Trigger Warning: Mentions of sexual assault of a minor
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Draco opens his eyes, realising he's fallen asleep again. Sitting up, he can feel how stiff his joints are, yet thankfully the sharp pain in his muscles has lessened into more of a dull ache. Slowly standing, he can see in the darkness of the space that the boy is still asleep in the bed, and Molly is seated at the small table. He shakes his head with a slight laugh seeing the blasted witch has fallen asleep on top of all her papers.
Typically, Draco can move around a space as silently as a skilled assassin – which is basically what he is – was – is? But given his recent chat with Voldy, he finds it hard to move without sounding like a fucking toddler learning to walk as he grips the back of the sofa to steady himself.
"Fuck," he rasps quietly, taking a few calming breaths. In his previous experiences with being tortured, he's never had the pleasure of having his mind breached simultaneously, and the pain in his head has him still feeling disoriented. Finally, Draco manages to stretch his limbs, allowing for his steps to be less rigid. Then, drawing his wand, he slowly moves towards the small bed to check on the boy.
"Fuck," he says in shock. "You're fucking eleven?" he mutters, reading the diagnostic spell and then glancing back at the boy he assumed to have been much younger. But, now getting a chance to study him, Draco can see that his slight frame isn't due to age but most likely starvation. "Salazar," he says, feeling his stomach turn.
He hadn't ever thought much about how the Muggles were treated since the Dark Lord and his Cause "won" the Second Wizarding War. Draco's belief that they were essentially just a step above animals led him to not give a fuck and strike them down, as they'd scatter like insects during the many raids he'd been on since the Battle. But the image of pure terror in the young boy's features as well as the memory of his screams addles Draco's brain in such a way that he finds it difficult to differentiate the child from a fucking pure-blood.
Draco takes a few steps over to the kitchen area, tempted to read whatever the fuck Molly is writing and gently places a hand on her shoulder.
"Molly," he says softly.
Molly's head shoots up as her hand goes for her wand. The witch abruptly stops the motion when she sees it's him. "Oh, my," she says, patting down her hair and blinking her eyes. "Must have dozed off. How are you feeling?" she asks as she quickly closes the odd-looking journal.
"A bit sore — but fine. Uh – I'm going to go back to the manor for a bit," Draco says awkwardly, aware he's still covered in the boy's blood and smells like piss. He then cocks his head towards the sofa. "All yours – although you should probably Scourgify it – might have had another wonderful aftershock from the Cruciatus."
Swiping a hand over her face, Molly slowly stands with a soft laugh. "That sofa's been through it – I'll tell you," she chuckles. "Brought it over from an older safe house where we had a small hospital unit going until it was raided."
"Ah –" he says, scrunching his nose. "Well – that somehow makes me feel worse and better at the same time," he says, shaking his head with a half grimace/smile. "The boy is still asleep."
Molly looks over and nods, her expression turning into a frown, before looking back at Draco. "You saved his life," she says softly.
Draco moves to the door and sighs. "No –" he looks back at her. "You did." With a curt nod, Draco steps out of the bothy and slowly treks down the hill/mountain – depending on the day and how he's feeling – and then apparates to the manor.
As soon as his feet hit the ground, Draco tears off his robes and starts the tap on the large bathtub. The initial feeling of being submerged in ice-cold water takes his breath away, but after a few seconds, the relief on his body is instant, and he puts his head under as well. Upon emerging, Draco wipes his face and then runs his hand through his hair, which has been steadily growing since taking the Dark Mark. At this point, it's near his shoulders, causing him to tie it back more often than not.
He takes the hair potion and puts it in his dirty locks, and begins to scrub away the grime and insanity of the past twenty-four hours. He huffs a laugh when a memory of his mother comes to his mind, and Draco can only feel peace knowing she's in a better place, no longer a prisoner in what was once her home.
Malfoy Manor 1984 – Four Years Old
"Feels good, doesn't it, my darling."
Draco smiles contently as his mother scrubs his scalp while leaning over the bathtub. He'd been playing in the garden, chasing the peacocks, and had fallen into a muddy puddle. His governess yelled when she found him and was about to Scourgify his tiny body, but then his mother quickly got up from where she was having tea and saying she'd take care of her son.
"Andy showed me that the Muggle way is the best way to keep clean," she says. Draco opens his eyes, not knowing who 'Andy' is. And by the look on his mother's face, he can see that she's sad. But then she sees him watching, and her smile quickly returns. "I didn't believe her," she sighs. "But – well, I tried it after – after she went on holiday because I missed her." His mother leans in closer. "She was right, of course – but don't tell anyone," she whispers with a chuckle. "Your father would be quite upset if he knew I was on my knees scrubbing you down."
Draco grabs a towel, steps out of the bath, and looks into the mirror.
"Fuck," he says, having not looked at his reflection in months.
Seeing how similar he now looks to his father, Draco Accio's a pair of shears and, without much thought, starts to crudely cut his hair. Unfortunately, his dexterity is still not where it should be, and the act of using scissors is difficult. In frustration, Draco angrily cuts off lock after lock, no longer attempting to Occlude, wanting to feel the rage that has been building inside for years. He watches as his image, looking less and less like Lucius with each cut, begins to blur as his eyes fill with tears.
Draco spent most of his childhood putting Lucius Abraxas Malfoy on a pedestal, wanting to be just like the wizard. It was evident he was respected, causing Draco to trust and believe every word his father uttered. But things began to shift when his father was sent to Azkaban, and Draco returned to the manor to find his home overrun by a bunch of deranged Death Eaters without any protection. Yet, stupidly, Draco still trusted his father and took the Dark Mark willingly, wanting to follow in his footsteps. And even after the torment of murdering Hound, his only friend, he still thought he was doing the right thing.
But of course, everything went to shit shortly after the ceremony, with Greyback taking advantage of Draco being a young and naive idiot. The beast essentially stalked him in his own home the entire summer, threatening to infect him with Lycanthropy if Draco didn't give him what he wanted. So, in fear, he didn't even fight back whenever Fenrir forced his hands all over his body, perversely telling Draco that he should like it and, even worse, making him thank the demented man for "the pleasure." Draco kept quiet in his confusion and humiliation, constantly Occluding, not daring even to tell his mother.
Even so, Draco held out hope that his father would handle things. That wizard to wizard, he would know how to help him navigate his trauma. But, unfortunately, when Draco was finally reunited with his father, breaking down and confessing what Greyback had done on multiple occasions, Lucius coldly told him it was his fault for letting it happen and to not "cry over such trivial things."
Feeling mortified and confused whilst also finally getting a fucking clue that Lucius never had his best interest at heart, Draco took his father's last bit of advice and stopped crying – stopped caring – stopped feeling. The terrible conversation ended up being the last time he ever spoke to his father, nor did the wizard even attempt to speak to his son. The reality of who Lucius Malfoy really was, broke something inside Draco's soul. And so, he channelled his rage into every single spell he ever cast, and his efficiency with the Killing Curse at such a young age quickly aided with his quick rise into a respectable Death Eater.
In the end, Lucius ultimately sacrificed his life, blatantly stepping in front of friendly fire to take the Killing Curse before it hit Draco. Yet, seeing his father's body drop dead only sparked the feeling of relief which he quickly tamped down and went back to throwing his own Avada's without much thought. The idea that Lucius Malfoy finally gave a damn about his son because he earned his respect as a fucking murderer had Draco not even bothering to visit his grave.
After feeling enough emotion, Draco begins to Occlude as he inspects his shabby haircut in the mirror. Not wanting to dwell on any more painful memories, Draco quickly throws on some clean robes, pulling the hood over his head.
"Tibby!" he calls, hoping to get some fucking food. After no response, Draco rolls his eyes, knowing the Dark Lord has most likely killed yet another House Elf. "Mippy," he calls after a few seconds. Again, nothing. Heaving a sigh, Draco decides to apparate to the kitchens rather than go through the list of the few House Elves that are left. After rummaging around, not knowing anything about putting a decent meal together, Draco apparates to Cumbria with a sack full of apples and some bread.
Thankfully, it's still too early in the morning to worry about the summons, knowing that even Voldy Shmoldy needs to fucking sleep. Draco can only assume that the creep sleeps in a large cauldron full of unsavoury liquids to moisturise his scaly skin and keep up the faint sheen of slime that never seems to go away.
Draco makes the inconvenient trek up the steep incline and crosses the threshold. He smiles when he sees Molly sound asleep on the sofa that should have probably been burned long ago and goes to the kitchen area. Setting the sack on the table, Draco takes out a few apples and a loaf of bread. He tilts his head when he hears a soft cry. Looking over to the bed, he can see the outline of the boy's body, sitting up.
"It's alright," says Draco cautiously. "I've brought some food." He slowly raises his arm, apple in hand, so the boy can see. The boy doesn't say anything and only continues to quietly cry. Draco takes a few cautious steps and stops when the child recoils, pulling up the blanket. "I'm not going to hurt you," he says softly. "Are you in pain?" he asks, knowing he still could feel some faint pain from when he splinched himself the day before.
"I d-didn't m-mean t-to," the boy says shakily. Draco takes a few steps closer, standing near the bed as the boy lowers the blanket, revealing he'd wet the bed.
"Oh," says Draco and, without another word, waves his hand, vanishing the accident. "Not a problem – I pissed myself a few hours ago," he laughs. "It happens."
The boy curiously inspects the now-dry bedding and then looks back at Draco with a furrowed brow. "But you're old," he says, scrunching his nose.
"Old?" scoffs Draco playfully. "I'm only twenty – that's not that old." He then hands the boy an apple. "Take it, I've brought a sack full." Draco watches the child slowly stick out his bony arm and tentatively take hold of the apple. "What's your name?" Draco asks.
"Paul," he says, biting into the apple as he begins to eat like a starving animal – which makes sense, given Draco can easily see his ribs and other bones protruding from his pallor skin. The boy eats the entire apple in an impressively short amount of time before wiping his face on the blanket. "Is she really dead?" he finally asks, looking sullen.
Draco sits in the chair Molly had already brought from the table and scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm really sorry, Paul. Your sister – she's gone."
Paul makes a confused face, but then his eyes flash in realisation. "Oh, she wasn't my sister — we were in the camp together. She looked after me," he says sadly. "She was nice and would give me some of her food."
Not that it makes Draco feel much better, given the girl is still dead, he relaxes slightly, knowing the boy didn't just witness his fucking sister die in his arms. "Are you alright?" he asks awkwardly, never having been good at talking about feelings, let alone consoling a fucking child.
"Her name was Selma," he says as his lip trembles. "She was my friend."
They sit silently as Paul wipes a few stray tears from his face. "Want some bread?" asks Draco, not knowing what else to say or do. Paul nods as Draco quietly moves to the table to break off a piece of bread and then returns to his bedside. "I lost my friend a year ago," says Draco as he sits back in the chair, handing the bread to the boy.
"Did she take care of you too?" he asks before stuffing his face causing Draco to huff a small laugh.
"She did," is all he says, not wanting to dwell too much on his last moments with Pansy. "I should have listened to her," he finally says and then forcefully Occludes, having felt enough emotions for one day.
The boy doesn't question him further, and Draco watches him finish the bread before lying on the tattered pillow. "My parents are still there," he says quietly. "They told us they're taking the children first."
Sitting up straighter, Draco looks over his shoulder at the sofa, seeing Molly is still asleep and then back at the boy. "Who told you that?" he asks cautiously.
"The thin man. He pretends to be mean, but he's the one who has already sent the other children. He told me and Selma where to go and wait for the man, Wilfred. I–" The boy sits up. "He was the one who put us in the wagon," he looks at Draco with wide eyes. "He's dead too, isn't he?"
"I'm sorry," says Draco.
"It's alright. I didn't really know him," Paul says as he lays back down. "Do you work with the thin man?"
"I believe so," says Draco honestly. "Does he have a name?" he asks quietly, knowing he's not supposed to have any information on other Order members.
The boy furrows his brow. "It was P something. He's ginger like your mum."
Draco nearly rolls his eyes. "Molly isn't my mother – but I work with her," he says, looking at the witch. "But I guess she is sort of mum-like."
"Percy," states the boy as he sits up. "His name. The thin man. His name is Percy."
Not knowing who Percy is, Draco can only assume he worked in the Ministry and either pledged to serve the Dark Lord and then later became a turncoat or he pledged with the intent of already defying The Cause.
"Do you know if there are any other nice people who work at the camp?" he asks, knowing that it is likely that many of the ex-ministry workers followed the same path.
"I'm not sure," says the boy, yawning. "Tired –" he states, voice trailing off.
Draco watches the boy fall into a peaceful sleep and then checks the time to see that it's nearing five in the morning. He slowly rises to his feet and picks the musty blanket off the ground as he passes the sofa and attempts to charm it clean before laying it over Molly. Then Draco makes his way out of the stone structure, where he goes around to the back and sits on the ground, watching as the sun peeks over the horizon.
…
"...and mum said that if I keep practising every day, I could sell them to make money. I think it's one of the things I missed the most being at camp."
Draco steps into the safehouse, hearing the voice of Paul chatting away as he sits at the table, apparently drawing on some paper.
"I've got some eggs," says Molly as she sets a plate on the table and then begins to cut into some of the bread from the manor. She then narrows her eyes at his head. "You've cut your hair," she states. "I've got some scissors in my kit – I can – even it out – if you like," she says, clearly trying not to laugh.
"It was weighing me down," he says honestly, although not elaborating on the figurative weight of the longer length. "And I thought you weren't my maid," says Draco as he sits beside the boy, glancing at his artwork.
"Oh, I'm not – these ones got burned. Was going to toss 'em in the bin," she says with a smirk. "Paul here is quite the artist." Molly gestures to the papers.
"I like to draw stories – like Superman."
"Super man?" asks Draco, not understanding.
"Yes, like the comic books my da used to read to me before –" The boy's demeanour shifts, and he quietly goes back to drawing. "Superman is a superhero. He's got special powers like you and Miss Molly," says Paul softly. He then looks at Draco. "Can you fly?" he asks with wide eyes. "Or just clean the bed when you pee yourself?"
"Uh – I can fly on a broom," laughs Draco.
"Like a witch?" exclaims the boy with wide eyes, then looks to Molly. "Is that what you are? Are you witches? I've seen the mean people at the camp do weird things because they are evil villains," he nods. "They've got wands and everything."
"I am a witch," says Molly, carefully pulling out her wand to let Paul hold it. "But Draco here is a wizard."
"Ohhhh," says Paul, taking everything in. "So, it really is magic," he muses, inspecting the wand. "Wicked," he smiles. "So, can you just use magic and kill all the villains?" he asks honestly.
Molly makes a flabbergasted face at the simplicity of the boy's logic and then sits down as he hands the wand back. "If it were that easy, we would, dear. But the – villains – as you've seen, also have magic. And unfortunately, they've been dabbling with nasty spells for some time. We're working on evening the score," she smiles, although Draco can see the pain in her eyes.
Paul looks directly at Draco. "Do you have a wand too? Or do you just –" The boy waves his hand. "Like that."
Draco pulls out his wand – or – whatever sod he'd won it from's wand, given his original wand sort of – left him.
"I can do both. But the wand takes less energy, so I usually only do wandless magic if I have to."
"This one is different," says Paul as he takes hold of Draco's wand.
"Well, yes – each wand has a unique magical signature and –"
"No," says Paul. "I can feel it."
Draco and Molly look at each other and then back at the boy. "What do you mean, dear?" asks Molly.
"In here," he says as he places his hand over his chest. "Like I want to –" he waves the wand, and suddenly Draco's plate of eggs flies off the table, shattering against the wall. "Oh!" says the boy with wide eyes. "How'd it do that?" he says in awe, looking at the wand. Molly slowly stands as Draco gently takes his wand from Paul's hand.
"Has anything like that happened around you before?" asks Molly, looking at Draco and then back at the boy.
"Sometimes when I'm angry – things move – or break," he says, looking at the ground. "Am I a villain?" he asks sadly.
Draco can only watch - mind reeling - as Molly moves to the boy and kneels, taking his face in her hands. "No, Paul. You are not a villain," she says with a smile. "You're a wizard too."
…
"So – he's a Muggle-born?" asks Draco quietly as he stands near Molly while they watch Paul continue to draw.
"I believe so – unless his parents are also magical – but he didn't seem to know anything about our world. And the fact he was in the Muggle labour camp-" Molly turns her head to give Draco a pointed look. "He's magical like you and me – like any other witch or wizard, pure-blood or not."
Draco swipes a hand over his face, having to confront yet another significant life-altering change in beliefs. Witnessing Paul simply discover he had magic, made it abundantly clear the child hadn't fucking stolen anything. Not that Draco necessarily still believed the bullshite that Muggle-borns were savage Muggles stealing magic – but it was still ingrained in him that they were inferior.
And yet, Draco's first memory of having magic was after he fucking killed his House Elf – so what does that say about him? Paul clearly is just fucking existing and happens to have a magical core.
Meaning, being magical is just fucking - random.
"Fuck," curses Draco before looking at Molly, who seems concerned with how Draco will react to a Muggle-born staying with them for the time being. "I don't suppose you've got any Firewhisky stashed in that dingy kitchen," he jokes.
Molly quirks an eyebrow as she holds out her hand and then smirks as she wordlessly Accio's a fucking bottle of Blishen's right into her hands. "You should know by now that the erumpent is always prepared."
Draco can't help but let out a genuine laugh, seeing the fucking witch - yet again - shock him with being nothing like he assumed. Although, he imagines the war has probably changed everyone in ways not to be expected. Even so, witnessing Molly Weasley slam down the Firewhisky and then go about checking the wards and just being fucking competent makes him think that the witch has always been a bit of a force.
Knowing he'll have to answer the summons at some point, Draco refrains from more than a dram while letting Paul use his wand to attempt Windgardium Leviosa on a piece of paper. After a few failed attempts, he can see the boy visibly wilting, so he moves behind his chair and helps Paul with the correct motion.
"See, you've got to move your wrist just so," says Draco before backing up.
"Windgardium Leviosa," says Paul as he waves the wand. Suddenly, the paper lifts into the air. "I did it!" he shouts in excitement. "I did it," he then repeats in awe.
But before Draco can even fucking comprehend the absurdity of his new reality, he freezes when he hears the sound of multiple apparitions in the distance. Draco grabs his wand from Paul's hand, causing the boy to bristle.
"Molly," Draco hisses.
"It's alright," she says. "Ron and Charlie have come to check in."
Draco moves to the window - wand drawn - relaxing infinitesimally when he sees the duo's forms as they trek up the hill. "Fuck," he sighs, moving back and slumping on the sofa.
"Who's Ron and Charlie?" asks Paul.
"They're two of my sons," Molly smiles. The door to the bothy opens as Charlie and Ron walk in, quickly eyeing the boy.
"Paul, could you take your papers and draw on the bed? The adults need to have a little chat," says Molly kindly.
Paul simply picks up his papers and moves to the corner of the space where Molly subtly casts a Muffliato around the four of them.
"Is he alright?" asks Molly in a panic.
"Yes, Perc was able to worm his way through the interrogations," says Charlie. Draco watches the interaction, and it's clear they're still trying to keep as much information from him as possible. Charlie then looks at Draco and makes a face, seeing his hair. "You look like shite, Malfoy," he huffs.
"It's been a long day," he says sarcastically. "And you know what else? If you let me in on at least a bit of what the fuck is going on, I might actually be able to do some good and not get fucking tortured after every mission trying to sabotage my directives," he says annoyedly. Ron turns to face him, rubbing his brow.
"Believe it or not, Charlie and I have come to the same conclusion, Malfoy," he sighs as if the admission has taken part of his soul, weakening each second that passes without insulting Draco.
"So, who's the fucking cunt that wants to keep me in the dark? I nearly fucking killed myself trying to – to get him–" he cocks his head. "To safety. That girl is dead because I've no fucking clue what the fuck is going on," he says, now standing. "Apparently, on both sides!" he then adds in annoyance. "Fucking labour camps? I've been a Death Eater for over four years, and I had no idea they even existed."
"You didn't know?" asks Charlie in genuine surprise.
"All they expect of me is to obey my directives and kill as many people as possible," he whispers, not trusting the spell and certainly not wanting Paul to overhear. "The Order can hate me all they want, but they're going to have to get over themselves and fucking let me actually help."
"You know he's right," says Molly curtly. "They've got to devise a better way to get the children out. If Draco's going to be sent on missions to disrupt the Order's work, the more he knows, the more he can effectively help get the little ones to safety."
"Right," says Ron as he turns to Charlie. "Go talk to – to Kingsley and the others," says Ron and Draco relaxes slightly, seeing that he's warming up to exposing more information. He then looks at Draco. "The more seasoned Order members don't seem to see the value of fully utilising your – er – expertise. I'll admit that I was with them at first. But know that some of us are trying to persuade them to see reason and the potential in you."
Draco nods in understanding.
"I'd also like to see how the apparition trace works."
"Right, yeah," says Draco. "Speaking of –" starts Draco realising something, making his stomach twist. "I apparated from the scene of the ambush to down the hill. The Cause is under the belief that the boy ran away, and knowing how they work, either myself and Rosier or Merlin forbid another group will be sent to follow up – most likely under the assumption your lot will be in the area trying to locate the child as well."
"Fuck," says Ron. "You're just now realising this?" he says, annoyed. "Fuck, Malfoy."
"Fuck you," Draco spits. "I'd like to see how you would have handled the situation, Weasley. And the trace only works one way. So, I'll apparate from here to the scene and throw around a bunch of shite spells to make it difficult to trace. It's still experimental magic, and if there are overlapping spells, it will make the trace less likely to work."
"Fine," says Ron. "But I'm coming with you."
"Why?" questions Draco as he looks between the three gingers.
"Oh, I don't know, Malfoy. I guess I'm just bored," Ron says mockingly.
…
Draco quickly casts hexes and curses into the air and surrounding area to cover his dissaparition to Cumbria.
"So," begins Ron as he nonchalantly leans against a tree. "How the fuck do we get back, seeing as it will just leave another easily traceable apparition?"
"For starters – I'm not going to fucking apparate back to Cumbria from here. I'll apparate to my room at the manor, and then from there, I can go wherever the fuck I want."
"Right," says Ron, pushing off the tree. "So, does this mean I get to see your evil den where you've been sleeping all these years? Because I sure as fuck will not lead any Death Eater anywhere."
"Unfortunately, yes – you'll have to come with me," says Draco, annoyedly knowing the git is right. "But fair warning –"
Before Draco can finish, he hears someone fucking apparate right behind him. Draco whirls around to see Rosier with his wand already drawn.
"Malfoy?" he sneers. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he asks in confusion. Thankfully, Ron is a few paces behind Rosier, and the daft Death Eater hasn't seen him.
"I'm retracing my steps to find the boy," he says flatly. "I figured he couldn't have gotten far and –"
Suddenly, Rosier wordlessly hits Draco with a full-body bind as he drops flat on his back. Then, the wizard leans over him. "You know – ever since our little ambush, something's been off," he says as he taps on his temple. "In here." Rosier gives a sinister grin as he pushes the tip of his wand into Draco's throat. "The thing is – I went to Death Eater Feig to have him run a diagnostic and – wouldn't you know? He says that my memory has been tampered with. Subtle – but still detectable. And I think that someone might have disobeyed their directive even more than I originally –"
"Avada Kedavra!"
Rosier's body slumps forward onto Draco as the body bind fades, given the caster fucking died. Draco quickly pushes Rosier off and springs to his feet. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" he yells at Weasely. "You didn't have to fucking kill him, you fucking cunt! Now I'm going to be fucking Crucio'd until I have to be locked in fucking whatever's left of St Mungo's, you fucking daft –"
"Shut up!" hisses Ron as he moves to the body, where he begins tearing off Rosier's robes. "I had a moment of inspiration, and I'm leaning into it," he mumbles as Draco watches in confusion.
"What the fuck?" Draco says as Ron begins taking off his own clothes.
"You need help spying – well–" Ron huffs a nervous laugh. "Meet your new partner," he says in a - not at all - confident tone. "Every Order member carries around Polyjuice potion these days – never know when you gotta hide in plain sight."
Draco continues to narrow his eyes as Ron begins to put Rosier's Death Eater robes on. "Fuck," whinges Ron. "The fucking berk fucking shat himself when I killed him," he says as he scrunches his nose, proceeding to Scourgify the garment multiple times in a row.
"Uh – well– not to sound too alarming, but if you're going to be a Death Eater, you'll have to get used to it. Being Crucio'd on the daily and soiling yourself is sort of an occupational hazard."
Ron tilts his head with a bewildered look on his face. "And you're just now defecting?"
"Fair point," says Draco as he moves to the now naked body of Rosier. "Should we decapitate him?" he asks earnestly, then looks up at Ron, who looks horrified. "The hair – for the –" he points to the vial of Polyjuice. "We'll need to take as much hair as possible to keep the ruse going."
"Fuck – right. Uh– can't we just shave it? Or do a hack job like your own?" says Ron, bending down near Rosier's head.
"That would be cleaner," muses Draco. "Hang tight," he commands as he dissaparates to his bathroom and grabs the shears before quickly apparating back to the scene of the crime. Next, Draco sets to work on cutting as much hair as possible from Rosier's head. Meanwhile, Ron adds a few strands to the vial he has on hand. Draco then moves to the wagon and cuts a corner from the blanket. He freezes momentarily, noticing that the girl's body is gone.
"We moved her," he hears Ron say as he comes beside Draco.
Not wanting to dwell on the memory, Draco simply nods and transfigures the small piece of fabric into a pouch, where they put the rest of Rosier's hair.
"What do we do with the body?" asks Ron.
…
"And why can't we – fuck – use – shite – magic?" asks Ron as he awkwardly carries Rosier by his ankles, walking backwards while Draco holds the body by his arms as they trek through the woods.
"Because we - fuck - can't risk - shite - any trace magic that would -Salazar - lead them to the body. If we – fuck –" he says, nearly tripping. "If we move the body – shite – without – Godric fucking dammit," he says as he loses his grip, dropping the body and seeing Rosier's head hit a fucking jagged corner of a rock. Draco quickly regrips the shoulders as they continue to move. "Without magic, they can't trace it, and I'll live another day."
They finally reach a more open space as they unceremoniously drop the body to the ground. "Now what?" asks Ron.
"You're going to want to back up."
Ron takes a few steps back, only for Draco to motion him to move further – then further – then further.
"Fucking shite, Malfoy, what are you about to do?"
"Have a bonfire —" he points his wand at the body. "Incendio."
…
"Well, that was horrifying," mutters Ron as they trek back to the wagon.
"Which part?" asks Draco with a chuckle.
"You and I – working – together," he says and pretends to shiver.
"Prepare to be more horrified because I'm about to say I agree with you," says Draco. But before Ron can quip back, Draco feels his left arm burn. "Shite – drink it – now," he barks.
Ron quickly pulls out the ready vial of Polyjuice and downs the entire thing, unsure how long he'll need to retain Rosier's form. Draco watches as Ron creepily morphs into his Team Leader, and then he grabs the gits arm and apparates them to the manor, just outside the meeting room.
"Only speak when spoken to – and just throw in a lot of 'yes, my Lord,' and we should be fine," says Draco as he pushes Weasel Rosier into the room. They take their seats at the table, only for the Dark Lord to enter moments later.
Draco subtly nudges Ron to stand, and thankfully the git manages to keep a calm demeanour as Voldemort takes his seat.
"Reports," hisses Voldemort. One by one, the Team Leads all stand to give a report of what they'd accomplished. Draco can feel himself sweating under his mask, thinking that the Weasel will open his fucking mouth and get them both killed.
"Rosier?" questions the Dark Lord.
Ron stands, and Draco holds his breath, hand on his wand.
"I took the initiative to retrace the ambush scene where Death Eater Malfoy lost sight of the boy. I traced the most recent uses of magic and found nothing to suggest that the Order had picked up the child. My guess is that if he hasn't yet, the child will succumb to the elements. And, although it doesn't happen often, Death Eater Malfoy suggested an ingenious plan for him and me to continue monitoring the area. We believe the Order will be poking around, looking for the child, given they are all bleeding hearts and won't let the boy wander alone. If we are vigilant, we can catch them – once again – unaware."
Heart pounding, Draco watches as the Dark Lord takes in the Weasel Rosier's statement. Then to his fucking relief, Voldemort gives a slight nod of approval before looking at Draco.
"Death Eater Malfoy, do you confirm Death Eater Rosier's report?"
Draco stands. "Yes, my Lord."
"Very good – see that you two monitor the area."
With that, they both retake their seats. Once the meeting ends, they move into an empty corridor, where Draco immediately apparates them to his childhood room.
"Bloody 'ell," exclaims Ron as soon as they enter the room. "That was fucking wild," he huffs. "Haven't really seen Voldy since the battle," he says, shaking his head as he removes the mask.
Draco simply sits on his bed, taking his own mask off. "As loath as I am to admit it – that was rather ingenious to have us stake out the area for the time being. Might be able to still move the children through," he says thoughtfully.
"That was my logic," says Ron. Draco can see his hair beginning to become ginger again as his form starts to return to normal. "Fuck – remind me to tell Snape he needs to start pumping out longer-lasting Polyjuice."
"Noted," huffs Draco. He watches warily as Ron begins to roam around his room.
"Thought you'd have images of snakes all over the walls," he muses and then picks a book up off Draco's old desk, causing him to laugh. "Hogwarts: A History?" questions Ron.
Draco rolls his eyes. "My mother bought it for me on my eleventh birthday. I -" Draco huffs, not giving a fuck anymore. "She knew I was nervous about leaving home, so she told me to read it so I'd know what to expect. And, of course, I read it multiple times because it was surprisingly fascinating, and I also figured I may as well take advantage of memorising secret passages and whatnot."
"Are you fucking serious?" laughs Ron. "Merlin's beard – and to think all this time you've been just as swotty," he laughs. "You do realise that Hermione read this book multiple times for the same reasons – well, maybe not to sneak around passages, but – well, we did anyway."
Draco bristles at the comparison. "I'm sure that I've read a number of the same books as Granger, given the fucking witch has read the entire Hogwarts library judging by the amount of time she spent there," he says dismissively.
"Fair point," huffs Ron. "Didn't realise you'd paid attention to her other than hurling insults and errant jinxes."
"Yes, well, it's not that I paid attention. It was just glaringly obvious. And if you want to talk about keeping tabs on fellow students, talk to Potter about sixth year when he fucking stalked me like – well – a creepy stalker."
Ron snorts as he sets the book down. "He thought you were a Death Eater – which – surprise – he was right." Draco watches as Weasley eyes his left arm, where he briefly had Rosier's Dark Mark.
"You know – you'll have to stick around me – with the summons. You won't know when you'll be expected to show up. I mean – fuck – we could be summoned in the next five minutes," says Draco, now realising they hadn't thought through everything.
"Merlin," huffs Ron. "Fuck," he then curses as he begins pacing around, but then he stops and gives Draco a pointed look. "Shite, I can't believe I'm about to do this," he sighs as he moves towards Draco and grabs his arm.
"What the fuck are you doing?" asks Draco in confusion.
"Taking you to headquarters."