Shades of Grey

Chapter Sixteen: The Cabinet's Secret

"If you want peace, prepare for war."

- Vegetius

Draco was a hair away from pulling each and every strand of his flaxen-colored mane out and screaming in frustration.

Thus far, the search for the Elder Wand had been futile-they'd begun their hunt for it the day after Granger had met with Potter and exchanged the Resurrection Stone for further orders. That had been roughly a week ago. They were nearing the middle of November now, and Draco couldn't help but worry that their mission was reaching its expiration date. Surely Bellatrix would have been able to garner enough attention for a small and powerful army right now; insane she might have been, but not without an unreasonably high amount of dedication to her cause. There might have been method in her madness; he couldn't say he knew the manic woman well enough to make any sort of accurate assumption. It didn't matter so much that she was his biological aunt-he was as detached from her as he was Voldemort. To him, they were one in the same; they had functioned as a unit during the Second Wizarding War.

All Draco knew was that it was crucial to keep Bellatrix from getting her hands on that wand. The less power she held, the better-giving a Witch without a conscious the most powerful wand known to the Wizarding World was just asking for death and destruction. He didn't want to go there again; he didn't want to be forced to watch the world burn around him. He didn't think he could take it.

And though it went unspoken, he had a hell of a lot more to lose now than he ever did before.

The first two days, they had checked for the Elder Wand in all of the castle's abandoned classrooms. When that search had proven useless, they then ventured on to looking through every classroom that was currently in use. In all probability, it wasn't even within the castle's walls; Potter had probably dropped it wherever the fuck he saw fitting after the Battle of Hogwarts to dispose of it. But Granger wouldn't accept that as an answer-she was determined to check anywhere and everywhere that the wand could possibly be hidden.

To her, that was the entire bloody school as well as the areas surrounding it. It was a tedious week.

When the classroom idea had been a bust, she'd chosen to thoroughly investigate the Headmistress' office. McGonagall didn't mind, of course (it was for the cause), but Draco still felt uncomfortable given the amount of time they spent in that damnable place. More than once he had suggested simply Accio-ing the wand or performing some sort of spell or enchantment to reveal whether or not it was hidden in the crooks and crannies of whatever room they were investigating, but Granger had insisted that it wouldn't work.

"Honestly, Draco," She had told him irritably, huffing as she ran her fingers along the rows of shelves pressed against the walls of McGonagall's office. "It's not as though something as powerful and one-of-a-kind as the Elder Wand is going to be vulnerable to trivial charms designed for locating a lost set of keys or something."

And although he didn't say anything, he paid particular attention to how she addressed him. It was more "Draco" and less "Malfoy" these days. More personal.

He liked it.

But he didn't show it. Broadcasting his emotions was something distasteful-to be looked down on. He supposed a lot of it had to deal with how he was raised; shutting down his emotions and feigning a facade of cool indifference had been second nature to the young Wizard growing up. It had been as natural as breathing. But with Granger...with her, it was different. She felt everything so intensely; she loved and she lost and she expressed everything in-between without a hint of shame or regret. When she grew furious, she'd damn well let you know; when she was upset, the emotions were easy and painful to read on her face. He presumed it was because she'd been bred differently than him; she was, after all, meant to be nothing more than a Mudb-a Muggle-born. He couldn't even call her by the very name that had identified her for so long.

She had changed him. Somehow, some way, she had burrowed underneath his skin and was molding and shifting the way he viewed and interpreted the world. It was terrifying, but he didn't think he'd take any of it back.

He feigned irritation caused by her presence, as was his usual, though the young Wizard was steadily growing to believe that his act wasn't as convincing as he would have liked to imagine. At one point in his life, it had been easy to illustrate disgust for the things Granger said or abhorrence for acts she committed; hating her had been as easy as waking up-it was a part of his normal routine. Something to be expected, something to proud of; she represented the filth of her bloodline, and he symbolized the purity of his own. It was the way he'd been trained to think; to act, to believe, to behave.

And as each day passed, he grew more and more conflicted. With himself, with his bloodline, with everything that had been ingrained in his mind since he was a small child. He had joined Potter's Order for the sake of protecting himself and his parents from imprisonment.

But now what? Now what did he believe in? He didn't know; maybe he'd never actually known. Maybe he'd just been absorbing and digesting the hatred and disgust that had been spoon-fed to him his entire life. Maybe there wasn't anything worth believing in. He just...didn't know anymore.

So he had invested as much of himself into finding the Elder Wand as possible. After they had failed to locate the item in question inside the depths of McGonagall's office, he had suggested they check the Hogwarts grounds; he still stuck by his defense that Potter had probably dropped it around the same location he'd last been seen fighting with the Dark Lord before his fall. But his idea had been as useless as hers-they searched every sight of the grounds and the surrounding areas for a few days and came up with nothing. Draco was at his wit's end. Granger was starting to panic. It seemed as though they were truly out of options; as if the wand would never make its presence known.

That's when she'd gotten the idea.

Once she'd suggested it, it really seemed rather ridiculous that neither one of them had thought to look there sooner. They'd been seated in the library, sifting through books and struggling to find any mention of the Elder Wand, when she'd suddenly gasped in revelation. Leaning forward, she had then described to him a room destined for lost objects; a room that they had both made use of at one point. A space in the castle that was designed for the very purpose they were searching for: retrieving an object said to be lost forever.

The Room of Requirement.

"I remember where it is," She assured him as they tore through the castle; there was something about the determination that lined her features that defined her, in a sense. She was walking briskly towards the floor their destination was located on, her bushy brown hair whipping behind her and her shoes clacking against the worn stone floor of the castle at a near-violent pace.

"It's not exactly hard to find, Granger," Draco had drawled, rolling his eyes and scoffing. "Not if you really need it; not if you've used it before."

He'd gotten a heated glare for that one.

The tricky thing about the Room of Requirement was that its presence was never an absolute guarantee; it came and went with the desires and needs of the pupils of the school. If Draco hadn't known about the secluded room by the time he'd acquired his Dark Mark, his entire sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry might have spiraled even more out of control than it already had. He could only hope that the room would present itself to them today; that it would recognize the urgency and necessity that came with them being admitted into its depths. So when they reached the seventh floor and Granger stepped tentatively towards the approximate location, her eyes wide as she surveyed the wall before them, he realized it was just a normal wall-devoid of any possible secret openings or emerging doors. For a moment Draco felt his heart sink and deflate-they had failed.

But then Hermione's eyes were fluttering closed, and he heard as she inhaled a shaky, jagged burst of air. Glancing over in her direction, he was struck with the desire to inquire after what the hell she was doing, but he was almost afraid to disturb her. She looked so peaceful like this; so filled to the brim with concentration that he couldn't bear to turn away. From the way her lips pursed slightly to the way her eyelids fluttered as she centered her energy and focus around one single thought. Her fingers twitched ever-so-slightly at her sides, and the impulse to reach out and take one of her dainty hands into his much larger ones repulsed and astonished Draco so much that he forced himself to tear his gaze away from her. Clearing his throat, he instead turned to face the wall before them.

If he had been worried at all about the Room of Requirement, his fears evaporated the moment his gaze had been set again on the ancient walls of the castle. He watched as the solid wall began to shift and transform as an elegant door with a large metal handle emerged out of nowhere, solidifying before them with the promise of everything that lay just inside its concealed four walls. She'd done it; she had somehow managed to entice the Room of Requirement into a state of visibility.

He had to admit...he was impressed.

"How did you..." He trailed off, gaping at the extravagant door that had assembled before their very eyes. Whatever he'd been planning to end that sentence with died off on his lips, and Draco swallowed harshly before Granger finally took the initiative to move forward, grasping the large metal handle in her small hand and twisting. With a soft creak the door opened, and both Gryffindor and Slytherin slipped inside of the room's mysterious depths, shutting the entrance behind them with a loud click.

Draco's gaze swept around the room; it looked rather similar to when he'd used it over a year ago. There were stacks of trinkets and possessions long ago forgotten-stacks and piles of material items that had either been deserted out of neglect or lost and had yet to find their way back home. In a space as huge as this that was crammed with thousands of rotting items, Draco had no idea where the hell to even begin. Given the silence that had fallen over his usually-talkative partner, he could assume that she had felt the same way. They had successfully made it inside of the Room of Requirement, but there was still one question that hung in the air, taunting and teasing them: where to start?

"I suppose..." Granger began, clearly straining to think of an appropriate place for them to start. Her gaze swept over the room; over the high piles and stacks of clutter and debris that was pressing in around them. So many material possessions long forgotten...did any of the owners miss them? Did the Wizards and Witches these goods had belonged to even speculate where their things had gone off to? Draco couldn't help but wonder...and as Granger took another step into the place and glanced around, he couldn't help but wonder if she felt the same way. He thought a lot about what she mused over and considered these days-his interest and fascination in the inner mechanisms of her mind had increased at an alarming rate. It was, for lack of a better word, disturbing.

"...we should just start glancing through the piles," She finished, and Draco gave a slight jolt of surprise. He'd almost forgotten she was talking. Instead of responding verbally, Draco merely nodded with a stiff jerk of his head, moving towards a pile containing nothing but what looked like worn textbooks. He needed some space from her; some time to himself to gather up his frantic thoughts-to calm his nerves and take a deep, relaxing breath. She was messing with his head-she was fucking up his thought process and changing the way he felt and thought about things. And he was exhausted; he just...wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep. He wanted everything to go back to the way it had once been.

Or did he?

For all the trouble she'd caused, Granger had gifted Draco with the one thing that no one else had been able to-the ability to feel more freely than he had in years. He would never be like her; he could never express his emotions so carelessly and clumsily as she did, but...he'd been able to let down his guard just a fraction of an inch in her presence the past few months. Surely that alone spoke wonders of what her company did to him- she both soothed and unsettled him. It was a confusing combination of emotions; something complex and intricate that he couldn't even begin to make out. The emotions were sticky and messy and smudged with chaotic uncertainty, and as disturbing as it was, Draco wasn't sure he wanted to give that up. Not that he had tasted a bit of the insanity that came with Hermione Granger-not that he knew what it felt like to be irrational and ridiculous and careless now.

"This place is so...cheerless," He heard her say; her voice was soft and close. It was warm and comfortable; it soothed him. He studied her, knowing that she would be oblivious to the way his silver eyes drank in every inch of her-she was standing over a pile of long-forgotten journals, caressing the spines with delicate strokes of her fingers. "Everything's lost and forgotten."

"They're just waiting for someone to take them home, is all," He responded, his voice gruff. He turned away from her to flip absent-mindedly through a tattered copy of a Potions book, his throat thick and swollen with emotion.

That's what Granger was like: coming home.

"Malfoy!" Granger's voice broke him out of his reverie; he blinked a few times in mild confusion before turning his attention back to her. She was deeper inside of the spacious room now, pointing to something just barely hidden from his eyesight. Confused, he walked towards her, pausing the moment he made out the large, dark, unmistakable shape of the one magical object that had caused him such distress when he was only sixteen years old.

The Vanishing Cabinet. Somehow, it was still here.

Facing the cabinet was like glancing back at the demons of your past. Draco could recall the despair; the humiliation and fear and frustration that accompanied this charmed hunk of wood. Onslaughts of terror that left him weak in the knees and dry in his throat pervaded his mind-he felt vicious stabs of memories from his past; of days and nights where he had spent all of his time perfecting the cabinet and making it possible for the mission he'd been assigned. He knew that if he stretched out his hand, the tips of his fingers would brush against the soft wood of the box that had been left to rot; he knew that if he touched it, the memories would be a thousand times more intense and brutal. It would scorch him to the touch, and as much as he wanted to turn around and leave this part of his life behind him, he knew he couldn't. Rather than answering Granger's abrupt call, he made his way past her and towards the cabinet. Reaching for the handle, a jolt of electricity ran up and down his arm and he attempted to steady himself. Breathing in a greedy gulp of air, he pulled on the cabinet and opened it.

It was empty.

Had he really expected it to be anything else, though? Was he waiting for some sort of sign? For something from his past to come flying out and smother him as he'd so often feared? It felt as though he was always waiting for something these days-for change, for destruction, for disillusionment. For anything to break him from his thoughts and distract him from the questions that choked him. But if he had been expecting a symbolic sort of attachment to this chest-to what lied inside of the cabinet-he didn't find it. He didn't find anything but an empty cabinet; devoid of life and meaning and everything in-between.

Empty. Vacant. He thought the words were very fitting; very reflective of himself.

He didn't know if she was watching him, or if she'd moved on to inspect another pile. It didn't really matter to him in that moment-for all it was worth, there was nothing else in the room but this cabinet. Timid, he glanced inside the unoccupied cabinet once more before hesitantly stepping inside; he wasn't sure what had motivated him to do so, but no sooner had he placed both feet firmly on the inside of the cabinet than he felt something brush against his arm. Stiffening, he turned and saw Granger observing him. Her warm brown eyes were wide with something akin to concern, and as much as he wanted to tell her to bugger off or make up some excuse as to why he was standing inside of a Vanishing Cabinet in the middle of the Room of Requirement, he found that all speech evaded him. His tongue felt thick and his mind foggy, so he merely watched with cautious eyes as-after a moment's deliberation-Hermione raised a foot and lifted herself up into the cabinet along with him, fumbling slightly when she lost her balance and...

Accidentally kicked the door shut behind her in the process.

Pressed tightly against one another, the pair was enveloped in a thick blanket of darkness that hung in the air around them. He'd barely been able to adjust his eyes to the dimness of the small space they found themselves pushed together in when he felt a strange sort of tickle behind his navel. The tight pull of Apparation surrounded him in that moment, and he swore he felt as though he was going to pass out. He scrambled for something to hold onto as he felt himself being transported, and the only thing he could find was...Granger. Her hands had wound themselves around his waist, tugging on the soft cotton of his shirt fiercely as they were torn from the security of Hogwarts to...to where? Draco could only think of one place the Vanishing Cabinet would be sending them-to the sister cabinet it shared a passage with.

In Borgin and Burkes.

By the time the tight, uncomfortable sensation had ebbed away, Draco's shoulders sagged slightly and he exhaled in relief. His fingers were curled into the fabric of Granger's shirt, and while he knew he needed to release her and move as far away from her as he could manage...he didn't. He stayed close; he inhaled the sweet fragrance of her perfume that mixed with the fruity aroma of her shampoo. It was a tantalizing mixture, and he ran his tongue across his bottom lip in order to distract himself from how alluring he found her scent. He could hear nothing over the pounding of his heart and the harsh and labored sounds of their breathing, and he swore that he could feel her heart beating an uneven staccato against his own. The outline of her body molded against his seamlessly, and just when he was preparing to speak and suggest that they venture outside, he heard a thunderous male voice.

"When will she be ready?" The first voice growled-masculine and low. It was full of a sort of ferocity that Draco faintly recognized, and as his blonde brows knit together in a fit of confusion, all he could wonder was who the voice belonged to. Risking the chance of being caught, Draco untangled his limbs from Granger's, reaching over and opening the door of the cabinet just a crack. Blinking and glancing frantically around the dusty establishment of what was-unmistakably-Borgin and Burkes, he spotted two cloaked figures standing near a shelf of what appeared to be pickled goblin eyes. One of them was much bulkier than the other; it was the one who had spoken just moments ago, and judging by his girth alone, he had to be something other than a Wizard. So when he angled his body and Draco caught a glimpse of the face underneath the hood of his robes, he had to refrain from inhaling sharply.

It was Fenrir Greyback.

The other man was a mystery, and try as he might to figure out who it was the werewolf was communicating with, it was to no avail. His palms were sweating as he gripped the corner of the cabinet, holding on tightly as he struggled to hear the exchange between the two-Fenrir would surely work for Bellatrix now; he had to know something about the Witch's plans.

"She has everything she needs for the attack-she's merely waiting for the appropriate time to strike," The mysterious second man responded; his voice was eloquent and smooth-it spoke of an aristocratic upbringing and all of the regality that came with being an ancient member of a Pureblood family.

But who was he?

"So she has them all, then? The Deathly Hallows?" Fenrir seemed skeptical.

"No," The second man corrected, his voice low and even. "The Resurrection Stone and the Cloak of Invisibility have evaded her. But she's in possession of the most crucial of them all-the Elder Wand."

In that moment, Draco swore he felt his heart drop. They were too late; Bellatrix already had the wand. Without it, things were bleak; useless, almost. Without the wand, it gave her the upper hand. And something told Draco that the man speaking to Greyback knew this; something told him that this man-this stranger-was Bellatrix's right hand man. And he was completely right-she was in possession of perhaps the most crucial of all of the Deathly Hallows: the Elder Wand.

It was debatable, of course, that the Wand was the most significant; some might argue that the Cloak of Invisibility was superior, for it allowed people to hide from their enemies. Others might claim that the Resurrection Stone was the most pertinent; it gave people the ability to bring back the dead. But for Draco, it was the Elder Wand-it was the wand that had once belonged to Dumbledore. To Voldemort.

To him.

"So when do we attack?" Fenrir inquired eagerly, breaking Draco out of his state of panic long enough to listen.

"Soon enough, Fenrir, calm down; your bloodlust is nearly as outrageous as Bellatrix's."

"I can't stay holed up in that damn house forever-you know that," Fenrir growled, baring his glittering white teeth at the cloaked man. House? Where the hell were they hiding out at?

"You can manage for a few more days, Greyback," The second man hissed, his voice growing harsh with impatience. "Bellatrix is calling for a meeting at the Shrieking Shack in four days' time-that's when we will discuss what to do with the Order."

"And then we attack?"

"Yes, Fenrir-and then we attack," The man sighed, clearly growing tired of answering the wolfish man's questions. There was a visible shift in the sliver of light through with Draco could see from his cramped position inside of the Vanishing Cabinet, and he noticed that the pair was heading towards the door. He heard the ruffling of metal clinking together-as though one of the men was rooting around in his pocket for loose change. He listened for any further conversation, but could hear nothing but the rattle of money and the slapping of coins down on the counter top for a few passing moments. And then, just when he thought they were done conversing for the day, the second man said to Fenrir-

"We'd best get heading back; you know how Bellatrix hates to be left waiting."

"Do we at least know where we're meant to attack the Order from?" Fenrir asked, clearly trying to weasel information out of the other man. It was clearly established that the unknown Wizard was in charge out of the two-Fenrir had always been a lower-level lackey, more or less, but something about the way this man...addressed the werewolf made Draco feel uneasy; like he knew he held the authority in the situation. Like he relished in it.

"At the heart of where the Wizarding World rests, of course," The other man replied scathingly. "The Ministry of Magic. After that, we erupt into war-and we take down the Wizengamot and the Order in the process."

If the two continued their conversation, it was out of the earshot of either Draco or Hermione. The air in the Vanishing Cabinet had grown still, and when he heard the front door to Borgin and Burkes slam shut after their departure, he shut the door of the Vanishing Cabinet with a thud. This action alone must have triggered something, for that same pull and tug of Apparation rattled his bones and pressed in around him. His hands were clammy as he clawed at the wood of the Cabinet, nearly tumbling out of the wooden box as he felt their journey draw to a close. Gulping in as much air as he could manage, he staggered out of the Vanishing Cabinet and into the Room of Requirement. His legs were like lead; heavy and uncomfortable under the weight of what he'd just learned. Only just now remembering Granger's presence, he whipped around to face her. His heart was hammering in his chest, and the fear he felt coursing through his veins was easily mirrored on her fair features. She was a sickly pallor, her fingers trembling as she brushed a sweat-dampened curl out of her face.

"What do we do?" He managed, his voice hoarse and desperate. His grey eyes searched hers frantically-stormy and turbulent as he sought a solution to their problem. He was praying to Merlin that she would have an answer; she just had to. She always had an answer-a theory, a speculation, a plan. Granger was the one who thought things out; she was the one who planned and memorized and strategized. If anyone knew a way out of this sticky situation, it was her. But all she could say was-

"We prepare for war."

a/N: I hope everyone's doing well! Now that my first year of college is over, I should have more time to update! Things are actually pretty hectic for me right now, but I found the time to write the chapter and figured, "Why the hell not?!" I hope it sounds alright-things are about to get really heated in the plot, so I've been trying to set that up, as you can probably guess with this chapter! I have the next handful of chapters planned; I don't know when they'll be out, but at least I know what i want to happen in them! Again, I hope you're all having a great year so far! Don't forget to review and let me know what you think :).