Chapter 2 - Suicide Mission
When Draco awoke the sun was creeping up over the horizon. He was in the infirmary and all was quiet.
He found stark white bandages lacing his front and he ached from head to toe. Draco balled his fists into the sheets.
He hadn't died then, damnit.
Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight and one look around the room told him he was the only student occupying a hospital cot. Draco gingerly rolled onto his side, curling his body into a little ball on the bed.
He cried himself quietly back to sleep.
Draco was released from the Hospital Wing around noon that day. His curse marks had closed much sooner than this, but Madam Pomfrey had infuriatingly kept him hostage until he'd finished an entire plate of breakfast sent up from the kitchens. She'd even forced a vial of Pepper-Up-Potion down his throat, telling him he still looked too peaky for her liking.
He shouldered his bag from the made-up hospital bed and gathered the pile of books into his arms grudgingly.
The house elves had raided his Slytherin dorm to bring him a fresh set of robes and all his school things so he wouldn't have to visit the dungeons before afternoon classes.
Not very helpful, seeing as Draco had no intention of attending them.
He strolled out of the hospital wing and took a sharp left, rather than a right towards Transfiguration. He had no time for silly things like schoolwork. He was headed straight for the Room of Requirement to double his efforts.
Since he hadn't died as he'd so very much hoped, his only option was to continue slaving over the cabinet. It was only a matter of time before his mark burned again as summons from the Dark Lord and he was fairly certain their third meeting would not be so civil if Draco hadn't made any forward progress. Voldemort would likely threaten him with more than just words if he had nothing to show.
Draco rounded a corner, cursing the elves for bringing him every damn book he owned before nearly toppling over from surprise, because there before him, in robes of deep magenta, stood the person he dreaded to find most.
Albus Dumbledore.
Draco's whole body went rigid as the tall thin figure noticed him.
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, a fine day to you. I'd heard what happened and am glad to see you recovered so quickly," Dumbledore said. His dust-grey eyebrows rose in polite interest as he turned to face Draco fully, "But I am awfully surprised to find you in this part of the castle. This is certainly not the most direct route to the Transfiguration classroom if I am not mistaken,"
Draco's heart was pounding in his chest. Why had he come this way? It led him directly by the headmaster's bloody office! The Dark Mark branding his arm seemed to crawl beneath his skin as if it knew who was standing just steps before him. His entire body had broken out in a cold sweat and he was overcome with a strong urge to turn tail and run.
"Unless," Dumbledore said curiously, giving Draco a piercing stare, "You've come to tell me something?"
At these words, Draco's hands became useless as jellied toadstools. The pile of books he'd been carrying tumbled out of his arms and spilled across the floor at the headmaster's feet.
Dumbledore's wand appeared from the fringe of his robes and with a flick, the pile of books picked themselves up with a haughty flourish and began arranging themselves in midair. Draco gulped, watching the eccentric man hum absently as the books sorted themselves out.
I could do it now. Draco realized, face paling, It's just me and Dumbledore in this corridor.
There wouldn't have to be a dual or a struggle. He just had to take the headmaster by surprise. Catch him off his guard.
Draco's hand began to tremble as his grip tightened around his wand.
It was only two words. Avada Kedavra. He knew the theory behind the curse already. He'd studied it for hours. Practiced it on ants and flies.
Just say it.
Avada
Kedavra
But this was different. This was a person and Draco had never killed anyone before. He wasn't prepared for this. How could he ever be prepared for this? Besides the fact, this man was possibly the only wizard who could match Voldemort himself. Did he really want to destroy the light side's strongest player and leave The Dark Lord with such an advantage? How would his family ever get out from under the madman?
But then Draco's books were all in line and nudging his chest expectantly. He hastily put his arms out to accept the now alphabetized pile. He staggered when the weight dropped back into his grip.
Dumbledore was peering at him over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. Those blue eyes gave him the feeling of being x-rayed. Like Dumbledore knew exactly what he was up to. Draco instinctively threw forth his occlumency barriers but never felt the old man attempt to pry. He was just looking at him with the strangest, unreadable expression.
"Well, Mr. Malfoy? Is there something you would like to tell me?"
"No sir," Draco said immediately.
The Headmaster stared at him for a few moments longer before beginning again, "Draco, I can only imagine that times must be hard for you and your family after what happened to Lucious, but I hope you realize there isn't anyone in this world who can force you to do something you don't want to,"
Malfoy's eye's widened. The hell is he playing at? "I-I don't know what you're talking about,"
Dumbledore held his hands up benignantly. "I mean no harm. I only wish to inform you that you always have more than one choice in this world and help will always be given to those who ask. For example, if you need a safe place to stay while your father is absent, Hogwarts can become more than just a school. It can be the safest place on earth,"
"I-I don't need help or a place to stay. I'm fine. I've got to get to class, Professor," He stammered
For the blink of an eye, Dumbledore's aged face revealed disappointment, but the momentary emotion was gone as soon as it had come. "Very well, Mr. Malfoy. I suspect you should run if you want to make it on time. I'm sure you wouldn't want to ruffle professor McGonagall's feathers by being late. Minerva can be rather strict you know,"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Draco took his dismissal and hurried past the headmaster with his head down, but he did not go to Transfiguration, or even to the Room of Requirement. He dipped into the nearest restroom and hardly made it into a stall before vomiting up his entire breakfast.
That night in the Slytherin dorms, long after Blaise and Pansy had finished raking Potter's name through the coals, Crabbe and Goyle grunting along in agreement, Draco found himself hidden away behind the curtains of his four-poster bed. He'd sealed them magically shut so he would not be disturbed. A charmed jar full of flames bobbed overhead as lighting, casting flickering shadows across his mattress.
I can't kill him. I can't fucking do it. Today proves that. Malfoy thought, hands shaking as he pulled a leather-bound sketchbook from the hidden compartment within his headboard. Along with it, he produced a bottle of Madam Rosmerta's oak-matured mead.
Having her under the imperious curse had its perks beyond futile murder attempts, he supposed.
He fumbled the cork off with a pop and took several large swallows straight from the bottle, praying the alcohol might settle his nerves.
He would have to start planning a new tactic tonight and he had the beginnings of an idea.
A horrible idea.
He shuddered and took another long drink before propping the bottle upright between his pillows and turning his attention to the notebook. He flipped it open and thumbed through his neatly organized notes.
He'd written pages and pages on assassination, poisons, vanishing cabinets, and disenchantment charms. It represented hours spent in the library, pouring over books and scrolls, perfecting magic far beyond his age and schooling. He'd mastered nonverbal magic during his research, occlumency, and even the unforgivables. His imperius curse was flawless judging by how easily he'd gained control of that bar wench, and though he'd never used it on another person, he was certain he was capable of casting the cruciatous curse. Potter would have been his first victim if he'd been given the chance, though admittedly he was not proud of that fact.
The killing curse on the other hand...
He grimaced and shook his head, scrolling through the pages more quickly. No matter what fantastic magical feats he had accomplished or how well he'd built up the scaffolding of this plan, it had all been for naught.
He would never be able to make the final move.
He could checkmate all he liked but what good was that if he couldn't finish?
And now that he really thought about it, he simply didn't want to. Dumbledore was too important to kill. As he'd realized earlier, the Headmaster was likely the only one capable of putting an end to Voldemort's uprising. Only if the Dark Lord was defeated could his family truly be free. He was quite decided on hating Lord Voldemort. That bastard could go stuff a broom up his ass for all the trouble he'd caused The Malfoy family.
Draco came to the last marked page and sneered at his script, a stupid plot to lure the headmaster to the top of the astronomy tower in the dead of night...
I'll just have to come up with another way to save my parents.
He could feel the buzz of alcohol beginning to hit him as he dipped his quill into the inkwell balanced on his knee. With a steady hand, he wrote two words across the top of a blank page, going over them a second time so they were boldface.
Draco was a clever boy, and though it had taken him longer than his mother, he had realized the truth in the end. Voldemort had written him two bleak destinies by tasking him with this assassination. Draco would either succeed in killing the headmaster and ensure The Dark Lord's rise to power, or he would fail and give Voldemort reason to make The Malfoys' lives a living hell. Draco was just an object to him. A disposable tool. A means to an end.
But Voldemort was wrong.
Draco was neither of those things and he refused to accept any predetermined destiny, so since he didn't like option one or two, he was just going to have to carve out a third. One in which he saved his parents and helped thwart the Dark Lord in one fell swoop.
He felt a jitter of fear run through him as he read the words he'd written silently, reaching out to take another swallow of mead.
Suicide Mission
That's what this whole thing had been all along anyway, so why not take it a bit more literally? He, Draco Malfoy, had to begin planning the death of an alternative target.
Tonight, he would begin planning his own death.
By the time he'd gained the nerve to continue writing, he was quite drunk.
Nearly half the bottle of mead was gone and it was taking an enormous amount of concentration not to spill the little container of ink that kept threatening to tip each time he clumsily dunked his quill.
Rule number one, he wrote in surprisingly elegant cursive despite his state.
This suicide, must not look like a suicide.
Draco blew on the wet ink lightly and nodded to himself. Rule number one was paramount. Mercy, if the Dark Lord realized Draco had offed himself just to slack his duties, the madman wouldn't just kill his parents, but all the peacocks and koi in the Malfoy yard as well.
No. The Dark Lord must not know that Draco had any part of his own demise. It would defeat his entire noble, bloody purpose and undoubtedly cost his parents their lives.
Such a Hufflepuff or Gryffindor thing to be planning, he thought disgustedly. Slytherin's were supposed to be self-preserving. He frowned and tapped the mead bottle with his pointer finger thoughtfully, again coming up short in conjuring any other solution than killing himself. No matter how much cunning or slyness he possessed, he could not think of a better way to fix the situation.
How far he had fallen. He raised the bottle and gave cheers to the air as if honoring the demise of this former Slytherin quality and took another swig.
Rule number two. He scripted neatly, moving his quill down the page several inches. His inebriation was making it almost like a game.
Witnesses must be present.
Yes, witnesses were a must, he thought, dusting his chin with the feathered end of his quill. Witnesses meant there would be no question in exactly how he died. Inexplicable, irrefutable evidence. Rumors would spread and no one would be able to say his death had been anything more than a tragic accident. As so plainly described by rule number one, there must not be even a vague inkling that Draco had been planning to die.
He dipped his quill once more after another thoughtful pause and moved even further down the page. He scribbled out the last and final rule. Possibly his favorite rule.
Rule number three.
He chuckled quietly to himself, hiccoughing as he laughed at the idea he'd come up with.
Harry Potter must be responsible for my death.
The wet ink glinted in the dancing flame light as it dried. Draco smiled grimly as he reread the last bullet over again.
Why must it be Potter? Because the thought that had sprung to him several weeks ago as he'd been trying to croak in Potter's lap had been fucking genius. What better way to enrage the Dark Lord than to give Potter another leg up? Draco wanted to irritate the Dark Lord as much as possible if he was going to die because of him.
The final rule would also serve to satisfy his funny little grudge against The Golden Boy. "An obsession" Pansy or Blaise would call it. Ever since that damn messy-haired 11-year-old had made him look like an utter fool in front of their entire grade. Turning his friendship down as if it belonged in the mud.
Damn Potter.
Draco felt that rule number three was possibly as important as rule number one. He thought back on Potter's stricken expression as he'd desperately shoved his Gryffindor sweater against Draco's chest to stop the blood from spilling. Potter had been utterly distraught with the idea of taking an innocent life.
Not that Draco was exactly innocent if one considered the Dark Mark slithering across his flesh. He shivered and tugged at the sleeve covering his left arm absently.
It was settled. Potter would be the one. If Draco was lucky, Potter would be emotionally scarred for life. Not that the Gryffindor didn't have enough emotional scars as it was. Parents: dead. Godfather: dead. Raised by fat stupid muggles who half-starved him, judging by how scrawny he became after each summer holiday.
And if the rumors surrounding the prophecy were true, and Potter really was the one destined to kill Voldemort... Draco pursed his lips.
He suddenly felt very sorry for Harry Potter.
But not sorry enough to change his mind.
He set his quill aside and re-read the rules one more time. As far as dying went, Draco thought his planning was going rather well. The alcohol might have helped take the edge off a bit but how else was he supposed to stay sane as he planned his own murder, for Merlin's sake?
He frowned as he capped the ink.
His idea was a good one, he knew it. It was the best way to end his circumstance with the least number of casualties. His mother and father would be spared, their muggle loving headmaster would walk free, and if he managed to die before fixing the vanishing cabinet, he would save a number of students from the Death Eaters he'd planned to set loose on the grounds.
All that would be great. Brilliant in fact.
But still, he didn't want to die.
He swallowed hard and stared up at the canopy which tilted pleasantly under the effects of the drink. He had actually contemplated going to Dumbledore earlier that day, taking the senile old coot up on his offer. "Hogwarts can become more than just a school. It can be the safest place on earth,"
But Draco knew that was no option. He would condemn his parents to death if he did that.
This was the corner he'd been backed into.
Draco snapped the notebook shut suddenly and tipped the bottle back. He didn't care if he woke up with a hangover. Tonight, he wanted to forget-
"Draco?" Came a muffled voice from beyond his bed curtains. He practically choked on the mouthful of mead he'd just taken. The fabric rustled as the person on the other side tugged at it.
"Draco, I know you're awake in there. Let me in," It was Pansy.
As quickly as he could, he gathered up his notebook and shoved it back into the secret compartment before grabbing his sleeve and hauling it up over his forearm. The black ink stood out harshly against his pale skin in the artificial light. The Dark Mark writhed indignantly as he pressed the tip of his wand to it and muttered an incantation, concealing the tattoo temporarily from view.
Satisfied that the Mark was convincingly covered, he smoothed his hair into what he hoped was a bit more dignified style and flicked his wand at the curtains, undoing the privacy charm. As soon as the spell lifted, Pansy prized apart the curtains and let herself in.
"Pansy, what you're doing up at this hour?" He asked in the best impersonation of a sober person he could muster.
She clambered onto his bedspread and drew the curtains shut behind her as casually as if she'd just strolled into her own drawing-room. She gave him a wry smile and tossed the nap sack she'd brought aside. "I couldn't sleep if you must know. And by the way, I could ask you the same question,"
She spotted the half-finished bottle of mead balanced upright against his leg. Her eyes widened and one of her brows lifted, "You've been drinking and didn't invite me? How on earth did you even sneak that in here?"
"I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," He said nonchalantly, unable to help himself from chuckling as she held out her hand expectantly, looking as entitled as a princess in her silken white house robe embroidered with emerald green and gold.
"Always so sly and mysterious," She said, taking the bottle from him and raising it to her lips.
"And don't forget clever,"
She gave his shoulder a playful shove. "I would never forget that, Draco, darling," She helped herself to a few more sips before settling back into his pillows, making herself quite at home.
He joined her willingly, flopping into the pillows beside her. "So to what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you wanted to put a stop to these nighttime meetings?"
She pursed her lips, "When exactly did I say that? Besides, I was worried about you. I wanted to come and make sure you were really okay. You've heard that Moaning Myrtle's been visiting nearly every girl's room in the entire school to tell the enthralling tale of your and Potter's dual, right? She feels cheated that you lived. She seems to think that if Snape hadn't arrived, she would have gained a handsome ghost companion to join her in the S bend,"
Pansy spoke sarcastically, but Draco could tell she'd been worried. "It wasn't so bad, Pansy. Myrtle's dramatic as they come,"
The brunette frowned as she studied his face, reaching out and tracing his cheek where there must have been a scar. Her thumb found its way down to his mouth and suddenly her lips were on his. He gave into it passively, even letting her unbutton his shirt, her hands working more fervently as the kiss deepened.
She was panting by the time she pulled away, robe slipping dangerously down her shoulder.
"It looks like it must have been pretty serious," She said breathily, skirting her fingers over the many scars now lacing his front. She followed one silvery line all the way down to his navel before moving on to his belt, tugging at the buckle.
He stopped her at that, grabbing her hands in his as gently as possible.
"Not tonight," He said, his own breath coming quite fast, "I was only released from the hospital wing this morning, remember?"
He and Pansy had been friends with benefits since their fourth year. If it were any other girl, it never would have worked. Things would have gotten too complicated and messy, but Pansy was perfect. She didn't cling and she wasn't sentimental about sleeping together. They both understood that this was just a bit of fun. A release for both of them. It didn't matter that Pansy secretly liked Blaise and undoubtably pictured the dark-colored Slytherin beneath her every time they tossed, and it didn't matter that Draco secretly preferred blokes but was alright swinging both ways for a little physical contact.
Her brown eyes twinkled as she studied him, but eventually nodded and dismounted, looking only a little disappointed, "I figured you might say that. It's no matter. Accio,"
The leather sack zoomed into her hand from the foot of the bed, "I smuggled this out of the Great Hall for you. Goyle told me you never made it to supper today, so I thought you might be hungry," She produced a large helping of quiche and several of his favorite chocolate pastries from the bag. His insides were indeed gnawing, now that he took a moment to think about.
"You've gotten thinner," Pansy said as she watched him take a zealous bite. "And you always look so tired and distracted lately. You're starting to worry me, you know. I thought you were just showing off for Blaise and the others on the Hogwarts Express but I'm beginning to wonder if you really are up to something this year,"
He shrugged and continued to chew carefully.
"Talk to me, Draco, I'm your best friend. You're being so secretive. You still never told me why you went home over Halloween or where you've been disappearing to for hours on end all term long. Don't you trust me?"
He swallowed and looked down at the food in his lap. It suddenly tasted like cardboard.
"Tell me you weren't being serious about all that stuff you said. You haven't actually been given a job by You-Know-Who?"
"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't," he said enigmatically.
"This isn't funny, Draco. I know your father is a Death Eater, but do you really care about all those things they believe in? Bloodlines and traitors? Sure it's a good time to harass mudbloods like Granger and Finch-Fletchley, but this isn't about childish school yard disputes," She lowered her voice and leaned in closer, "My parents think there's going to be a war and they don't want any part of it,"
Draco didn't meet her eye.
"Give me your arm," She said suddenly, glaring at him.
"Pansy, you've seen-"
"No, I haven't. It was before Halloween when we were last together properly. Your arm," She said, eye's flashing. He held it out to her with a defiant expression. This had been the reason he'd concealed his new tattoo. She tugged back his sleeve and looked down at the unmarred flesh, running a hand over it, a sigh leaving her.
"I thought for a moment..."
"That I'd taken the mark and become one of The Dark Lord's supremacist slaves?" He scoffed, "Of course not. I agree with you. It's not worth risking my own life in some stupid squabble over which bloodline gets to hold a wand and if it's fair sport to hunt muggles or not,"
Pansy looked relieved to hear him talking like this. She relaxed back into the pillows. "Exactly. It seems like such a stir for what outcome? If we kick the mudbloods out, it's not going to make me and my parents any richer or more magical. We're already plenty well off. As far as I'm concerned, a war would just tax our way of life and I've rather come to enjoy the finer things,"
Draco laughed darkly. "Indeed. If only my father had felt the same way. Maybe he wouldn't have gotten himself locked away in Azkaban," He held out his hand for the bottle which Pansy passed to him sympathetically.
"I'm sorry, Draco, I know your family's caught up in the heart of it. So's Crabbe and Goyle's," Pansy wrapped herself around his arm and cuddled up to his shoulder. "It makes me scared for you. The Dark Lord is so dangerous,"
Draco let his head fall onto Pansy's, setting aside the half-finished dinner. She smelled like lilacs and expensive perfume. It was familiar and comforting.
"You know, you could come stay with my family until the worst of it's over. My mother and father wouldn't mind," She said in a small voice, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt.
Wouldn't that be nice? Draco closed his eyes and let his imagination wander to a universe in which he took Pansy up on her offer and hid away from the world. He could pretend he hadn't just spent the entire night planning a suicide, and forget there was a deadline on his life. He squeezed Pansy harder, a lump coming to his throat. He would be long gone by the end of the year, but hopefully he would leave his friends and family better off than they'd been before.
"Thank you, Pansy," He knew she could hear how thick his voice had become but didn't comment. They were best friends, after all, so she knew well enough to leave it where it was. She untucked the blankets and pulled them up over the two of them before corking the bottle of mead.
"Goodnight," She said, using her wand to douse the jar of flames.
Draco fell asleep with Pansy at his side, thankful for a friend, because even if she didn't know the half of it, she was there.
Apologies for any grammar/spelling errors I missed. Thank you for the follows and favorites ~ much appreciated :)