"Lead the way, Nott."
"Draco!" Pansy's stricken voice came from behind him as he turned to leave. She'd stood abruptly from her seat closer to the hearth.
Theo's head whipped in her direction, and Draco was able to catch the tail-end of a warning, thunderous look on his face before it disappeared behind a muted mask of diminished expression. Pansy looked stricken as she looked back and forth between Draco and Theo.
"Just... goodnight," Pansy finished lamely, averting her eyes. Draco rolled his eyes internally. Well that confirms it. I'm walking into something bad.
He briefly caught Blaze's intrigued and confused expression, then panned back to Pansy's downturned gaze and nodded decisively, "I'll see you at breakfast, Pans."
Her beseeching gaze communicated so much, yet so little in that moment, but before Draco had a chance to do more than nod, Theo had begun his retreat through the shadowed archway. Without another look at his former sitting companions, Draco followed Theo into the darkness beyond the common room. Another Slytherin housemate followed behind the two 8th year boys, and Draco once again wondered at the scale of what he was walking into.
Draco's wand had been poised for action during his exchange in the common room just now, and he continued to hold it at the ready as Theo quietly led the way out of the Slytherin common room and into the darkened halls of Hogwarts late at night. He wondered at the fact that Theo and his lackey seemed to know exactly where they were going, even in the darkened hallways of a cloudy night.
They've done this before. Just what am I walking into?
Their party of three eventually arrived in the middle of a dead-end hallway on the fifth floor. Theo stepped forward to place his hand on a nondescript patch of stone wall, sliding his fingers around its craggy surface until the digits found what they'd been looking for.
As a door materialized with a few careful proddings of Theo's fingers, it began to dawn on Draco that he might be in over his head.
This isn't just some classroom he's commandeering for the night. This also isn't the Room of Requirement. The only reason he'd let me see any of this is because he's confident I'm not going to tell anyone about it.
Before Draco could begin to think of a contingency plan, Theo had opened the now solidified wooden door and was beckoning him inside. The housemate that had accompanied them hovered ominously behind him, a subtle threat should he attempt to overrule Theo's authority.
With a firm set to his lips, Draco stepped into the room behind Theo, immediately moving to angle his body so he could keep both Nott and his lackey in his line of sight, wand held stiffly at his side.
They'd entered a spacious sitting room with an empty fireplace and only a few dim sources of light. With a flick of Theo's wand, the fireplace and lamps roared to life, while a collection of banners and pennants Draco hadn't noticed unfurled from high up on the walls. They all held the dark mark or some other variation of dark imagery. Dread crept into Draco's stomach.
Theo gestured around at the room, "Not bad, eh Malfoy? We persuaded a few Hufflepuffs to build this room for us over the summer – not that they'd remember any of it. As it happens, a castle rebuild is the perfect time to undertake construction projects when you want them to go undetected."
The pit of dread in Draco's stomach blossomed until it filled every crevice of his body. The only way any Hufflepuff could have been persuaded to help a bunch of Slytherins was if they'd been coerced. And the only way a bunch of students would have been able to construct a hidden room without attracting suspicion, which required a considerable bit of complex magic, was if they'd had outside help. He swallowed down his apprehension and maintained a cool veneer.
"I doubt we came all this way just so you could show me a few of your parlor tricks, Nott. Unless of course you use this room to play show and tell," Draco said with a sneer.
Before Theo could respond, the newly crackling fire to their left erupted in a sudden burst of green sparks and flames, drawing everyone's attention. Draco's dread and apprehension crystallized into fear when first one, then another former Death Eater stepped through the roaring flames. Mulciber?! Selwyn?! What the fuck?!
"Right on time," Theo smirked.
The two grizzled older wizards who were muttering and dusting themselves off in front of the hearth were wanted men.
How the bloody hell were they able to use an unregistered Floo in Hogwarts?! And build a bloody room like this?! This shouldn't be possible!
Draco's housemates seemed completely unsurprised by the shocking turn of events, but Draco was inwardly panicking. A combination of gut-churning fury and buzzing anxiety threatened to overwhelm him with tsunami-like intensity.
That smarmy little bastard! So this is what's going on in the House of Slytherin! It's worse than bad—this is 6th year all over again.
Momentarily distracted by the newcomers, Draco only barely managed to dodge Theo's covert Expelliarmus before all hell broke loose. Although Draco was an incredibly talented duelist, an ambush of four against one would have been unfair for even the most gifted of fighters. He volleyed a series of hexes at the room's inhabitants, making a run for the door while trying to keep everyone in his line of sight.
It took less than thirty seconds before Selwyn managed to incapacitate him with a body blow hex while Theo simultaneously hit him with a well-aimed Incercerous. Draco fell to the ground cursing and shouting the entire time. He landed painfully on his side, his wand clattering out of his hand and rolling uselessly away from him. It was small comfort, but he reminded himself, They haven't tried to kill me yet—they must want something.
Mulciber chuckled darkly as he crouched in front of Draco's fiercely struggling form while Selwyn circled behind them. The Death Eater grabbed the ropes imprisoning the younger man to keep him from crawling away, and dragged him closer until they were eye to eye.
"Not so tough now, are ye' wee Malfoy?" Mulciber taunted smugly, roughly pushing Draco onto his back with Selwyn's help.
"Go fuck yourse–" Draco's furious retort was abruptly cut off with a Silencio, and his frantic movements stilled with a Petrificus Totalus. Mulciber placed the tip of his wand at Draco's temple and at a signal from Selwyn, who'd placed his wand at Draco's other temple, both of them simultaneously cast a strange version of the Imperius curse.
Draco only had a moment to feel abject terror before a wave of honey thick pleasure spilled over him from head to toe. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as every nerve ending in his body sang with sensory overload. The overbearing pleasure crested and left a disorienting haze of bliss in its wake. His previous terror forgotten, all Draco could focus on was the humming energy coursing through his veins. He hadn't felt this good in ages.
Mulciber took a moment to pull out a crumpled piece of parchment to read from, causing Selwyn to roll his eyes and mutter, "Fuck's sake."
Both men finally began to speak in unison, their wands still digging into Draco's temples, "Draco Lucius Malfoy, you've betrayed the pure blood running through your veins, and have brought ruin upon the Malfoy name. The Sons of Salazar will not abide by such a betrayal to the Dark cause.
"We shall right your wrongs, and you shall help us do it. Tonight, you receive a second chance by the grace of our generosity. Tonight, you become one of many Sons of Salazar. You will join us in our crusade to rid magical society of the scourge of blood impurity once and for all, and you will speak of it to absolutely no one who isn't already in this room with you."
Despite the direness of the situation, Draco could barely process the rehearsed words that were being chanted from just above him, though he could feel them anchoring in his mind, slipping through his happy haze like so much oil, and settling onto his subconscious like a syrupy slick.
His unfocused gaze had wandered beyond the two Death Eaters hovering above him, and had landed on the ceiling, where the words 'Sons of Salazar' had been painted into the stone in glittering emerald blackletter typography.
Mulciber and Selwyn's next words disturbed his drunken reverie, but he couldn't remember why their words should matter to him when he felt so good, "Your first mission is to deliver us the mudblood bitch you're rooming with. Hermione Granger must pay for the damage she's inflicted upon pureblood society. You despise her, and you want her to pay as much as we do."
Draco's eyes snapped back to the men hovering above him, cognitive dissonance battering at his artificial stupor ineffectually.
That name, Draco thought sluggishly, Hermione. She's a m-mudblood. I-I hate her?
There was a warmth there, when he thought about her, but he could feel it being chased away by the frigid and total commands being directed at him from above. He could feel old prejudices inexorably beginning to fill the cold emptiness that was left in their wake.
I... hate her.
The Death Eaters continued, "Tomorrow night you're to bring Hermione Granger to this room so she can get what she deserves. You'll do everything in your power to not get caught, and to avoid suspicion."
Mulciber and Selwyn muttered a few spells to ensure their strange variant of the Imperius had taken, and then rose. Mulciber retreated from Draco's line of sight, while Selwyn stood next to Draco's head. The paralysis and silencing spells were lifted, and the ropes restraining him dissolved. Draco sagged into the floor as all the fight and tension left his body, a low groan building in his chest.
Selwyn spoke with malicious glee, "You're not getting off that easy, Malfoy. We have to make sure the spell took, after all. Have to make sure you'll do things the old Draco Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead doing."
He paused for dramatic effect, "I want you to kneel in front of me and lick the dirt off my boots. Can you do that, little Malfoy, hmm? Can you show me you're not so tough after all?"
Immediately, Draco was filled with the compulsion to obey the man who was hovering above him, leering with ill intent and smug satisfaction. He was too far gone to feel embarrassed, humiliated, or any of the number of other emotions the room's inhabitants would have relished from him in that moment.
Instead, he hurriedly rolled onto his stomach and staggered to his knees. He used unsteady arms to support his upper body and crawled closer, wanting to obey this man more than anything else in the world.
His face was only inches away from Selwyn's left boot with his tongue extended to obey when the boot quickly rose to meet his face with a sickening crunch. Draco recoiled instantly as a world of pain blossomed from his nose to radiate throughout his head and neck. He could taste the blood dripping steadily from his nose down into the corners of his mouth.
"Well Malfoy? I'm waiting," Selwyn taunted, breaking through Draco's haze of pain. Confused, Draco shook himself out of his stupor and began to crawl slowly back towards Selwyn's grinning form. He could hear Theo and his Slytherin companion cackling as if from very far away, but was too focused on the task at hand to wonder what they were laughing at.
When Draco reached Selwyn once again, he began to clumsily lean towards the man's boot for a second time, fervent in his irrational compulsion to obey the wizard's command. This time Selwyn's boot caught Draco below the chin. It sent him sprawling backwards with tears streaming down his face, desperately trying not to choke on the combination of blood and tears that were beginning to make it hard to breathe.
Draco was on the razor's edge of pleasure and pain, confusion and an immense desire to please warring for dominance in the back of his mind, while honey thick languor dripped complacently at the forefront of his mind.
"Get back here," growled Selwyn, but Draco struggled to obey.
"I said get back here you pathetic excuse for a wizard!" Selwyn roared angrily when Draco took too long to comply.
Slowly, painfully, Draco crawled his way back to Selwyn, the compulsion to obey so strong, it overrode even his body's protests. At length, he made his third attempt of the night to obey the command he'd been given. This time, his tongue actually made contact with the weathered leather of Selwyn's boot before it rose to catch him in the chest, sending the younger man sprawling once again.
"That'll teach you to betray the dark cause, you worthless welp," Selwyn muttered with satisfaction, clearly finished with his work. With that, he stalked off outside of Draco's line of vision.
Draco lay there for a few moments, trying to make sense of why he felt like he was swimming in a wonderful dream despite the tears streaming down his face, and the pain coursing through his extremities. After a few moments, Theo's gleeful face appeared above him.
"It's better this way, mate. You were a lost cause otherwise," he said glibly as he grabbed Draco by the shoulders and hoisted him into a sitting position. "I'm just glad that modified Imperio didn't turn your brain to mush—would've been a waste."
Dazed, Draco accepted Theo's hand up and stumbled over to the set of chairs where the rest of the room's inhabitants had begun to greet each other and make themselves comfortable. He felt drugged—incapable of stringing together two words, much less full sentences at the moment.
Some minuscule, remote voice in the corner of his mind was screaming with about as much effect as that of a mildly annoying gnat, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to pay attention to it.
The two Death Eaters were conversing amiably with the younger Slytherin who had accompanied him and Theo to the room what felt like an indeterminate amount of time ago. They looked up, and Selwyn clapped his hands and cleared his throat once Draco and Theo seated themselves in adjacent love seats.
Selwyn met the eyes of each person in the room before speaking solemnly, "We met tonight as representatives of a society of wizards united in a noble cause. We swear to carry the mantle of noble pureblood values our Death Eater brethren carried before us. In Voldemort's name, the Sons of Salazar will rise!"
As one, all of the room's inhabitants except Draco raised their wands and called out, "Tenebris manet!"
Glowing green jets of light erupted from their wands and struck the glittering letters on the ceiling, causing the words to glow intensely before erupting outward. With a spectacular shower of green sparks and dazzling light, followed by a thick, choking black mist that extinguished everything in its wake, the room's decorations disappeared in the blink of an eye. The only light left in the remaining darkness was the roaring hearth still illuminating Selwyn's silhouette, and that soon extinguished too.
Later that night, as Draco stumbled tiredly back to his dormitory, he contemplated how he would go about completing his mission. He found it difficult to focus when his face was in so much agony while the rest of his body felt so blissful, but the compulsion to obey was so intense even now that it was all he could think about.
The Heads' quarters were dark and silent when he arrived, which was just as well. It wouldn't do for Granger to see him like this, bloody and injured. He needed more time to prepare a mask of collegiality convincing enough to mirror the feelings for her that Selwyn had nipped in the bud. If he wanted to evade suspicion, he couldn't let his renewed hatred for Granger show, couldn't have her asking questions. Not yet, anyway.
He staggered into his room and slammed the door shut behind him, murmuring a Muffliato in his wake. He made a beeline for his bathroom and lit a few lamps along the way, coming to a stop in front of the bathroom mirror. He was transfixed with the bleeding mess staring back at him.
He definitely had a broken nose, his lip was cut in two places, and his left eye had nearly swollen shut. He gingerly moved his jaw around, wincing at how much even those small movements hurt, but relieved nothing seemed to be badly broken. His mussed platinum blonde hair hung limply in his eyes, stained with his blood, and heavy with his tears. Amidst the wreckage, his gaze remained empty and distant.
With shaking hands, Draco unbuttoned his ruined shirt to reveal the pale expanse of his chest. A red welt near his sternum had begun to bruise, aching with every breath he took. Despite the visible damage and pulsing pain, the only things he could focus on were pleasure continuously coursing through his veins like a drug, and anticipation at finally making Granger pay for being born. Nothing else mattered now.
Grimly, he peeled off his shirt and discarded it carelessly. Next, he cast a series of diagnostic spells on himself to evaluate the extent of the damage the older wizards had wrought upon his body. Draco was clinical in his assessment, noting that his nose was indeed broken, that his left cheekbone had hairline fractures in two places, that his jaw had another hairline fracture, and that his sternum and ribs were bruised.
Despite his uncontrollable shaking, he healed his broken bones with efficient and dispassionate movements. With every healed injury, a fountain of bliss welled up in its place, so that by the time Draco had healed the last of the small fractures, he felt increasingly overcome by euphoria.
Still trembling, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and staggered into the shower. The moment he felt the scalding water touch his skin, he let out a guttural groan and leaned a hand against the cold bathroom tile, giving himself a moment to relish the sensation of water soaking him through.
He watched as the water ran pink with his blood for a few seconds before turning clear. The visual metaphor steered him back to the mission at hand, and sent a thrill racing up his spine.
You're mine, Granger.
He felt himself harden at the thought, his renewed hatred for her only fueling his ardor.
You're going to getwashed away like so much bloody bathwater, just like your dead friends, and magical society will be that much purer for it .
The thought only made him grow harder, until his erection was straining angrily for his attention. With his free hand, Draco used a quivering thumb to rub his precum around the head of his shaft. His eyes rolled backwards at the the sensations his touch caused, his clenched jaw only partially suppressing his ragged moan.
As the scalding water cascaded around him, head bowed with one hand still supporting his weight against the shower wall, Draco stroked himself to the thought of Granger writhing beneath him.
In his fantasy it no longer mattered whether she was his prisoner or with him willingly, all that mattered was that she was there, his to do with as he pleased. His hatred had morphed into an annealed, confused mass of passion, ardor, hatred, and repressed affection – and the combination only further fueled his swirling desire.
Now he imagined it was her hand aggressively gliding along his shaft and bringing him to an explosive completion, wished it was her delicate fingers collecting his cream to lap up like a prize. How he wished to see her heated gaze connecting with his while her tongue did its work. How he wished to caress her skin and grab her hair, controlling her movements.
He panted in the aftermath of his orgasm, lost for a moment in the last wisps of his fantasy as they caressed the deepest confines of his mind before dissipating. All that was left in their wake was an obsessive, warped determination to make her pay.
I'm coming for you, Granger.