"Words without experience are meaningless."
The words were screaming at him-As in, 'Turn back you fool, while you still have a chance!'
Draco snorted.
He lost that chance when he told Blaise to plant a false lead.
He stood from the leather couch, placing Lolita in his extended-charmed bag. Among Lolita were various other books ranging from ancient dark magic, to the extensive history of the Malfoy line. The second layer of the bag contained various articles of clothing, a few-ahem-generously sized sacks filled with galleons, a map with the location of one of his secret-kept villas-just encase anything went wrong,-which Draco mused, something probably would go wrong-and at the very bottom, cradled in forest green velvet-was his mother's ring.
She had given it to him years ago, which was her not-so-subtle hint of 'Time to settle down soon,'
And in return, Draco had given her a not-so-subtle response of 'Fat chance in hell'
If he did survive-and this was a very big if-he was still a Malfoy. And Malfoy's made the mother of their children honest women. Regardless of the circumstances.
So whoever this woman was, she'd inherit the Malfoy name and his mother's ring.
Draco had yet to determine what the dreams could mean, or who the mother of his Heir could be. Frankly, he had figured out squat regarding the prophecy as a whole, which left the door wide open for Chaos to waltz right in.
He stood in front of the fireplace, bag shrunk down and tucked deep within his pockets, and grabbed a fistfull of floo powder.
His lips curled into a smirk, "Time to greet Chaos," he mused, and stepped into the fire.
xx
Draco stood in the middle of an abandoned shack that swayed and moaned with each burst of wind. Various pieces of decaying furniture lay scattered across the floor, the smell of mildew and unwashed linens smothered the air, causing him to grimace in disgust.
He hadn't been here since he was a small boy. When his mother and father would go away on extended business trips-which Draco now knew to actually be Revels-the houselves would take him here to teach him how to essentially take care of himself. In this very room he had learned how to read, prepare simple meals with magic, and had mastered his first warming charm.
As he grew, he began spending less and less time with them. Viewing them as nothing more but servants rather than companions.
Quickly, he ducked out through the back door, eyeing the small Scottish village laid before him. Withdrawing his wand, Draco muttered a quick "relinquo!" The few people roaming the streets looked up suddenly, as if they had remembered something extremely important, and retreated into their homes.
After all, this was his death sentence. Not theirs. No need for innocent blood to be spilled.
Seconds after casting the spell, numerous popping sounds erupted around him-One by one, Dolohov, Greyback, The Carrows, his aunt and uncle, and ten other masked men appeared around him.
"Drakey, my darling nephew..." Bellatrix cooed, swaying over to Draco with haughty, lustful eyes.
Bile grew in the back of his throat as he cocked a smile. "Dear Aunt Bella, so glad you could make it." Draco said silkily, pressing his lips against her extended, limp hand.
Bella released a shrieking giggle, patting Draco's cheek. "Yes yes, when will the fun be arriving?" she inquired, pressing the tip of her wand against her own cheek coyly.
"Soon, Aunt Bella, Soon." Draco responded, motioning for the group to follow him to their designated positions.
xx
"There is no room for error today," Kingsley's voice rose from the middle of the room, demanding attention.
"Today is when we reclaim the upper hand in this war. And I see the same fear in your eyes I saw in your mothers and fathers in the first war-fear that evolved into courage. Today I'm asking you to call upon that courage and help the Light reclaim the Earth, to diminish the darkness and bring justice to those who have hurt the innocent, stolen our liberties, murdered our families, our lovers, our children-I'm asking you to call upon the courage to reclaim your life or die trying."
Hermione felt a chill rage through her body, her eyes fixated on Kingsley. A few years ago, she would've thought such a speech to be excessive-but now with each raid, there were many of them who would not return to the safety of this home, but rather the welcoming embrace of being folded thirty feet under soil.
"Our main objective is to bring Draco Malfoy back alive. He carries knowledge that will determine if we win or lose this war. However, if it is between your life and his, your life comes first. Under no circumstances allow yourself to be murdered in cold blood purely for today's raid. Am I clear?"
The room erupted with "Aye!"
"Good. Split into your groups and head to your designated portkeys."
Hermione pulled the hood of her cloak over her head, covering the unbelievable mane of curls.
"Glad to see you've decided to stick around," Blaise whispered in her ear.
Hermione jumped, clearly startled out of her train of thought as she whipped around, her wand pressing into the side of Blaise's neck.
He sneered, pushing her wand down. "If you're this jumpy on the field you'll be dead within minutes." He commented, cocking an eyebrow.
Her shoulders sagged, as she shook her head and her eyes fixed into one of rage. "The death eaters won't be wasting time sneaking behind me and breathing down my neck." she shot back, glaring.
"Oh loosen up a bit, yeah? Imagine dying angry. Would be such a waste. That Weasley bloke had the right idea by laughing into the afterlife."
"How dare you-"
He put a finger against her lips, dropping his lips to her ear again, "You're too easy to rile up." before spinning on his heel towards the portkey.
Oh how that man drove her absolutely mad! He knew exactly how to push her buttons-and every time she promised she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of becoming livid-and essentially blasting his bullocks off-she failed. Miserably.
And Hermione Granger never failed at anything.
Which only infuriated her more.
With clenched teeth and hand gripping her wand, she stalked over and stood beside Blaise, eyeing who else was in their group.
Madeye, Remus, Tonks, and Molly.
"On the count of three," Madeye grunted.
Each of their hands reached out, hovering above the portkey,
"One..."
"Two..."
Hermione felt the breath get sucked out of her lungs as she was launched into the portkey, her insides being squeezed into unimaginable proportions, feeling as if her body was being ripped into smaller and smaller pieces.
Her body slammed into the hard, cobblestone ground. Her massive head of curls spilled out around her from under her hood, her chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.
Why did it hurt so much to breathe?
Why couldn't she move?
Slowly she peeled her eyes opened, nothing was in focus. She raised her hand to her head before bringing it before her eyes.
Red. Sticky.
Blood.
She felt the warm, sticky mess begin trickling down her neck.
Excessively, too.
What the bloody hell happened?
xx
Draco's eyes snapped to the sound of a sickening thud land in the middle of the road behind them.
No, no. It's too early-they shouldn't be arriving for two more minutes!
His heart pounded, threatening to burst from his chest.
"Oh look Drakey, the fun has arrived early!" Bella cooed, pushing Draco aside as her hungry eyes landed on Hermione. "Look, look it's Potter's mudblood!" She shrieked gleefully as she began to stalk towards Hermione's seemingly still body.
'Shit, shit shit' were the only thoughts racing through Draco's mind as he quickly caught up to Bella, "Remember the plan, Aunt Bella." Draco chided, giving a warning look to the other men behind him who only returned a sneer.
'Why is she the only one here? Surely Blaise wouldn't-'
In a matter of seconds multitudes of popping sounds and white fog erupted in the square.
Blaise crouched in front of Hermione's body, his face twisted into one of possessive rage as he shot off a range of curses, sending Bellatrix's body flying backwards and slamming into the side of a building.
Draco's attention snapped from his Aunt's shrieks of rage to Blaise gingerly lifting Hermione over his shoulder as he dueled with his free hand against Dolohov.
"No fucking way." Draco breathed in disbelief before being flung into the cobblestone by a stray curse.
He struggled to stand, his balance was off and his vision temporarily blurry. 'The plan, the plan...' his thought desperately trying to regain his footing and control.
All he could hear were shouts of rage, orders, curses whizzing by and shrieks of agony. The square had quickly turned from something of tranquility, to one of a bloodbath.
His fingers gripped into the side of the wall, pushing himself roughly away as he heard more popping sounds.
Shit.
The Deatheaters that swaggered forward towards Blaise and Granger weren't the rookies he had enlisted.
They were the Inner Circle. Also affectionately referred to as the ICD.
When the Inner Circle came for you, you were fucked.
You were fucked harder than a Knockturn Alley whore, to the point where you best kiss your rosary and pray to the God's for forgiveness because there was no way in hell you were escaping alive.
One by one Draco watched the Order members fall. They weren't prepared for the Inner Circle. They were prepared for some rookies, lower circle Death Eaters, and the trainers.
His plan wasn't going to happen. His thoughts raced rapidly, desperate to find a solution.
His eyes locked onto one of the ICD's making his way towards Blaise and Granger, and that's when Draco's eyes glazed over.
He found his solution.
Draco ripped through the crowd, slamming stunning charms to his left and his right to make it appear he were clearing a pathway for the Inner Circle Deatheaters. He had seconds to do this, and if he missed his window of opportunity, he'd be fucked.
"Stupefy," Draco hissed, his wand pressed into the ICD's back. Draco whipped around, throwing the curse at Blaise who slammed into the ground, Hermione laying motionless on top of him.
"Draco! DRACO! WHAT ARE YOU DOING-" Bellatrix's screeches only pushed his legs faster as Draco skidded to their bodies, grabbing them both as he whipped his portkey out of his pocket, and the bloodbath was sucked away from sight.
It was a startling contrast. Draco was crouched in the middle of a luxurious, tanned stone room. The sweet smell of ocean air drifted in and out of the room through the large, open balcony where sea-blue chiffon curtains draped over the front and drifted in and out with the breeze.
So the plan failed miserably.
But he wasn't empty handed and had wagering material.
Draco exhaled slowly, dragging his hand down his face. "Wingardium Leviosa," Draco murmured, moving Blaise onto the large King sized bed. His eyes turned to Granger and he grimaced. Not wanting to risk her any more damage, he bent down and scooped her up over his shoulder. Her mane of curls batting furiously in his face-"You're a damn witch and can't tame this bloody mess!" He exclaimed angrily as he stalked out of the room.
The halls were filled with various first edition portraits, ranging from Monet, Picasso, and Michelangelo. Amongst the timeless pieces were painted portraits of Malfoy decedents and their children-and one in particular with his beloved Pygmypuff.
He entered a room on the far left, that also smelled of sweet ocean breeze. A large King bed sat in the middle, laced with a delicate, cream chiffon canopy. A large white armoire sat in the corner alongside a white desk. On the opposite side of the wall, bookcases were lined seemingly endlessly, leading to an open balcony.
This would do.
And if it didn't, frankly, he didn't give a damn.
Gently he placed her down on the bed and murmured a few charms to cleanse the blood from her body. His fingers curled behind her head, feeling for the wound.
He pulled his hand back, finding it covered in blood.
Shit.
Turning her on her side, Draco quickly muttered a few healing charms, watching as the gaping wound stitched itself at the back of her head. "Accio blood replenishing potion!" Draco grunted, watching as the clear bottle swung around the corner and into his hand. Ripping the cork off with his teeth, he tilted Hermione's head back.
"Bottom's up, Granger." he smirked, parting her bottom lip with his thumb as he slowly poured the potion down her throat, coaxing her the way.
Standing once more, he gave a quick glance at her clothes.
"Not s chance in hell." He muttered, before waving his wand for the blankets to come up to her chin, storming out of the room and into the downstairs lounge.
Draco poured himself a shot of whiskey, raising it to his lips.
"Here's to being fucked, mate."
And swung the contents back.