Shades of Grey

Chapter Twenty-Two: Blood Traitor

"Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future and renders the present inaccessible."

- Maya Angelou

Over the course of time, Draco Malfoy had learnt that the strangest of packages seemed to arrive in the dead of night. During his sixth year at Hogwarts, Bellatrix and a few others had shown up late in the evening to watch the assassination of one Albus Dumbledore. Once during the year he spent away from all good society, working for the Dark Lord and tending to his every ridiculous whim, he'd spent an entire night watching his comrades take turns torturing and interrogating prisoners of war. And even the Battle of Hogwarts itself was something Draco only became involved in once night had properly fallen. This evening, however, came with a very…different sort of surprise. One Draco had never expected; facing a man he'd only ever seen in photographs and oil paintings.

Rodolphus Lestrange was a rather unkempt sort of man—vastly different from the greasy, groomed bastard he'd seen in so many family albums over the course of his young life; Draco rather supposed that prison life had done wonders to deteriorate the Lestrange patriarch's looks and hygiene…something that had evidently carried on into his life as a free man. Truth be told, Draco had deemed Rodolphus dead long ago; his aunt Bellatrix had always made a point of completely ignoring his existence in favor of devoting all of her worries and soul to serving the Dark Lord…often, Draco mused over whether or not Bellatrix had harbored any romantic feelings at all for her missing husband. As time crept on and Bellatrix became a more prominent part of Draco's adolescent life, the young Malfoy grew more and more inclined to believe that Bellatrix's attachment to Rodolphus was nonexistent.

At this point in his life, he was almost certain of it.

They were certainly an emotionless lot, his aunt and her long lost husband. Even before he'd witnessed his aunt's treachery firsthand, Draco had long since been fearful of her. After all, Witches and Wizards didn't land themselves in Azkaban for frivolous reasons. As a child, before Bellatrix had made the great escape and busted out of the high security wizarding prison, Draco often entertained the thought that she had razor sharp fangs and dark circles under her eyes. Sometimes, he thought she probably looked like a hag; he'd heard all about her trademark curls and dark eyes, but thinking about that manic laugh of hers and the knife she always kept by her side was more than enough to terrify the youngest Malfoy on more than one occasion.

Of course, even his imagination hadn't given Bellatrix's particular brand of insanity enough credit.

Rodolphus, on the other hand, was another story entirely. Neither Narcissa nor Lucius had ever bothered to inform Draco much about the strange man…Draco had always supposed it was due to their severe lack of interest in anything and everything Rodolphus had done. Bellatrix was the Dark Lord's most trusted warrior, Bellatrix was the one who was most directly related to his family, and Bellatrix was the one his mother had been concerned for in Azkaban. Not Rodolphus; never Rodolphus. And up until recently, Draco had never been given much of a reason to concern himself with the man, either.

Of course, the recent discovery that he was not only alive but partnered with his wife in this crazy attempt to rise to power changed things quite a bit.

In hindsight, Draco supposed he should have seen it coming; realistically, Rodolphus would have wanted a private session with Draco to…talk things over. After all, it was only natural to assume that Rodolphus was the brains behind the entire operation; Bellatrix was skilled with a wand and absolutely ruthless, but Draco knew from personal experience that the deranged Witch didn't possess the necessary patience that came with winning a war. He believed that, had it been entirely up to her, Bellatrix would have tried to slaughter everyone right away and would have worried about collecting the Hallows afterwards. She wouldn't have put the sort of planning, waiting, and calculated attack strategies into all of this…probably, she would have just stormed into the Ministry of Magic with a band of followers and started flinging curses at anyone nearby.

No, no, Rodolphus had to be behind this…it only made sense.

Still, though…when Draco was forcibly dragged from his holding cell in the dead of night and deposited into a small, dark room he couldn't make heads or tails of, he was frightened out of his bloody mind. One moment, he'd unwillingly drifted off to sleep after hours of pain and easing in and out of consciousness had overwhelmed him. The next, he'd felt himself being jolted awake by a pair of strong arms dragging his body up two flights of stairs and depositing him on the ground of a small room. Stars dotted his vision, and Draco lifted a trembling hand to rub at the back of his head; he could feel a large knot forming at the base of his skull (probably from his head bashing against both walls and stairs as he was dragged about the entire bloody estate) and knew he'd end up with a nasty bruise come morning.

After a great deal of maneuvering around the darkened room, Draco had discovered it was equipped with a wooden table, two rotting chairs, and what he could only suppose was a lamp in one corner. He settled against one wall, searching his person for any sort of weapon he could possibly use to defend himself…quite unfortunately, however, it all went to waste. Not even five minutes after he'd been so carelessly deposited, the door opened…revealing the tall, slim figure of a man he'd only just properly met a handful of hours before.

Rodolphus Lestrange. Again, he should've seen it coming.

"I see you've made yourself right at home," were the first words to leave the elder man's mouth. Unexpected, certainly, but then again…there was very little Draco even knew about his uncle. Did he and Bellatrix share similar personality traits? Did he crave and lust after murder and power just as terribly as she did? Was he just as prone to bouts of manic delusions and insanity? Was he just as terrifying as she could be?

He supposed there was only one way to find out.

"Clearly," He answered through clenched teeth, pulling himself off of the ground and pressing his back securely against the wall. He was still in a great deal of pain from his torturing session, and while he wanted nothing more than allow his knees to buckle and give way so that he could curl up on the ground and ignore the pain that jolted through his entire frame, he stood tall. He had to. Draco was hardly brave or fierce or noble, but he was an extremely proud and vain sort of individual…one who refused to show weakness in the face of an enemy.

Even if the enemy was his own bloody uncle.

"What? No warm welcome?" Rodolphus asked, reaching for what Draco could only assume was his wand and magically lighting the room. The lamp in the corner flickered to life, illuminating the greasy bastard Draco begrudgingly acknowledged as his uncle. "Your aunt warned me you might be a bit…standoffish."

A plethora of biting remarks tore through Draco's mind, each more sarcastic than the next, but for the sake of staying alive…he remained silent. Rodolphus didn't seem like the sort of bloke Draco would want to piss off; and besides, he had the wand in their current situation. It would be more than a little foolish for Draco to unnecessarily back talk the man keeping him held hostage.

Still, though, one question begged immediate attention, and that was…

"What are you doing here?"

"I've come to have a little chat with you, nephew," Rodolphus explained, yanking the nearest chair out and sitting down. He nodded towards the vacant seat across the table, gesturing for Draco to sit down and join him. Reluctantly, he did.

"Regarding?" Draco demanded, pressing himself against the back of his chair in the hopes of staying as far away from Rodolphus as was physically possible. For all intents and purposes, Draco viewed the man as little more than vermin.

"Surely you must know by now—don't think Bellatrix and myself have been ignorant of what you and your Mudblood have been up to the past few months," Rodolphus drawled, arching one bushy brow in Draco's direction. Draco's lips pressed into a thin line, and the urge to wipe his clammy hands off on his trousers was excruciating…but he wouldn't. He had to remain calm; he had to resist.

"So I'll make it easy for you," He continued, leaning across the table and resting his elbows on the wooden surface. "Where are the remaining Hallows, boy?"

It took a great deal more courage than Draco would ever be able to admit out loud, but finally—and with a great deal of hesitation—he managed to grumble out: "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

Rodolphus responded to this answer by clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth and shaking his head; an obvious sign of dissatisfaction. He shook his head and sighed, twirling his wand in one hand and giving Draco a most disapproving look under the dim light of the flickering lamp. From this angle, the Death Eater looked downright eerie.

"Disappointing—I had expected more from you, you know," Rodolphus commented, assessing Draco from where he sat. "Then again, you are your father's son, aren't you?"

"My father's got nothing to do with this," Draco spat through gritted teeth, clenching his hands into trembling fists underneath the table. If only he had his wand; if only he had some weapon of defense against the sharp-tongued arse seated across from him.

"Perhaps not," Rodolphus commented in an offhand manner, shrugging his shoulders lightly. "Though I'd be interested to see what he and your mother would have to say about this little adventure you've gone on…maybe they could even tell me themselves how to reason with you and the Mudblood. Given the right…motivation, of course."

If there had ever been a time in young Draco Malfoy's life where he'd wanted to completely and ultimately destroy another human being, it was now. It was with Rodolphus Lestrange, and he would show no mercy.

However…with no wand, no backup, and no exit strategy, though, his chances of overpowering his uncle were slim to none at the current moment.

"My my, we are upset, aren't we?" Rodolphus continued, his dry lips cracking into an unpleasant grin. Draco narrowed his eyes in the elder man's direction, determined not to back down. "So I'll ask one final time: where have you and your Mudblood hidden the Hallows?"

"I can't seem to remember," Draco spat, his jaw clenched and nostrils flaring in anger.

"A faulty memory—how unfortunate, nephew," Rodolphus tutted, shoving away from the rickety chair he'd been seated in only moments before in favor of leaning across the table, severing the space that separated them. "Perhaps your Mudblood friend will be able to tell us where they're hidden. She seemed quite vocal when I met her earlier."

Images of torture; of pain and agony and careless treatment of Hermione Granger flooded Draco's mind, and try as he might to sit still and emotionless, the thought was more than enough to send a jolt of pain to his chest. He wanted more than anything to tear this blasted manor to pieces; to rip the Lestrange Estate to bits, stone by stone, until he'd located his partner. Months spent in isolation with Granger had established a sort of dependence between the two, and even the mere idea that she was locked away somewhere in this prison, alone and hurting, was more than enough to cause Draco to falter. His face fell, and though it was only for a moment, the expression was obvious enough for Rodolphus to pick up on.

"Did I strike a nerve, nephew?" He questioned, leaning closer so that his rank breath washed over Draco's face. The youngest Malfoy resisted the impulse to spit in his face. "Worried for your pet, are you?"

"…The Mudblood means nothing to me," Draco forced himself to say; though he'd told himself just days before their capture that Granger was an exception to his prejudice, Draco found that even the utterance of the word tasted like acid in his mouth.

The nasty grin on Rodolphus' face informed him that the elder Wizard didn't buy a damn thing the younger Wizard was saying. And Draco didn't entirely blame him.

"Sure you aren't developing a soft spot for their kind?" He sneered, crossing the room so that he stood before his nephew. Draco grew stiff and rigid from head to toe, praying to Merlin that Rodolphus wouldn't pull any tricks on him tonight. He knew next to nothing about the strange man he was forced to acknowledge as his uncle…but Draco was willing to bet that if he'd married Bellatrix, he had to be every bit as fucked up and cruel as she was.

"Positive," Draco snapped, jutting his chin forward in an act of defiance. He braced himself for what was to come, inwardly wincing when Rodolphus chose to grab roughly at Draco's tattered robes, yanking him to his feet and slamming the young Wizard against the nearest wall. Draco's back cracked and ached from the force of the slam, and he resisted the urge to grunt and flinch in response to Rodolphus' rough treatment. He squirmed against the elder man's restraint, but then Rodolphus was murmuring a Body Bind Curse, and…try as he might to move, Draco was stuck. As though frozen to the spot, the curse prohibited Draco from moving even a fraction of an inch, and he found that he could do little more than glare in his captor's direction. His eyes were narrowed into slits and his nostrils were flaring…and Rodolphus seemed to take no notice of this. Instead, he seemed particularly concentrated on his wand; glancing down at it and running his hands over the smooth wood. He appeared lost in thought, and a slur of curses and insults rose to Draco's mind.

He wanted, more than anything, to somehow win the upper hand in their current situation. True, he was bound still by a curse from the very man who seemed hell bent on torturing information out of him, and he didn't have a wand or weapon to his name, but…perhaps there was something—anything—he could do to escape? Anything at all?

One glance around the small room, however, informed Draco of all he needed to know: there was no possible way for him to defend himself against what was to come. And it was entirely likely that Rodolphus would kill him tonight.

The most dangerous thing about this man, Draco decided, was his unpredictability. He'd been absolutely certain Rodolphus planned on torturing the information out of him, so when the elder Wizard lifted his wand, pointed it at Draco's temple, and hissed "Legilimens", Draco had no time to mentally prepare himself to block out his opponent's advances. He felt pressure all around; as though someone was grabbing hold of his head and crushing his skull. He grit his teeth and felt his body trembling from the inside out. Rodolphus had successfully penetrated the young man's mind, and Draco could feel the magic poking and prodding at his memories invasively. Draco's thoughts slipped through Rodolphus' fingers like sand; he flipped through them quickly and with great intent. Images of past events and circumstances floated to the forefront of Draco's mind, and he felt his throat grow dry and his chest ache at the mere possibility of Rodolphus stumbling across important information. The thought of him coming across the Order's location, what they'd done with the Resurrection Stone, the fact that they'd called an army for back-up shortly before being captured…and then there was Granger. If Rodolphus was given even the slightest bit of insight to the true state of his nephew's feelings for his business partner…then he would surely use it against him. Whether he'd kill Granger or torture her to get to Draco, he was uncertain. He just knew that he had to try to block Rodolphus' advances. It was damn near impossible, given that he'd already penetrated his mind, but…he'd try; no matter how mentally exhausting it might be, he'd try.

Images of him and Granger trekking across Great Britain in search of the Hallows rose to memory; nights where they studied the maps and crossed out areas they'd thoroughly searched ran rampant through his mind. There was the moment he and Granger had discovered the Resurrection Stone with Hagrid, and the meeting gone wrong they'd shared with a Death Eater some time afterwards. The night he'd released Granger from the band of Snatchers who held her captured flitted across his vision…as did the intimacy they shared with one another afterwards. Draco swore he could hear Rodolphus hiss in disgust, and he tried to jerk his head away from the Death Eater, forcing a barrier to slam shut on his memories. He was able to finally force Rodolphus out of his mind—just barely—but the damage was already done. Rodolphus had already seen everything he needed to know.

He knew that Potter had the Stone and the Cloak; he knew that they'd found one of the Hallows at the edge of the Forbidden Forest…that another was already safe with the Order. But, perhaps more important than all of that was the information he'd procured about his nephew's relationship with Harry Potter's precious Muggle-born.

And judging by the look of utter repulsion that crossed Rodolphus' features when he finally managed to tear himself out of Draco's mind, he hadn't missed glossing over a single sordid detail.

Suddenly, Draco felt very, very ill.

"Positive you aren't developing a soft spot for Mudbloods, are you?" Rodolphus spat, his beady eyes narrowing in Draco's direction. He looked ready to bloody throttle the youngest Malfoy, and Draco found that he was genuinely, well…frightened of what this wretched man planned on doing to him. The realization that Draco had developed feelings for a Mudblood seemed to completely outweigh any potential joy or satisfaction that Rodolphus Lestrange might have felt over finally discovering the location of the missing Hallows. Indeed, it seemed to be the only real thing he was concerned with at the present.

Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

"You're the filth of our kind; you're disgusting, Blood Traitor," Rodolphus spat, and the insult stung worse than Draco cared to admit. His whole life—his entire bloody existence—had revolved around the fact that he was considered one of the elite Purebloods…he descended from a line of nothing but Purebloods. And hadn't he himself spent years upon years at Hogwarts scorning people like the Weasleys? Purebloods who fraternized with those of impure blood?

And yet…here he was; here was what his entire life boiled down to. All of those years of status, wealth, and an elite frame of mind...and at the end of the day, he was a Blood Traitor, too. It was by no means the first time he'd thought about it since growing close to Granger, nor would it be the last.

What was extraordinary about this instance, though, was his inability to care. Six months ago, he might have been defensive and humiliated over the mere mention of him being a Blood Traitor. Now, though, all he had to think about was Granger, and all other petty titles and insecurities melted away.

All that mattered was her safety. Not his title or validation as a Pureblood. Rodolphus didn't know this yet…but he would soon enough.

"Well?" Rodolphus barked, shoving away from Draco and halfheartedly lifting the Body Bind Curse the blond was currently held in. Draco felt his entire body sag forward, aching and throbbing after being confined for so long, and his hands tenderly rubbed at his wrists as he struggled to regain his strength.

"Well what?" Draco spat, standing tall and curling his lips into a dissatisfied scowl.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

It was a simple enough question, in theory—Draco could've only guessed that Rodolphus wanted one of two things from the young man he'd spent the night harassing: first and foremost, to admit that he was a Blood Traitor. And secondly…to try and deny that he was.

Unfortunately for the Lestrange patriarch, Draco had no intention of doing either.

"The Order's going to destroy you," Draco hissed, every muscle in his body trembling and quivering just beneath his skin. He was clearly on edge, and Rodolphus was taken aback by the young Wizard's heated response. Not expecting such a resistant reaction, Rodolphus lifted his wand and aimed it at Draco, clearing his throat before calling out for…none other than Fenrir Greyback. Shit.

"Not with the advantage we have now," Rodolphus growled, stepping out of the doorway just in time for Fenrir to come barreling in, fierce and determined. "Greyback, escort my nephew back to his cell; he has a great deal to think about before morning arrives."

"You'll never get away with it—you're one step behind everyone here; Azkaban's slowed down your reflexes, old man," Draco commented, resisting Fenrir as the muscular werewolf gripped him tight, sure to keep a secure hold on the youngest Malfoy. He stood no match against the primitive creature, of course, but…he hated knowing that Greyback was touching him; that he would forcibly push, shove, and kick Draco all the way to his destination. Rodolphus seemed to notice this and took a great deal of satisfaction in watching Draco's subtle defenses; his lips cracked into a wide grin and he stepped forward, following his associate and struggling prisoner over to the doorway.

"Perhaps not…though I suspect you'll be long dead before you receive the chance to find out," Rodolphus replied, his voice low and hoarse. Draco watched, wide-eyed and fearful, as Greyback pulled him out of the room and down the hall, more or less dragging his body throughout the dusty expanse of the Lestrange Estate. And Rodolphus' words, hollow and vicious, echoed through his mind all the while.

I suspect you'll be long dead before you receive the chance to find out.

The words haunted Draco in a way he couldn't even begin to explain. He had no idea what Rodolphus planned on doing with him, exactly…but now he'd been given a bit of insight into his next step: executing Draco. And along with the murder of his nephew was sure to come the brutal slaughter of his Blood Traitor relative's sidekick…Granger. And that alone was enough to terrify Draco into silence for the duration of his journey back down to the dungeons. He had to escape within the next ten to twelve hours, then—he couldn't stay here another night; not now that he was perfectly aware of what gruesome fate awaited him once the sun rose. He'd lost count of how many hours he'd been tucked away in the Lestrange manor for; maybe twenty, maybe thirty. The exact amount was irrelevant; all that Draco cared about now was getting out. Immediately.

And he'd go through hell and back to make sure he and Granger made it out of this blasted prison alive.

By the time Fenrir had made it back down to the cells, Draco in tow, he was in particularly high spirits. It seemed he'd been informed of Draco's fate far earlier than Draco himself had, which irritated the Malfoy heir to no bloody end. He was deposited onto the ground with a dull thud, and then Fenrir was chaining him to the wall again. This time, though, Draco made no move to resist; he had to be careful about his escape…it would require an hour or two of strategy planning, tops, which meant that—as much as he hated to admit it—he had to submit to the Death Eaters and followers. Just temporarily, though; just long enough to get him out of here alive. Just long enough to deceive them into thinking he was willing to submit to their every whim and fancy.

The hat hadn't sorted him into Slytherin for nothing, after all.

"Someone will be to collect you in the morning, itty bitty Malfoy," Fenrir commented, grinning and baring his yellowed fangs. Draco resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose and flinch in disgust. "Who knows? Maybe Bellatrix will even agree to let me have you for lunch."

He'd never admit it out loud, but that comment was enough to petrify Draco right on the spot.

When Fenrir had finally engaged in enough verbal torment and torture for one night, he finally left, clomping up the stone steps loudly and shutting the cellar door behind him, thereby enveloping Draco in darkness. His shackles scraped against the hard, cold floor, and he lifted one clammy hand to rub at his temple. He had to think, then…a reasonable way to escape, somehow locate Granger, find a way to obtain wands or weapons of some sort to use for defense, and then escape without too many obstacles standing in their way.

How in the hell was he supposed to accomplish any of this?

Just when Draco was prepared to tug on his bright locks and scream in frustration, he detected a slight movement out of the corner of his eyes. It was difficult to distinguish anything in this dank cellar, but he could have sworn he saw even the slightest of movements off in the left hand corner of his field of vision. He tensed, bracing himself and flattening his back against the wall he was currently chained to. Was this it, then? Was it possible that Rodolphus and Bellatrix suspected that Draco planned on escaping and had sent someone to finish the job of murdering him tonight? Right now? Draco held his breath, his fingers digging into the concrete below him, and just when he was prepared to cry out in astonishment…Granger stepped into the spotlight.

Now, Draco wasn't a particularly emotional sort of individual—that had been the entire issue in his relationship with Astoria. His inability to emotionally connect with another person on a deep and complex level (or, at the very least, express said emotional connection) had made developing long lasting friendships and relationships exceedingly difficult. He'd shut down his compassion and empathy for so long that he had no sodding idea how to go about caring for someone. But right in that moment—seeing Granger's battered face and figure emerge from the shadows—was nearly enough to cause Draco to dissolve into hysteria. He wasn't going to bloody cry or anything, of course, but…fuck, if he'd been anyone else—anyone at all—he might've broken down. Just seeing her—even with worry lines etched onto her fair features—and knowing that she was alright and alive…it provided him with a stronger sense of relief than Draco could even begin to explain. His heart leapt to his throat and his mouth grew very dry…he simultaneously wished to express a million things to her while also being entirely unaware of what to say. Now that she was here; now that she was by his side, despite the fact that she hadn't even talked, Draco knew that somehow…things would be alright.

Because…Merlin, she was alive. She was here; she was safe.

"Granger," He managed to choke out, unable to say anything—anything at all—other than her surname. His fingers trembled and quivered as she shushed him and reached for him in the dark; it was when her fingers brushed against his forearm that Draco realized she was trembling, too. There was so much to be said—so much he wanted to say to her, and he was willing to bet the same could be said for her. But both acknowledged that they had very little time for sentiments at the proper moment…Draco just hoped there would be time later on. That there would be a later on.

"Don't," She choked out, shaking her head and causing her hair to brush against the side of his face. "Whatever sort of…of remark or commentary you have to make, it can wait."

It was when she said this that Draco slammed his mouth shut. In truth, he'd had no idea what he planned on saying to her…just that he needed to say something. Anything to let her know how he felt. But he knew she wasn't here for talking, so Draco forced himself to fight through the thoughts surrounding his relief and exhilaration just in time to hear her whisper—

"I know a way out. We're leaving, Malfoy…we're leaving tonight."

a/N: Hey there, everyone! It's been a little while, I know, but I was in a fanfic writing funk for a while, and then life got pretty busy! I'm here now, though, and I'm super excited about the last few chapters of Shades of Grey that I've got planned! I would just like to thank everyone for reading along with this story so far, sending me messages about it, live blogging their readings, and-of course-leaving awesome reviews. You guys are the best and I'm forever thankful! I hope you liked the chapter; I'm really excited for the next two chapters in particular, and I can't wait for your guys to read them! Again, thank you so much and please, please review!